by Lee Kerr
I only nod, not even asking her name. The look on their face says they want revenge; they want to storm the keep and kill the demons and end this nightmare once and for all. We all walk back through the garden and into the house, all with our own axe to grind.
As we walk I rummage through my backpack and find the other tool I brought today. I didn’t know how I would get into Carlos’s house but I figured there would be a need to force my way through a door. I didn’t know what I would do if he launched his missiles at me, shouting all manner of threats, as I finally got through the threshold. I had never thought that far ahead, but one thing I had thought about was how strong those doors must be, and how some explosives would probably come in handy.
I hold the dynamite in my hand, wondering if it will even work, or if that thug sold me a stick filled with sawdust. All I know is that it’s my last hope, my only way in, and all we have to do is to find is the right door.
‘Help me search this basement,’ I ask them, hoping they will be quick, praying they will be thorough; knowing we need to do a better job than before and in a fraction of the time.
*****
Lucy hobbles down the stairs, knowing she needs to move quicker than her wound will let her without making her screaming out in pain. She pushes a hand against the wall, letting it support her as she takes each step one at a time, her good foot constantly bracing her injured one. There is something stuck in it, something digging further into her skin, but she can’t worry about that now. It’s already gone too deep for her to be able to get it out herself and so she continues on her mission of escape.
She knows there has to be at least one more of them somewhere in the house, but she wonders if there are several of them spread throughout this place. It’s a horror story she needs to find the answer to, despite how scared she is. As she makes it to the landing she figures she has to be at least one more storey above ground level. She only has a stinking blanket for warmth and wraps it tighter around her, almost feeling some sort of connection to this bloodied and stained rag. It has been her only comfort for as many days as she can remember; it has seen her through more trauma than she has ever known before. She holds it tight as she looks at each of the closed doors in front of her. She needs to go in, needs to find someone, but hopes with every ounce of her that it isn’t one of her captors that she runs into.
Lucy thinks about moving on, heading downstairs and finding a door, but something stops her. The thought of anyone going through what she has been through makes her want to break down in tears, but it would be even worse to know that she had left other innocent people behind – people who didn’t deserve this any more than she did. She can hear thunder echoing outside the house, somewhere in the distance, and she knows time is running out.
It’s enough for her to grab the handle and push the door open. She stands in the hallway, waiting to see if someone comes running out. When nothing happens she walks in, immediately checking behind the door. The room is empty but she can tell it was not always like that. She looks at the walls, the furniture and the bed, and realises that this must be a child’s room. There are pink decorations everywhere and forgotten dolls all over the floor, which clearly shows that this was once a girl’s room, but there are marks on the bed which show her that whoever was the last to live in this room witnessed many horrors of their own.
She moves closer to it, her eyes fixed on the large, red patch in the middle of the mattress. Maybe there was once a sheet over it and maybe there was a happier time before all this suffering, but right now this room reeks of only pain and misery. She steps back, not wanting to know any more, not able to think that there was someone in here while she was upstairs. The small number of screams she has heard over the last few days have almost helped her, proving to her that she was not alone, but now she wishes it had only been her, that she had been the only one to feel the pain of this place.
She checks the other rooms but finds them all empty. One of them looks like it was recently lived in and also seems like a master bedroom, the bed a mess and the en-suite tiles still damp, with a musky smell and clothes thrown on the floor. It has to belong to a man and Lucy wonders if this is her captor’s room, and perhaps his wife is locked somewhere in the building. She keeps moving, determined to get out before she learns any more brutal truths.
She quietly shuts the door, determined to leave things as she found them, and then starts to walk down the next flight of stairs. She presses her hands against both walls to help her move but the pain gets worse with every step. She reaches the halfway point and stops. Just a minute to catch my breath, she thinks.
As she is counting the six steps to go a man appears beneath her. He reaches the bottom of the staircase, his attention focused on his cell. Lucy freezes like a statue. She knows that he isn’t going to simply walk away, but she’s not strong enough to lunge towards him or run away. She frantically thinks through the options in her mind but hasn’t thought of one before he finally looks up. He takes a step back when he sees her. He clearly finds the sight of someone escaping as surreal as being a captive has been for Lucy.
She starts to hobble back up the stairs, thinking that she will have to find a weapon of some sort – anything to fend him off. She wishes she had grabbed something on her way down; cannot believe she didn’t think of such a basic requirement in this new reality.
‘Come here!’ he shouts, as he runs up the few steps to get her. He’s on top of Lucy within moments, his thick hands grabbing her hair and pulling her back down the stairs. She screams as the pain bolts through her body, but it’s not enough to make him stop. He drags her along the floor, shouting threats and asking where his friend is. He calls out ‘Carlos,’ which she realises is the name of her tormentor. She can’t help but think how much the name suits him.
He doesn’t stop pulling her until they reach the kitchen, when he finally throws her into a chair. ‘What have you done to him?’ he asks, slapping her across the face a couple of times.
Lucy doesn’t say anything and looks around the room, trying to spot something she can use as a weapon, still hoping to make a quick escape.
