Kiss the Hare's Foot Page 7

  “So what do you suggest we do now, then?” Silas was tentatively prepared to consider a plan, which, even in its infancy, looked slightly more promising than the prospect of attempting a crude escape from the derelict remains of this old building.

  “For a start, we need to try and keep this man of theirs alive - at least for several hours. We’ve got to at least hope he’s still with us in the morning. We’ll give them a really long list of things to get for him. There’ll be quite a lot to carry, so they’ll have to arrange for several of the gang to leave the building. That should give us enough time to make a break for it and hide in the marshes as far away from this old building as possible. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll wait until they move us out of here. With some surgical instruments, we will at least have some sort of weapons for self-defence.”

  Clive was also warming to the idea and nodded his agreement.

  “We’ll do it, then,” announced Silas with renewed determination. “They want a list of things to get; we’ll give them one. The nearest hospital is probably quite some distance away, so it should certainly keep them busy for a good while.”

  They decided upon making three lists. One to contain all the drugs and pharmaceutical requirements to be compiled by Clive, one for all the operating theatre apparatus and instruments which Silas would list and a third listing, allocated to Mel, for all the nursing equipment they felt would be needed, covering every possible eventuality. Clive retrieved the A4 sized writing pad and pen from the cardboard box, which had previously contained the extra clothing. Tearing out three sheets, he titled each appropriately and they joined forces to begin the laborious task of recalling from memory every item deemed necessary or at least helpful.

  The inventory was endless and became arduous in its completion, but it also helped to pass the time. With only the one pen, progress was pitifully slow and as forgotten items came to mind, their addition to each list made the catalogue disjointed and untidy. The lists also included such obvious items as oxygen cylinders, hot water, operating table and lights, essential requisites with which to carry out any invasive medical procedure. Everything listed, which now covered a full six pages, had to be printed in capital letters to avoid misinterpretation, since many of the items, particularly drugs with similar-sounding names were likely to cause confusion.

  Minor disagreements amongst the three were frequent, but at least it provided a purpose to the endless monotony of imprisonment and produced tentative cohesion to the group.

  At 11.15pm, the brainstorming session was exhausted. Cold, discomfort and overwhelming fatigue finally brought the day to a close. Resigned at last to the prospect of trying to manage a few hours sleep on their unwelcoming, makeshift beds, they each made the best arrangement possible with the two blankets provided. Mel took the mattress next to the steps. Her abhorrence of anything that might walk or crawl during the night determined her choice of position, for which neither of the two men objected, but nevertheless her awareness that large spiders or worse, rats, might inhabit the cellar meant she startled at every sound.

  Clive took the adjacent mattress to hers and Silas, the remaining position farthest away to her left. Cocooned inside her rolled blankets, Mel watched, slightly amused, as Silas methodically brushed his clothes with brisk sweeps of his hand before folding an elaborate arrangement of blanket to form his bed. Deep frown lines throughout the procedure showed his extreme displeasure.

  Mel was too cold to and tense sleep. Gripping the folds of her blanket tightly under her chin, she closed her eyes tightly, trying to blot out the discomfort. Consciously she pictured the bay-fronted semi-detached home in its leafy avenue that was her home. Her father’s modest Ford family saloon, always standing in the drive, the well-tended garden displaying a tasteful arrangement of evergreen shrubs and plants, enhanced now by brittle, gold and yellow leaves of autumn, shed from the nearby maple trees.

  Her spacious bedroom was typical of a young woman enjoying the freedom of a single life. Decorated in pastel pinks and lilacs they gave the room a soft hue. Unlike the remainder of the house, the room was not meticulously tidy. Books, magazines and items of clothing lay haphazardly on the bed. Assorted makeup articles were spread over the surface of the dressing table and a pair of her favourite black court shoes lay on the floor. The double wardrobe was packed with fashionable clothes and rows of more shoes lined the floor of the unit. ‘Barny’, her worn teddy-bear sat propped up on the top of a chest of drawers, a remnant of her childhood days and a happy face, beaming down from a photograph on the wall and wearing a mortarboard at a graduation ceremony, cherished the memory of success. A neat hi-fi system was positioned on a small table alongside the chest of drawers and quantities of CDs were neatly tiered in a gold metal stack. The choice of music was varied, mostly of topical popular groups, but included many light classical recordings and a couple of operettas. Inside the drawer of the bedside cabinet, the maroon covered passport and tickets lay ready for her planned holiday, now cruelly snatched away.

