Stan: Chapter Twenty Two

Anderson stood with his back against the wall of the unit where the green dot had disappeared from. He was trying to steady his breathing. Adrenaline was coursing though his veins. He could feel his heart beating under his shirt.
He pushed his head against the wall, looking skyward.

"Fuck it Charlie-boy, this is it." he told himself.

He edged along the wall to the door. Holding his pistol in one hand, he used the other to try the door. His luck was holding. It was unlocked. He slowly pulled it open. Being careful not to expose himself. He suddenly swung his whole body round so he was standing in the door frame. His gun drawn and pointed forward, both hands on the pistol grip. He scanned from left to right.
It was dark inside. But he could still see. The light from the open door was enough to illuminate the entrance room. It was painted an ocean green colour inside. The smell was musty. From the smell alone you could tell this place hadn't been used for a good couple of years. Everywhere around was dusty, full of cobwebs, and on the walls were black spots of damp. Unopened mail covered the floor in the entrance way, along with torn paper. Anderson assumed the mice had decided to open some mail.
He inched his way across the room. Being as silent as possible. Making sure he scanned the room in every direction. Constantly looking down the barrel of the gun. He stubbed his toe on the edge of a desk, struggling to keep himself from shouting out in pain. He made his way towards an open door on the otherside of the room.
His heart beating faster now, he could hear it in his ears. It was making listening out for sounds harder. Again he pressed his back against the wall, and again swung himself suddenly around into the doorway. It was a stairwell. The old iron steps now red with rust, patches of the black paint that had once been on them remained, but not much. He looked upwards, looking where the stairs led. Still looking down the barrel of his gun. If anything moved, she was going to shoot it first, and then ask some questions. The stairs went up only to another floor. Anderson slowly, and ever so carefully made his way up. Keeping his back against the wall, gun held high as he went. He lifted his shoes slowly, placing them down very carefully. Trying to keep any echo to a minimum. He reached the top and stepped out into the open corridor.
Again like downstairs, the walls were painted the same ocean green. The corridor was narrow. To the left blank walls. To the right windows, with a couple of doors further down. The light was coming from some strip lights over head. On. Which meant someone had been here recently.
Anderson swallowed hard. Keeping his focus down his gun. Pressing against the wall hard, he edged down the corridor. Through the windows as he past them he could see masses of machinery. The work floor below must be the size of four football pitches. And most of the space covered by huge machines. Water and gas pipes seemed to cover the ceiling. Again the lights were on in there. For a building that had been left for so long, it was amazing how clear the work floor was. He continued down the corridor. Keeping one eye down the corridor, on eye through the windows, scanning for any sign of movement.
He reached the first door. He turned the handle as slowly as he could. Keeping any noise to a minimum. He eased the door open, almost following his gun into the room. The room was bare over then a couple of desks and a few chairs. A dead cheese plant stood in the corner. Brown through lack of water.
Anderson could feel the sweat running down his neck. He was certainly getting too old for this shit. His heart felt like it was about to explode though his chest. He paused for a moment. Catching his breath. Steadying his nerves. Carefully and quietly his stepped out into the corridor again. Moving slowly onto the next door.
Same as before, he opened the door carefully and quietly. Same as before, just a couple of desks and chairs in the room. He walked out in to the corridor again. He started to creep past more windows. Not wanting to expose himself, but at the same time he didn't want to miss anyone that happened to be on the work floor.
He suddenly saw movement down below. He swung his gun toward the window. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He could feel his cold sweat beading on his brow. He kept his eye trained on the sights of his gun. Searching for the movement once more. He had steadied his breathing, so if he needed to make a shot, then he could. Quickly. And accurately.
He couldn't find it. He told himself it must have been a rat, or a bird, or a stray cat. A voice in the back of his head told him it wasn't, but he shook his head, clearing the thought. He had to concentrate. He was finding it difficult. His entire body gripped with fear. He took a deep breath. Shaking his head once more, and stretching his neck, gun up, eye down the sight. He continued down the corridor. There were only two doors left in this corridor. He dreaded to think how many corridors were in the building. At least the machine room took the vast majority of space up within the building.
He reached the third door. He turned the handle and slowly opened the door.

"Just get it over with." a familiar voice spoke. "Just fucking kill me. You bat-shit crazy mother fucker."

Anderson's heart, pounding as hard as it possibly could skipped a beat at her words. He had found her.

"Nice greeting, Morris." Anderson spoke in a hushed tone. "But think you can keep your voice down."

Morris knew the voice immediately. The same gravelly voice she had heard nearly every day for the past five years. Her hope suddenly restored. Tears came again, but this time not of sadness or despair. This time of relief. Her legs began to shake and gave way beneath her. Her chains pulled tight to stop her completely falling to the floor. She hung there for a moment sobbing.
Anderson looked around the room. His gun still drawn. He looked over the bodies on the table. Noting the numbers on each of their foreheads. Then noticing the holes that had been drilled into their skulls.
He edged across the room towards his partner. An eye trained on the door in case they were interrupted. He noticed for the first time Morris's bare body. The deep cuts all over her chest. A couple of them still bleeding. He assumed because he had been moving around, stopping them healing.

"What the fuck has been going on?" he asked. Not really needing an answer.

She was unable to answer him anyway. She was sobbing uncontrollably hanging from the chains. He holstered his gun quickly. Making his way over to her. He unfastened her feet restrains first. Unbuckling the leather strap. Although lined with some sort of wool they had left her skin red raw.
Anderson slowly and gently lifted his partner to her feet. She was still slightly sobbing. He gently unbuckled her wrist straps. One of her wrists looked like it had a piece of bone pushing through the skin. Now the pressure on her arms had been released, it had started to bleed slowly. Looking at her chest again, it was the least of her worries.

"Rachel, " Anderson said in a comforting tone, "what has he done to you?"

She didn't answer, instead she swept her long hair from her face, draped her now free arms around his neck and collapsed on him. Sobbing again.

"I didn't think you would come." she managed. "I thought that this was it. I thought you were him coming back to finish."

Anderson pulled her off him slightly, looking into her eyes. They were red raw though tears.

"You didn't think I would come?" he smiled at her. "Thanks!" he chuckled slightly.

Morris managed to smile. Her eyes, although red, had a light return to them. She let out a little laugh, flicking her hair from her face.

"You know what I mean!" she told him, still smiling.

They both let out alittle laugh. Anderson looked into her eyes. He had never noticed how brown they were. Suddenly they went wide. A look of horror seemed to creep on to her face.

"Rachel?" he asked. "What is it?"

She didn't have time to answer. He felt a sudden pain in his chest. His first thought was the excitement had got the better of him. It felt like he had eaten to much chicken, and his heart was having trouble pushing it through. He stumbled back a little. Morris reaching out to steady him. Shaking her head. Tears welling up in her eyes again. He reached to his chest. The pain was burning. He felt a wetness. Looking down at his hand he could see why. His hand was covered in blood.
His second thought was were it had come from? He couldn't remember cutting himself. Maybe too much adrenaline? He looked down at his chest. In the middle of a huge red stain on his shirt was the sharp point of a knife.
Anderson almost drunkenly stumbled around, turning to face the door. No more then five feet away was a person. His brain was having trouble piecing images together. He sunk to his knees. Looking up in disbelief. A face staring down at him. Stanley Crippen looking down at him. Shaking his head. A sick smile across his face.