Fogged

The door was fogged up with condensation and specks of dust. Eric had been coming here every day. Parking his van by the side of the road and waiting for most of the day.

Since four days ago, when he found out about Malta, he knew he had no choice but to wait here.

The clues were inside.

At least, that was what his gut kept telling him.

The days were getting colder. He had asked for a week's leave so that he could do this, but his time was running out. His boss was already unhappy with how long he had been away. If Malta was still not found by the end of the week, he might have to quit his job.

Eric rubbed his hands and looked through the fogged glass again.

Nothing.

Nobody seemed to know what had happened to Malta, and nobody had seen her since last week. Her family had not lodged a police report yet because Malta's situation was complicated.

Although the office looked abandoned, Eric had noticed something strange. The letter box was always emptied. New letters or newspaper would appear and by the next day they would be gone.

Someone was collecting them.

But Eric had camped here for days now, taking only short breaks to nap, shower, use the toilet, and buy food. Yet he still could not catch the person.

The person must have been watching him too, knowing exactly when he was not around.

That thought bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Eric glanced at the road behind him.

Nobody.

He turned his sight back to the door.

The fogged door revealed nothing.

Still, he could not shake the feeling that Malta was connected to this place somehow.

If he could not find Malta, he would not be able to answer to her parents.

He would not be able to answer to himself.

Photo by @wakeupkitty

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