  Mum and Dad must be frantic by now, she thought grimly. They would probably have called the police by now. Was it possible that they could trace her to this Godforsaken place? She had to believe it; the alternative was too awful to contemplate.

  Pushing the thoughts of home from her mind, she tried instead to analyse the personalities of her two cellmates. Clive, with his slightly distant, tolerant air about him and cautious philosophy, appeared to be a reflector, she decided, preferring to chew over ideas thoroughly before coming to any conclusion. Silas, on the other hand, was a complex character whose unpredictability she found quite unnerving. His overpowering dominance and short temper could make him an uncontrollable force and whose influence might well jeopardise their already tentative existence in this dangerous predicament. She wondered whether they would ever manage to form a cohesive team, capable of successfully accomplishing an escape, or were they just kidding themselves? If the sick man upstairs should die in the night and their captors deserted the building, leaving the three of them locked away in this dungeon, then they would die anyway; there would be no need to shoot them. The chances of ever being found down there were zero.

  Mel lay listening to the symphony of night-time creaks and scuffles, wondering what nocturnal creatures might inhabit such a place. She felt slightly reassured by the sound of deep rhythmic breathing, sighs and weary exhalations by the two men but it was impossible to assess whether exhaustion had made it possible for them to sleep. She suspected, however, that Silas, like her, was unable to relax. She dozed intermittently, wanting the night to end, but yet fearing the new day.

  Eventually, sleep came, but the nightmare came too. Gasping and choking, Mel re-lived the black and claustrophobic confinement of the boot of the car. Suddenly she became aware of Clive shaking her shoulder, bringing her back to consciousness and saving her from the terror that haunted her brain. She sat bolt upright, shaking and gripping the blankets so tightly her fingers hurt. Thank goodness, the light was still on. She lay back, relieved to discover that she was not actually in the car, but mortally disappointed by the realisation that she really was still imprisoned in the rank dungeon. No, the nightmare had not gone away.

  “We’ll be okay,” Clive repeatedly tried to reassure his distressed colleague and gently stroked her shoulder.

  “It was the boot of the car,” Mel tried to explain her terror. “It was so black and airless. I thought I would suffocate.”

  “We’ll be okay,” he repeated. “We’ll get out of here tomorrow, you’ll see. There’s bound to be a police hunt for us. Either that or we’ll find a way to make a run for it.”

  Somehow his optimistic words lacked conviction and she wondered whether he really believed it either. Comforted, however, that she was not alone and lying back down on the mattress, she finally managed to gain a few hours of fitful sleep.

  Waking to the same gloomy arena was disorien
tating. Mel felt as though she and her surroundings were frozen in time. Had several hours passed, or was it only minutes? She sat up and strained to see Clive’s watch, but his left arm was hidden from view. Though she suspected he was no longer asleep, she refrained from disturbing him. The room was just as it had been several hours before. Cold stale air was rank and musty. Mel realised for the first time the strange effects of sensory deprivation, living without the natural changes of night and day that comes with the benefit of normal daylight.

  Silas was the first to brave the new day. He rose from his mattress and once again brushed down his suit trousers, which Mel noticed had been laid neatly folded at the head of his mattress, and proceeded to dress. Despite the squalor of his environment, he buttoned the top of his shirt, replaced his tie and straightened his apparel with a dignity and formality that would not be compromised by his circumstances.

  Mel decided to join him and relieve the stiffness in her body. Still in jeans and jumper, she wished more than anything for a hot shower and some coffee. Busying herself folding up the blankets to protect them from the filthy floor, she hoped never to have to endure another night in such wretched conditions.

