Page 145 of Hidden in Memories
The room where Filip is being held.
Silently she heads to the dining room and slowly sweeps the beam of her flashlight all around. No sign of anyone. Chairs and tables are set out as if dinner were about to be served. There are even cloths on the tables.
All that is missing are the guests and the staff.
It’s creepy.
As Hanna continues up the stairs, the faint smell of gasoline reaches her nostrils, and a shudder runs down her spine. To be on the safe side, she feels for her gun. It is exactly where it should be, and gives her a sense of security.
One more flight of stairs up to the Loft, where the dances used to be held back in the day.
Erik should be here somewhere.
And Filip.
She ties Zelda to the banister so that the dog won’t get in the way.
“Hello?” she calls out tentatively, drawing her gun. “Erik, are you here? Filip?”
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Filip no longer believes he will be rescued. He has been sitting here for hours and hours, and nothing has happened. When the sun went down and darkness fell, the last faint hope disappeared.
The police are not coming in.
He can’t free himself and get away.
He is drenched in gasoline; his nose is bloody and swollen from the blows his kidnapper delivered. He is going to die here, all alone, only days after his mom.
Perhaps it’s for the best—without her he is lost.
He hears the odd ticking sound from the walls; otherwise there is silence.
There has been no sign of the man for a long time—he might even have left the building. He’s probably gone, and no one dare come in to save Filip in case the hotel goes up in flames.
The thought makes him whimper; nothing is more terrifying than the idea of being burned to death. The fumes around his chair have faded slightly, but they are still a reminder of the fate that awaits him.
Images come and go in his befuddled brain.
He sees Emily, and feels a pang in his heart. He doesn’t want her to remember him as someone who let her down, someone who simply walked away and left her.
He loves her so much.
Why hasn’t he told her that more often? She has always been there for him, comforting him and loving him. But he will never see her again.
He lets his head droop toward his chest. He just wants to give up. Exhaustion is making his brain work so slowly; he closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep. Then at least he won’t feel the thirst; that is the worst thing at the moment. His tongue is swollen; he cannot produce any saliva.
The thin skin on his lips has cracked due to the lack of moisture.
A sound from the floor below makes Filip react. He can hardly summon up the strength to raise his head, but he manages to crane his neck a fraction in order to hear better.
Surely it was a voice, calling out a name?
Or was it merely a hallucination?
His eyelids are almost stuck down with blood and tears as he peers into the darkness for a sign that someone is there.
Someone who might be able to help him at long last.
