Hive Island - The Awakening | Open Novella Contest 2020

Chapter 3 - The Office

Oliver took deep breaths and cracked the door. A stench that almost took his breath away overwhelmed him. Instinctively he dropped his briefcase and covered his face with his hands as a staggered backward until his back hit the wall. He fell to his knees and struggled to contain his gag reflex.

"What the..." he hissed between rapid breaths. "What is that?"

He struggled to his feet and approached the partially open door. With a flick of his ankle, he swung the door wide open.

A small reception desk greeted him. Papers were strewn across the surface of the desk and on the surrounding floor. A computer monitor had been knocked off the desk and lay on the floor, its cracked screen flashing intermittently as it tried in vain to display the computer desktop. The computer mouse dangled from the desktop like a mouse unable to escape a bird of prey. To his right was a closed door with a STORAGE sign on it, illuminated by another flickering light. The door to the office on the left side of the room was ajar.

All of Oliver's senses told him to run for it, to get out of there. His heart was drumming the inside of his chest and he felt sweat on his forehead as he shivered uncontrollably.

"Hello," he called, his voice cracking as he stepped through the door into the office lobby, bracing himself against the door frame. "Dr. Armstrong, are you here?"

Oliver took a couple of tentative steps into the lobby, stopped and listened. Everything was silent except for the muffled whine of the wind racing around the corners of the building. He spotted a name sign with Armstrong's name on the floor and froze. Why is it on the floor? With a gentle nudge, he pushed open the door to the office and stepped into the darkness.

The bluish light of a cracked laptop screen was the only source of light in the room, illuminating only a few papers across its keyboard. Oliver fumbled for the light switch and flipped it when his fingers found it. His eyes widened. He gasped and turned as he emptied his stomach onto the floor. Remaining on his knees, his eyes closed, as he took deep breaths and tried to ignore the sour taste in his mouth. I must be dreaming. This isn't happening.

Oliver sat down and leaned up against the door frame as he tried to absorb Armstrong's office. The office chair was pushed over on its side. A pool of blood surrounded the chair, and blood splatters covered the wall beyond it. Bloody drag marks stretched from the chair around to the empty area in front of the desk where another pool of blood had seeped into the rug. Dozens of bloody footprints surrounded the now stained carpet and a severed hand and forearm rested in the center, the shredded remnants of a plaid shirt still wrapped around it. A gold ring remained on the ring finger. Somehow, no footprints led in or out of the office.

Oliver stood up and stumbled out of the office, feeling lightheaded. Although he had no way of proving it, there could be no doubt that the arm belonged to Armstrong. It had to be his. Who else would be in his office? It occurred to him at that moment that he was standing in a crime scene.

"I have to get out of here," he said to himself and returned to the hallway and walked rapidly towards the stairs. Just as he opened the door to the stairwell, he heard the unmistakable echo of someone walking up the stairs. The cone of light from a flashlight danced over the walls and the stairs is its owner made their way up the stairs. Oliver immediately backed out of the stairwell and shut the door quietly. Who was coming up the stairs? The killer? Police? Someone else? Something else?

Oliver was the only person near the remains, which meant he would be the prime suspect. He was certain he would be taken into custody if a police officer was on their way up those stairs. If it was the killer, was it likely Oliver would escape the same fate as Dr. Armstrong?

"Hide, I need to hide," he whispered to himself as he rushed over to the nearest door and tried the handle. Locked. As was the next one, and the next one. The maintenance closet, its door still ajar, was empty, but it had no lock. It was not a good place to hide. Moments later, he was back at the door into Dr. Armstrong's office.