The shirt John is wearing goes almost to his knees, and the pants almost drop right off until he grabs at the waistband and hoists them back up. He doesn't like it, not having both hands free, but even stupid, oversized clothes are better than nothing, so he bunches the fabric in his fist and edges towards the door.
Martin and he are both moving so slowly that it's the cat who ends up leaving, first. It jumps off the bed and trots out the door, and John freezes, holding his breath and listening hard. There's a distant meow, but no one responds to it; not by saying anything or moving about in a way John can hear. He glances back at Martin, who nods at him, and even though part of him wants to just get back into the bed and pull the sheets up over his head, John nods back.
And then he slowly, carefully peeks out the door.
There's a short, empty hallway leading to a larger space. On the left, there's a door to a loo, dark and also seemingly empty (unless someone is squished behind the open door, but they'd have to be pretty small to fit). John chews his lip, half-expecting someone to appear at the other end of the hall, but the only one who does is the cat, who stares back at them and chirps once before disappearing again.
Are they really the only ones here? It doesn't make sense. But it's so quiet.
John glances back at Martin again, then takes a deep breath and creeps out into the hall. The floorboards creak faintly beneath his feet, and he winces, going still. But nothing happens, and after a few tense beats, he takes another step, and another, until he's able to peek out into a living room and a kitchen: also, somehow, empty.
It doesn't make sense. Is their kidnapper hiding in a closet or something? Why would they do that? He's scared, but all at once he's angry, too: like it's not fair that whoever did this is trying so hard to be sneaky and weird on top of kidnapping them in the first place. The little hairs on the back of his neck prickle, like someone's watching, and John sucks in a breath before he can think better of it.
"We know you're here!" he blurts, his voice cracked and squeaky, almost a shout.
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Martin and he are both moving so slowly that it's the cat who ends up leaving, first. It jumps off the bed and trots out the door, and John freezes, holding his breath and listening hard. There's a distant meow, but no one responds to it; not by saying anything or moving about in a way John can hear. He glances back at Martin, who nods at him, and even though part of him wants to just get back into the bed and pull the sheets up over his head, John nods back.
And then he slowly, carefully peeks out the door.
There's a short, empty hallway leading to a larger space. On the left, there's a door to a loo, dark and also seemingly empty (unless someone is squished behind the open door, but they'd have to be pretty small to fit). John chews his lip, half-expecting someone to appear at the other end of the hall, but the only one who does is the cat, who stares back at them and chirps once before disappearing again.
Are they really the only ones here? It doesn't make sense. But it's so quiet.
John glances back at Martin again, then takes a deep breath and creeps out into the hall. The floorboards creak faintly beneath his feet, and he winces, going still. But nothing happens, and after a few tense beats, he takes another step, and another, until he's able to peek out into a living room and a kitchen: also, somehow, empty.
It doesn't make sense. Is their kidnapper hiding in a closet or something? Why would they do that? He's scared, but all at once he's angry, too: like it's not fair that whoever did this is trying so hard to be sneaky and weird on top of kidnapping them in the first place. The little hairs on the back of his neck prickle, like someone's watching, and John sucks in a breath before he can think better of it.
"We know you're here!" he blurts, his voice cracked and squeaky, almost a shout.