Project

8.0: A Familiar Face, and a Familiar Place

"Whilst we were on our way to France, I did some quick checks of the area we were in, and tried to find anything that stood out as a sort of hideout place." Bruce explained, twisting and turning through streets, "I hadn't come across much, until a weird hotel-like area, abandoned long ago, still had a running website, called 'Fish King'. I took note of the address, and now I see it was for good use."

"Wait, so this is all based on a similarity?" Mark asked, bemused.

"Would it help if I told you that the person who killed Will is there?" Questioner asked, knowing what the answer will be.

"How much further?" Mark now asked, a deadly expression on his face.

I'm running, running nowhere in particular but away from the monster following me. This person wasn't hiding in the shadows, allowing himself to be clearly seen in the desolate street we were on. His laughter echoed across the walls. Why was no one else around?

"I don't know, I'm afraid, but I know it's on a deserted road and that the building is quite run-down." Bruce didn't have time to look for directions, and so could only rely on the roads he saw and the signs around him. Even though every road and every place was in a language he didn't fully understand, he was determined to get to his destination.

Is this really where I would perish? A place where I can't even read my tombstone? However, I luckily stumble upon one building, tall and desolate, yet open for me to hide...

Why does this seem so familiar?

Lefts, rights, wide roads and narrow alleys, the two drove around until they found one place, seemingly invisible to everyone around them, and yet within everyone's view. An unknown name to them was written next to this small valley: Rue couronne. It seemed to fit the description in Bruce's mind, and so they parked, and ran.

They searched every window, looked into every abandoned home, shop and bar, trying to find any place that resembled the hotel. They needed to find it, they had to.

Most windows were clouded and boarded, allowing little light through, and thus even smaller pockets of vision. Some were luckily unlocked, and thus provided easy entering. Yet others needed more persuasion than anything to investigate the possible hideouts.

However, even when they had nearly reached half-way down the abandoned road, not a single place stood out.

The melody slows down, as he creeps closer to the door. I hold my breath, afraid that I wouldn't breath again. He stands on the other side of the door now, and I feel his gaze burn through the wood and into my mind...

"Hey, do you hear something?" Mark asked, his head turning to further down the lane. Bruce looked at him confused, "Hear what?"

"A whistling, like someone's whistling this tune..." He began to walk towards the direction, slowly picking up pace. Bruce follows, "Wait up!" He yells.

Is that a voice I heard?

Suddenly the man turns, and runs maniacally once more.

"Stop!" Mark shouts, seeing a crazed man with something glinting in his hand.

The voices grow faint, and I allow myself to collapse onto the cold marble ground. I want to cry, to scream, and I want to thank whoever chased him away, but my fear has paralysed me of my voice.

Wait, now I know why this all seems familiar...

Bruce and Mark begin to rush towards the suspect at full sprint, and Pessimist, seeing all this as too similar to last time, decides to play this game of cats and mouse.