Manic [h.s]

#018

TW: This chapter contains violence, gore, and etc...

"Run, baby, run, run for your life"

RUNRUNRUN | Dutch Melrose

February 08, 1999

HARRY STYLES

The glossy silver doors part, revealing the roomy elevator. I step inside, pressing one of the buttons that lead to topmost floor of the building. Impatience fills me as I run my hand through my hair, the bright LED floor indicator hovering above the door motioning that the elevator is moving up. It takes roughly a few seconds before I hear a familiar chime, and the doors slide open.

Stepping outside, the first thing I notice is the giant closed door just a few feet away. I know the fucker is hiding behind it. To my left, there's only a dimly lit corridor stretching out to a dead end. 

Surprisingly, Peter has done a damn good job running this place — Rosy Winds Hotel, where I currently find myself standing. But it's a shame he's not smart as he appears to be.

Initially, the people at the reception weren't exactly rolling out the welcome mat. Apparently, you needed an appointment to even breathe the same air as Peter. But a little white lie was all it took to sweet-talk them into letting me in. All I had to do was drop the name "Dennis," and just like that, they waved me right on in.

I rap my knuckles against the door, the sound reverberating through the narrow space. When I hear nothing from the other side, I decide to try the handle, half-expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, it swings open without resistance. Fucking idiot. Look like he's paving his own path to hell.

I slip inside and make sure to lock the door behind me. The interior is vast, and I figure he probably has the whole floor to himself. My boots echo on the tiled floor as I move cautiously, scanning the space from corner to corner. Where is he?

Just in time, I catch the faint sound of footsteps padding across the carpeted floor. My senses go on high alert, and I move cautiously, slowly drawing out my gun. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a door being unlocked reverberates through the space. I turn just in time to see a figure emerging from a room not too far away. It's him.

He's busy adjusting his already perfect suit, as if he's just finished getting dressed. His suit is immaculate, pressed within an inch of its life and his black shoes practically gleam in the sunlight streaming through the bay windows. His greying hair is slicked back neatly, but his eyes are downcast, completely unaware of my presence.

"You getting all dolled up for a tea party, Peter?" I ask and his wide eyes snap to mine. His lips part in surprise as he begins to slowly back away. I don't waste a second, pointing the gun in my hand directly at him, silently conveying that I won't hesitate to pull the trigger if he so much as twitches.