Yes. Yes, he had, at that. Bryant had puttered around a bit waiting for the police officers to arrive: he'd gotten dressed again, made his bed, spent quite a long time just sitting and fidgeting. So he had no idea how much time had passed. He also had no real clue of just how warm his room had gotten over that span of time. Uncomfortably warm. Bryant unthinkingly shed his tie and his jacket, had fumblingly rolled his dark green shirtsleeves with shaking hands.
He would've been a lot happier if he could've focused on the scream he heard and the eventual arrival of the police. And though it was difficult, he certainly tried to force his thoughts to go over the sounds he heard again and again, to think hard about whether he'd really heard something that woke him up prior to the scream, just how to describe the noise of the machinery. This wasn't an entirely successful endeavor as Bryant's brain was stuck on the dispatcher's warning about a hurricane. He'd listened to the rain with ever growing dread, trying to become numbed by the sound, jolting at every little clap of thunder.
The knock on his door produced a squawk that Bryant just managed to swallow back in order to call out to the authoritative voice on the other side as he stood and took a few steps toward the doorway. When he was told the police was outside his door, Bryant came closer to it still. It was okay. Cops could get here. Cops could get -- had arrived at -- the Eclipse Hotel. How bad could the storm be, truly?
He wanted to throw open the door in welcome; Bryant was used to law enforcement and was generally comfortable around them (often more comfortable around them than they were with him). But self-preservation came first. With the safety chain still in place, he opened the door less than six inches and peered out at the two cops. Only one of them had wet hair but Bryant could see they were pretty well soaked (this was disheartening in the sense that the storm must still be going strong). Two dark trenchcoats, two suits and ties, two sets of blue eyes. One seemed a little taller than the other, certainly more broad-shouldered: he had white hair and looked less-than-friendly but Bryant was willing to bet he'd been the one to knock on the door and speak to him. There was authority in his bearing. The other was dark haired, more... lithe... than the serious man Bryant presumed was his partner. The one with the dark hair looked like he had a greater capacity for kindness and sympathy. At least in the few seconds Bryant took to regard both men.
"Ah, h-hello there. Yes. I say, can I-I... maybe... ah, that is, may I see some identification, please?" It was said politely, almost apologetically, with a nervous smile. Through that small gap in the doorway -- one that Bryant filled almost completely with sheer height and a sense that could really only be fear -- warm air was puffing out at the two police officers. It would seem even warmer still to them, since they'd just been outside in the storm, but Bryant didn't really notice it at all. He just looked from the white-haired man to the dark-haired one, even as the first was already calmly reaching for his badge.