Hunted - 2

“Need some help with that?”

Logan stopped long enough to look at the slender, dark-haired man standing below him at the foot of the stairs to the attic and shook his head. “I’m good,” he stated as he continued to wrestle the table up the narrow staircase. He’d have brought it in the same way he had the mattress if he hadn’t been afraid someone would see him in the process. It was the same reason he’d put the bits of furniture in the back yard in the first place. He didn’t need humans knowing that he wasn’t one.

The man apparently was not ready to take ‘no’ for an answer. “You can’t open your door with your hands full,” he pointed out as he walked up two steps.

Logan had to admit he was right. “Well, okay. If you can just keep it from falling back down for the moment.” The man took the other end and Logan dug into his pockets for his key, unlocked the door, opened it and flipped on the light. “Thanks,” he said as he took hold of the table again, backed into his room with it and set it down.

“Small but workable,” the man said from the doorway. “I’m Kiefer by the way, or Kief for short.” He held out his hand.

“Logan,” Logan replied shortly, ignoring the out-stretched hand. Kief withdrew it with a shrug. “Thanks for the help,” Logan added while he debated where to put the table so he wouldn’t hit his head on the angled ceiling every time he stood up.

“Sure. Welcome.” Kief turned to leave, paused and said, “Under the window would work.”

Logan nodded and moved it there, put the chairs he’d brought up earlier on either side and decided Kief was right—it did. He looked at him with a small smile. “Thanks, again.”

“No problem. I’ll leave you to it. If you need help moving anything else in I’m in room three.” That said he left.

With the furniture, all three pieces of it, now in place Logan decided the platform would be the perfect sleeping area. He set the mattress on it once he’d moved his bags onto the floor. It fit almost perfectly with just enough room between it and the wall that he could put in a low shelf to hold books and whatever else he needed. "Very low," he muttered with a bit of amusement. The slope soon gave way to the flat roof, giving him about eight feet of ceiling above most of the room.

“Pipe,” he muttered to himself. “Pipe and strong wire should do the trick for hanging my clothes. And some screws, and a screwdriver, and the hell with that until morning. Dinner however…” He shut off the light, locked the door and headed down the stairs.