He walked past the graffiti-laden walls, 36 steps, turn left, 42 steps, right wall.
Someone had stolen the bench. He felt the wall and floor. Click. The wall slid to the right. The dust drifted upwards on the disturbed air.
Nobody had found this room. It must have been 20 years. The door marked by them clawing from the inside. He could hear their screams. He could smell their fear. He would never forget. How could he?
Now they’d led him back here. The door closed quietly behind him.