He sees that she is looking, not paying him a fraction of the attention he wants, and so he slaps her across the face again, this time harder than Carlos ever did. ‘He might have idolised you but you’ll find I have far less interest, so tell me where he is.’
‘He’s upstairs, in my room,’ Lucy says, looking her new attacker in the eyes.
He nods and then grabs her throat. ‘He had better be alive up there because I’m not staying in this wretched place alone, I can assure you of that.’
Lucy spits in his face. ‘Well then, you had best be quick.’
Her insolence gets her another slap and before she realises what is happening she feels her hands being bound behind her back. Her wrists are tied together and then attached to the chair. He leans down to look at her, his face as calm as ice. ‘There is no hope for you other than my mercy, so I urge you to stay where you are and not struggle. If you don’t obey me then you’ll end up outside and I assure you there are far worse things out there than in here.’
She doesn’t say anything as he walks away. She can only look around the kitchen, planning her next escape. She has done it once and she can do it again. She needs to be much quicker and even quieter, but she can do it.
*****
‘Well done!’ I say, as I look up at her and smile.
She looks back at me, the youngest of the three, the one who still hasn’t managed to properly speak. She could only shout and point when she spotted the small piece of string which enabled us to find our way in.
‘How long have you three been here?’ I ask.
They look at each other, as if trying to count up the days. I’m not sure if they are trying to work it out, or if they simply have no idea how long their torment has lasted.
‘I got here yesterday,’ one of them says, looking around, still unsure where here is.
The
quietest one nods, tapping her new friend’s arm. She doesn't say anything but I can tell that her story is the same.
I look at Terry and her face tells a different tale of pain. ‘A week,’ she says, wiping the tears that are flowing down her cheeks.
‘About the same time as Lucy,’ I say, gently rubbing her arm. ‘Do you think you were moved at any point?’
Terry quickly nods. ‘I think I was moved a few times but I was always drugged up so I never knew what was going on. I could tell that I was in a different room, but mostly because the beds were different. Why do you ask?’
I nod, holding up this small bit of string. ‘I searched this house a week ago with the police and we found nothing. The detective was really helpful. He let me search the house and I spent a lot of time down here, because I thought this is where Lucy would be being held.’
Terry looks around the dark room. ‘But you obviously never found her?’
I nod. ‘It turns out the detective was in on this whole thing and I think the reason he was so happy for me to search this place is because I don’t think this trapdoor was here. I think Carlos, the guy who apparently lives here, tunnelled from the other side, using Number 12 to store the equipment and do his work. Detective Marius could never tell his men not to search a property without raising suspicion, but he could easily keep all of you in the abandoned house over the road. No one would ever know because there are many empty houses now.’
‘So, he kept me over there first?’ Terry says, as she looks away, her mind quickly elsewhere. I think she is probably trying to remember what was going on when she was taken: the inner city areas were still safe, the world was still okay, apart from what was happening around the edges – in the places most of us didn’t really know about.
‘I think they put whoever they took first over there, and I hope that includes Lucy.’
‘Of course, Lucy too,’ Terry says and eventually smiles. She’s not as enthusiastic as she was before, but right now I’ll take anything she can offer me.
‘He couldn’t risk creating suspicion while the police were still responding to calls, but in the last 24 hours things have got a lot worse, so they have probably found it easier to capture more women.’
The other two huddle together, stepping back from the small wooden door when I pull the string, checking how easy it is to lift up. ‘Why don’t you both go grab some blankets and towels, or maybe find some clothes? If there are others down there they might need it.’ I hand one of them the keys. ‘And then bring the car up closer to the house.’
Terry nods at them, telling them it’s okay, before looking over at me. ‘We don’t have much time.’
‘You lift the door and I’ll go in first,’ I say, handing her the small piece of rope and then taking my gun and flashlight in each hand, ready to face whatever comes crawling out.
Terry watches until the other two are gone before moving over and standing opposite me. Her eyes are on mine as she wills me to open it and face our mutual enemy together. I take a deep breath but don’t experience the same trembling feeling I’ve had every other time in this place. Terry somehow gives me the confidence to go on.
‘On three?’ I say.
Terry nods back. ‘Let’s give them hell.’
She counts and I point, and when she reaches three and pulls up the thick wooden board, I point the torch into the tunnel, the barrel of my gun following the light. When I find no immediate threat I lower myself in, my gun and torch balanced on the basement floor as I crawl my way through the dirt. It’s basic, drilled with some sort of small machine, something I think that could be worked by just one man. There are no wooden slats, nothing to hold it up. It’s simply a thin vein that has been carved through the earth, leaving behind it a trail of soil and debris, and a smoky tunnel of floating dust.
Terry hands me the torch and gun and I nod to say I’m going further in. ‘You figure out that dynamite,’ I say, as I disappear into the darkness. I crawl along with the torch held in my mouth and the gun tucked into my pants. The structure goes down a few metres and then levels out. It’s not wide enough to stand up but it is big enough to move and turn around in. There are no lights but I imagine that he plans one day to run cables through here and thus make it a proper path between his two dungeons.
