Alone?

~Just a quick author's note. I'd like to thank all my wonderful friends who have read through this before I published it and to anyone who has supported my writing. I may not be the best writer in the world, but I'm happy to let people read my work. Thanks for giving it a chance!~

I listen to the echo of my footsteps in the otherwise silent building. The sound bounces off the walls and follows me from one room to the next.

There is minimal light coming through the dirty windows despite it being mid-morning. I expected a bit of grime though, so I've remembered my flashlight. This isn't my first rodeo.

Thinking back on it, I'm just realizing that this is my eighth year with the agency. Eight years since I got roped into this. Eight years of missions and training. Eight years of searching.

It's not that we're spies, but that's what the Outsiders seem to call us. Idiots.

If we were spies, do they really think they would be able to get us? They can barely do that now.

No, not spies. Just the UTD Agency. That is, the Unknown Threat Detection Agency. We basically protect the Outsiders from what they don't know. Anything that the police can't handle, we can. Anything that the police are oblivious to, we handle it. Our network can handle anything.

So I've had eight years of being a Searcher. Basically I go to all of the freaky places and look for the freaky things. I travel everywhere with my handler Logan, and he monitors whatever I find. Pretty cool, I guess.

Today I'm looking through a series of abandoned buildings in Michigan. This one's an old hospital. Same old, same old.

I walk down the hallways briefly peeking into each room. I'm not sure what I'm looking for but I'm sure I'll know when I find it. At least that's what Logan told me.

If he knows what I'm looking for why didn't he just come himself? I think to myself. The lazy bastard.

Technically Logan is my boss, but he's always telling me that he refuses to have legitimate labels.

"I think it would get in the way of our romantic relationship." He'd say while wrapping his hand around my waist and pulling me close to him. "I don't want you to feel like I'm more important than you are." I jerked my body away from his wandering hands and put space between us.

"What relationship? There's nothing between us, perv." I'd retort.

"You're right. Nothing but a few layers of clothes." He would then try to mesmerize me with his, admittedly beautiful, golden brown eyes.

We'd had this conversation countless times. He would never take no for an answer.

It's not that I don't find him attractive. My god, on a scale of one to ten he is a twenty. The softness of his eyes that makes you melt, the particular spike to his blond hair that perfectly accentuates the sharp edges of his cheekbones. I've even seen him without his shirt. And trust me, the bleeding wound on his side only made his six pack sexier. Every time I remember stitching him up it gives me shivers. He is absolutely the total package looks-wise.

The issue is his personality.

He can be nice when needed and stone cold when on a mission; that part I actually admire. I have to admit it's something that I wish I could do.

It's not even the constant flirting. I've dealt with those kind of comments ever since I acquired an actual figure. There's nothing I haven't heard. I may not be the tallest girl out there, but apparently I make up for it with the "sparkling" brown eyes, "stunningly long" black hair, and the "perfect" curves of a dancer. I've always thought I was pretty, but now I know I'm beautiful thanks to the long line of guys trying to get in my pants. And of course, Logan is the leader of that line.

Anyway, I think it's just the fact that he's so Logan. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what it is. But I know it's not something he can change. No matter how hard he tries.

Stop, I tell myself feeling my mind wander, Pay attention to your task.

As I continue my mysterious search, I try to pinpoint what about the building is different from all of the other ones around town. They're all fairly recently abandoned, just south of the border, and creepy as hell. This one must have some sort of messed up history that I wasn't told.

Of course at the notion of a weird history, my imagination begins to run wild. Why was it abandoned? Something realistic like money shortages? Or crazy? Like a hostage situation tainting the reputation? Or maybe there was a death that forced the doors closed?

Idiot, I chaste myself, This was a hospital.

Death happened every day. It has to be more complicated than that.

I ignore the mystery for now and continue to look. I'm starting to notice things that are putting me on edge.

Despite the hospital being abandoned for years, it somehow still feels inhabited. Though the walls sag slightly, they are a sterile white to match the floors. In each room the windows are dirty and the curtains unwashed, but the beds are made with neat folds. In the lobby all of the chairs are gone - probably taken to be sold - but there are still neat stacks of paper, a cup of pens, and even a spotless coffee machine sitting on the desk.

All of the other buildings were a mess. Evidence of animals, squatters, and the laziness of the landlords. Crumbling foundations, walls about to collapse; everything I was expecting when I got here.

But if I didn't know that the building was abandoned I'm not sure I would be able to tell. The building has a weird kind of warmth to it. You'd think there would be a chill, it being November in Michigan, but the insulation must be holding up. I'm not sure what any other explanation there is for the warmth...

Suddenly, I hear a crash come from one of the hallways I haven't searched yet. I spin around, both my eyes and the flashlight sweeping the seemingly empty space.