If I could have figured out his motivation, I could have answered that question. After all, I did that as a writer on a daily basis. But Brandon was a bit of an enigma to me—and that made him dangerous.
As that realization washed over me, I fought to keep myself calm. The man tapped on his keyboard a little more, then clicked his mouse a few more times, and looked up. “I need to check on a couple of things,” he said, standing up. “I’ll be back momentarily.”
He didn’t seem nervous or sinister, so when Brandon stood the second the latch clicked on the door and walked over to the other side of the desk, I felt a bit out of sorts. He stood, hulking over the computer for a few seconds before saying, “There are so many icons here. I have no idea where to even start.” He looked over at me. “But that doesn’t change the fact that my bullshit alarm is going off. We need to get out of here.”
“What?”
“Something’s not right, Kimberly. Trust me on this.” He picked the clipboard up off the desk and ripped his paper out from under the metal clamp before wadding it into his pocket. I stood, now alarmed and more frightened than I’d been just moments ago. Inthisregard, I did trust him. I didn’t realize, though, that my heightened sense of fear might have been feeding into my reaction.
He walked past me to the door and then gripped the knob, slowly twisting it and then pulling on it so it didn’t make a sound. He peeked out the crack and then stuck his head out more before stepping back in and closing the door most of the way. He just looked at me, not saying a word, and then waited a few seconds before peeking out of the door again. “Okay,” he whispered, easing out into the hallway.
Should I go? What lay in store for me if I did? And what would potentially happen if I didn’t? Before he even grabbed my hand, I made the choice to follow. Brandon, at least, was the devil I knew. I knew nothing about the people here and, if Brandon’s unspoken fears were any indication, I was better off with him.
Or was I? Only time would tell…