The elevator stopped on the thirteenth floor with a lurch. Sarah’s heart leapt into her mouth. The doors opened. She stepped through and immediately looked from left to right hoping that there would be a sign for a bathroom. She was in luck, an arrow pointed down the corridor to her left. Nervously she tripped down the uncarpeted passageway, conscious of the unfamiliar click of her recently purchased high-heeled shoes on the polished tiles.
She checked her wristwatch, breathing a sigh of relief, finding that she was still fifteen minutes early. She had plenty of time to make final adjustments to her hair and lip gloss. Despite meticulous preparations a girl could never be sure could she. She swung the door open and found it empty. Only then did she realise that there had been no-one in the corridor either. Resting her clutch bag on the side, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, pleasantly surprised that no adjustments were necessary. In fact she was thinking that she had seldom taken this much trouble over her appearance and she hoped that it would pay off.
She heard the door open and, turning, saw a young girl enter. Smiling she stepped toward the door, which the girl was holding for her. Exiting she turned to the right and once more saw an empty corridor. She counted the doors till she found the number she required and steeling herself gave a firm double knock. From inside she heard a deep voice, “Please come in, the door is unlocked.”
Setting her face into what she imagined was a confident expression she gently pushed against the door. It swung inwards easily. Trying to look self-assured she took a step through and was astonished at the sight that greeted her.
Hanging his set of spare clothing on the gate, the invisible man leaned back. He braced himself as he let his soaking wet trousers and underclothes fall to the floor. Kicking them to one side he rested while he planned his next move.
Tornado smiled. The feel of the leather harness on his shoulders again. Although he enjoyed standing in his stall while the men and women breathed strange, soothing sounds into his ear whilst scratching his nose and the top of his head, this was what he enjoyed. He heard a familiar shout and holding his head high, leant forward until his shoulders felt the familiar weight. He strained, eager to pull his load. He could hear the rattle of the chains and instinctively knew it was one of the newly felled trees he would be taking down to the mill. An easy job he thought. This would not make his shoulders sore. He heard his shoes ring on the smooth tarmac as he ambled down the road, not realising or caring that he left a trail of broken side shoots and twigs behind as he made his way to the sawmill.
When the pen takes control. 