A Corridor through Old Space

This morning, I was thinking about a story I wrote about ten years ago. I can't remember what it was called, but I do remember that I had set it in my fictional dark counterpart of Worcester called Clovelly Heath. The tale concerned two students at Clovelly University, trapped in the claustrophobic ending of their relationship. In the story, they had stayed late at night after a lecture, and in the empty buildings of the unversity had discovered a new series of impossible corridors, stretching on into forever. In the story the male character had managed to escape, and looked back into the cursed corridors only to see his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, still lost within the corridors.
Which is where the tale ended.
The story was not particularly original. When I wrote this story it was only a year after I had read Danielewski's 'House of Leaves' for the first time. In that work of understated genius, the interior architecture of the house would shift and stretch into impossible forms. There was a stairway, for instance, that was deeper than the earth itself.
Anyhow, at lunchtime, I found myself walking by the old call centre, Telegen, as I made my way to Resident Records down the North Laine. The windows I passed were oddly black, as if the interior of the building had been filled with a dark viscous liquid that stopped any light escaping. I couldn't quite see what was causing this. As I approached the corner of the building - where the fire escape that leads -or led- into the main call centre was, I saw that it was open. Intriqued to see the interior of this place where I turned my head to look inside... only to be confronted by something both startling and oddly familiar.
Instead of the cavernous interior to the call centre that I was expecting, there was, instead, a corridor. The corridor stretched through what used to be the call centre. I only glanced in for a second or two before I had passed by. Someone had built a corridor, white walls, white tiled ceiling, closed doors on either side, through the old call-centre, a new space cutting through the inky blackness.
I didn't see where it led, nor if there was anyone inside, still looking, after ten years, for a way out.