I take a break from my story. Where am I? Am I back in my study or in the white room I have created inside my mind to contain the characters that I have and will encounter. Back in the white room. Having a cigarette break. I can't talk in real life, but this white room is filled with limitless possibilities. What better backdrop for life than a white room filled with an even ambient light, dull but discreet, the people and their details brought out like the objets d'art in a gallery, each to be examined and interacted with.
The publisher sat opposite me, on the other side of the table, fully assimilated into my reality. I watched him light a cigar, brows furrowed in the concentrated effort, swollen hands walled numbly around the object. He puffed a few times, then leant back, as he exhaled a smokey sigh of satisfaction. “So what were you saying?” Smoke tumbled from his bulbous lips, “something about a purple guy?”
“Let me get back to you on that.” I shoved an ashtray in his direction; as if by command, he tapped the ashless cigar over it.
A muffled banging sound came from across the room. Robert Dalmatian straightened up in alertness, “What on earth is that sound?” He anchored an ear in the direction of the noise and looked at the publisher. The fat man adjusted his weight on the chair, his cigar hand quivered on the armrest as he did so and returned the gaze with an eyebrow raised.
“Let's go and investigate!” I sprung from the seat. They rose up cautiously. The sound seemed emanate from within the wall, upon moving closer, we noticed a small door in the wall that clattered every time something hit it. We stood around the entrance and leaned in, faint growls could be heard from the other side.
“There's something inside!” whispered the publisher.
“Whatever it is, it sounds dangerous! We should leave it in there!” Said Robert.
I gestured them closer so I could also whisper without straining my voice too much. “Ahh, that reminds me of something really important I have to tell you.” I watched a bead of sweat make a bid for freedom on the side of the publisher's face. They nodded me to continue. The growling increased in volume slightly and the thumping seemed to get more vicious. “Are you ready to break out of your safety zone?”
The fat man snorted.
“I say that one of us opens the door, while another whacks it hard on the head when it runs out to kill it.” said Robert. “Fattie, you get ready to open the door, and Tog,” he looked towards me, “you go grab something heavy and stand over there!” The publisher advanced hesitantly and positioned his hand over the latch. I didn't move. Robert looked at me, and I ignored him.
“Open the door!” I commanded. The door swung open.
To be continued ...
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