I shine the torch on the floor and see a trail than extends along the ground; two long runs that stretch ahead through the soil like sledge marks. I’m sure that’s how he transported the women between the two buildings, moving them as he needed to. I follow them for several metres – a length that must stretch under the entire road – until they reach an abrupt end, their trail blocked by some sort of yellow foam.
I suddenly jump as I feel something touch me from me behind. Trying to turn around, I fall down onto the gun.
‘It’s only me!’ Terry shouts, holding her hands out and touching my knee.
I lie back for a moment, almost hearing the beats of my overworked heart echo through this small passageway. I wipe the growing sweat from my brow, all the time wondering how much more of this I can take.
‘What is that?’ Terry asks, looking at what I have found up ahead.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, crawling forward so I can get closer. When I get near enough I touch it and feel how waxy it is. ‘It’s some sort of foam,’ I say, turning to see that Terry is right behind me, the stick of dynamite in her hand.
I rub my hands along the strange material, seeing that it seems to join exactly with the soil, creating a seamless and tight finish, as though nothing was meant to get in or out.
Terry stretches her hand out towards me, still holding the dynamite. ‘Shall we blow it?’
I gently push the stick away. ‘That might not be necessary,’ I say as I focus on the substance and push my hand into it. It immediately gives way to the force of my fingers, giving me the confidence to go deeper. Nothing burns as I slip my arm through it, and so, since time is not our side I start digging. We move quickly, working as a team. I excavate big chunks with both hands and Terry piles them up behind us. After wading through about a foot of foam I feel new, slightly fresher air. It makes me move more quickly. I know I need to get more than just my arm through, in case there is something lurking on the other side.
Once I have cleared enough out of the way I push myself into it, soon seeing that the tunnel follows a similar pattern up to the house. It snakes its way back upwards and the incline in the soil also has the same two-track pattern running through it.
I waste no time as I quickly crawl forward and then heave myself up. The trapdoor on this side is still open, so I quickly push myself into the basement of Number 12. As soon as I am inside I scan every part of the room, pointing my gun around nervously as I turn. It doesn’t take long before I see the first movement in the shadows and I’m about to pull the trigger, which would end the life of whatever is lurking there and signal to anyone present that I’m here, that we have made it into the lair.
Something stops me from firing, a whimper in the darkness telling me that this isn’t the threat I was expecting down here, and that my hours of searching demand that I’m careful for just a little longer. I keep looking, trying to make out the forms in the shade.
‘Help!’ a whisper comes from the far side of the room. It’s the voice of a woman – not Lucy, but clearly someone who is also in need.
I move closer, my gun still pointing ahead of me. I look around the room, wanting to make sure that Marius isn’t waiting to pounce. As I duck under beams and step over boxes I notice that all the walls down here are also coated with the same yellow substance. I touch some of it and it feels hard to the touch; it seems to have has set – clearly designed for a long term purpose.
When I get to the furthest part of the basement, where the plea came from, I stop and stare. I look at the row of large wooden structures – which, from a distance, I thought were boxes, but which I now think of as cells, each of which have a small hole at the front.
‘Please,
you have to help us!’ the voice says again, from one of the structures closest to me. I am leaning down, trying to trace the voice, when I suddenly see an eyeball appear at the small hole. It flickers, clearly trying to find me. After it catches sight of me it immediately disappears, quickly replaced by a finger, which pokes out of the hole.
I move closer, touching it, desperate to show that I am here and will not hurt her. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, barely a whisper. ‘We’re going to get you out of here.’
I turn around, knowing that I need Terry’s help. I don’t have to go far before I find her standing just behind me, staring in disbelief at the makeshift cells, all numbered in chalk. I watch as she appears to count them. Both of us can see that there are 12, all of which have numbers on, except for the last one. The number has been rubbed out, which shows it is no longer of any importance. The door has been left hanging open.
I soon think of Lucy, knowing that she must be in one of these, although I pray that the deleted number wasn’t her. ‘Lucy,’ I whisper, walking along the row of wooden doors, desperate to hear her voice as she shouts back. I look up to the door to the house and I know that we do not have long, not long enough for me to inspect every box for only one person.
‘We have to get them all out,’ Terry says as she slowly unbolts the first door.
I nod, unable to believe that I hadn’t already thought of that. ‘We need to make them be quiet and we need to do this quickly.’
She nods back and the first woman falls into her arms. I already know she isn’t Lucy – I could tell from the voice, but it makes me wonder how I will cope with opening every door and each person inside not being her. They will all want to fall into my welcome arms but I will want nothing but to move to the next, my search never ending until I find her.
I take a deep breath and unbolt the next door, opening it quickly and confirming what I already knew, that Lucy isn’t in it. The woman inside, who is barely out of her teens, runs into me the moment I come into sight. She had been waiting, desperately pushing against the door, and now cannot stop thanking me and holding onto my chest, desperately squeezing every ounce of attention from me. I don’t know what else to do but I know that I cannot face doing this a dozen more times without finding Lucy, and I know that if I find her then the rest will not matter to me.
