Missing Person
He smelled dust just before he opened his eyes. His cheekbone hurt where it rested on a hard surface. So did his right shoulder. Puzzled, he pushed himself up and thumped his head on something above him that he couldn’t see in the near-darkness.
Wincing, he saw open space to his left and realized that he was on some sort of raised shelf, about four feet above a worn, unpolished wooden floor. He shifted sideways, swung his legs out, and hopped down, his expensive black leather oxfords clunking loudly on the floor. Then he looked around in amazement.
He was in some kind of warehouse, poorly lit by lights that were out of sight somewhere. Still, he could see that shelves surrounded him, from the wooden floor up until they were lost in shadows over his head. Big wooden crates
