Free Should Have Killed The Kid by R. Frederick Hamilton

There was a door heading off to the left – once more covered in the obligatory drop-sheet – and another one tucked around the corner from the stairs that ran up the right hand side wall, but apart from that no further clues were offered as to the room's purpose. Dave didn't bother to try and divine it for too long. He just headed for the stairs which were the only clear part of Bruno's direction he remembered and trudged up, running a hand over the elaborate woodwork of the banister that he imagined would look breathtaking once it was stained and varnished.
    The effect ended as soon as he reached the top and studied the thin hallway that stretched out before him, two doors apiece on the left and right sides. The stripped floor boards looked like they were from another century and creaked alarmingly as he took his first step. He swallowed nervously as he pictured himself plummeting through to the room below. And though Dave told himself that it was ridiculous – surely Bruno wouldn't have let him come up here if it wasn't safe – he still tested each footstep before he put his full weight down.
    The first door he tried only led to an empty room. Dave paused to think, spending an embarrassingly long time trying to recall Bruno's words – he vaguely remembered that one side had been a definite no no – before a simpler solution occurred to him.
    He fished the key Bruno had given him from his pocket and started trying the locks.
    Of course it was the last one he tried that led to success. The two on the right were locked tight and Dave's key wouldn't open them.
    Last on the left it is, he thought and although the door was already unlocked, tried the key anyway. It turned smoothly in the tumbler and he entered closing and locking the door behind him. Inside the room wasn't too bad if you discounted the furniture. Those were rusted monstrosities of metal that nearly put Dave’s back out just looking at them. He assumed they’d be replaced once the renovations were completed. Or at least he certainly hoped so.
    Who knows, maybe they’re antiques or something, Dave thought as he headed across the floor to the window. Well at least the windows aren’t boarded up.
    Unlike the front, the panes in the room were intact. Through the rain splatters, Dave peered out at the swath of forest that swept around and off to the right. He assumed he was overlooking the back of the hotel but wasn’t entirely certain – he’d never been the best at navigating buildings, two turns was usually enough to leave him completely confused.
    From the higher vantage point he could see open paddocks on the far side of the trees stretching away to the horizon where the sun was just starting to set. He didn’t recognise the crop growing – his best guess was grapes – but that didn’t really surprise him. He didn’t recognise the trees that hugged the paddock on the right either. Or the breed of the straggling clumps of cattle that occupied the further paddocks to the left.
    From out of the swath of trees a muddy path emerged, and remembering the state of Monty’s boots, Dave wondered if maybe this was the route he’d taken. He could see it twisting away between the trees and traced it up to a splintering junction before it was swallowed by the tree’s shadows and the obscuring rain. But apart from that, there wasn’t really much to hold his attention. He turned and headed for the bed and dumped his duffel bag on it before heading for the shower that he spotted through the open door beyond.
    Inside the reasonably clean bathroom, the pipes rattled ominously and Dave showered quickly, once more overcome with the ridiculous fear that Bruno was going to come hurtling in, drenched to the bone, screaming, ‘Oh fuck, you didn’t use the shower did you?’
    It was a relief to don some dry clothes, snag his smokes from the duffel bag and head back to the bar without having the taps explode from the wall or the shower base go crashing through the