Fletcher walked into his office with
the confidence of a man who knows he has power. But how long will that power
last with a state of resistant people arising against him? He strode to his throne of a
chair at the head of the office and sat down. He opened his safe drawer with a
key hidden under his desk in a little groove he etched in, and from it retrieved a bottle of half empty whisky. Pouring a glass, he
looked up as Randy walked in.
Randy,
Fletcher’s right hand man walked in with practiced ease. His one goal since
being hired had been to never show his boss fear, for he learned early on from silent observation that Lieutenant Fletcher
thrived on it. He gave a slight bow and never broke eye contact as he said with
an even tone of voice, “we have found no trace of Angel. He’s gone, sir.” Randy
could see the brow of Fletcher knit together ever so slowly, and his jaw tensed
and became hard as did the look that masked his brown eyes.
“Sit,”
Fletcher snarled out.
Randy
sat down, and then proceeded to study his boss’s office yet again as he drank.
It was clean, always. There was never a trace of dirt in this room, and
everything was perfectly arranged. And the hint of citrus filled the air and
gave a calming feel to both soul and skin. He knew Fletcher to be a controlling man. But he did so in a non direct deceived manner, to make others believe that they were in charge. As if to mark a point,
Fletcher unthinkingly straightens his stack of papers and clicks his open pen
shut. His life was about order and control. On first glance, this room wouldn't give the impression of hidden
secrets. But over a period of a time as Randy had been in and out of the room,
he had come to notice strange things that appeared simple and ordinary, but
really were confusing complications and queer. For instance,
on the left wall from the chair on which he sat, was a beautiful mural painted
of a flower with falling petals and vines surrounding the flower. But upon looking closely you could see that the center vine had raised ridges unlike the others. It was a concealed crack in the wall, covered up to look like a piece of the art. And above the stone
mantel at the front of the room was the indentation of a square. It was subtle but
there, indicating that there once was something there, if not still behind the
wall. A safe maybe or a blocked window, Randy was unsure as this room was under heavy surveillance, and halted any ideas of further investigations. In any case there was no easy way to inspect if, for it was now boarded up and painted over with a dark rustic orange, a darker more natural color cleverly chosen to disguise its presence in the room. The office itself had a homey feel. But after spending time
in it, and the man who lies within the four walls ninety percent of the day,
shows, that there are hidden secrets here. The question is what is he hiding,
and why?
“We have to find him, Randy.
This isn't an option.” Fletcher sat back.
It was these words that left Randy to ponder and question the hidden meanings in them and unknowingly
confirmed all of his suspicions.
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