  Stepping over to the table, Silas began perusing the handwritten lists that had been compiled the night before, adding a couple more items to an already extortionate inventory. The sheets now appeared more like a wish list than a requisition of items necessary to save the life of one criminal. He grunted and, replacing the sheets of paper on the table, went in search of the piece of wood he had used earlier to prod the walls. He used it this time to inflict several hefty blows on the thick wooden door, which was eventually acknowledged by the admission of Starchy and Hood. One at a time they were again escorted to the bathroom on the floor above and a box containing two flasks of coffee, a loaf of sliced bread, butter and pot of marmalade and three rather over-ripe bananas arrived. A plastic knife and plates accompanied the offerings.

  “Give us your list,” instructed Starchy, holding out his hand.

  Silas gathered up the sheets and passed them over. After glancing at the pages, Starchy took them away without comment.

  Clive appeared very subdued, eating his share of the refreshments bereft of conversation. He looked pale, his eyes dull and slightly bloodshot. The shade of the

  half-moon bruise on his cheek, now a prominent purple, gave testimony to the protest he had bravely ventured. Mel wondered how much her own appearance gave away the signs that she too had hardly slept.

  Silas continued to complain at every opportunity. Clive and Mel were too exhausted to listen, and since there was nothing that the two could do about anything anyway, tried to ignore his persistent bantering as best they could. The fact that there was no response to his criticisms seemed to go unnoticed and caused Mel to consider whether such agitation existed when he was working within an operating theatre. She hoped fervently that she would not have to find out.

  8

  The simple breakfast over, the subject again returned to that of escape. Silas suggested, with avid enthusiasm, that while most of the men and vehicles were deployed on their errands to obtain some of the medical equipment that had been listed, it was the obvious opportunity to break free.

  Inspired by his confidence, Mel searched out a short pointed stick from the filth and debris at the side of the cellar and drew in the dust on the floor a diagram of the layout of the house, as best she could remember it. The others joined in. Despite arguing a little over the various recollections of the labyrinth of passageways, which they had singularly encountered the previous day in almost complete darkness, spirits were at last raised by the positive plans forming in their heads. They just had to be proactive and push to the back of their minds the obvious danger they would be putting themselves in, but at last they were thinking and planning as a team. Seated again around the table, Silas inevitably took charge. Somehow, miraculously, his meticulous demeanour seemed to have suffered less than Clive’s. To Mel’s eyes, even in an outsized sweater, his upright posture and smooth black hair hardly displayed the effects of a bad night in the awful and filthy basement. As she observed the restoration of his self-esteem, she guessed that he must have found it even more abhorrent than she and Clive had.

  The first requirement was to get out of the cellar. It was agreed that they should insist on giving Charlie some basic nursing care in preparation for his operation. Somehow they would have to show that it was necessary for all three to participate in this. A bed bath and shave; change of bed linen; food and drink, would do for starters. Since there was no way of knowing when some of the captors would leave on their expedition, the tasks would need to take as long as possible. A lengthy examination of the patient’s injuries might also buy some time.

  “I suppose it would be preferable,” reflected Clive as he ground his fists absently in contemplation, “if we could get away later in the day, just as it begins to get dark. If we demonstrate that we are very concerned for the welfare of our patient, after a while they might relax a bit and lose concentration, especially if we repeat our examinations. We’d stand a better chance of getting right away in the evening, but I suppose we’ll have to take whatever opportunity we can.”

  “No doubt about it,” Silas exclaimed emphatically. “They want our cooperation, then that’s just what they’ll get. We’ll try and stick together at all times; don’t let them separate us and when the moment’s right, we’ll make a run for it. Once outside, we’ll make for the nearest cover and, if necessary, wait for dark before we get right away. At this time of year it’s dark by about five o’clock, so that should help us.” His eyes shone as he anticipated the success of a military-style operation and release from their prison to freedom. An air of confidence and determination had returned, at least temporarily replacing his anger and frustration.

  After no more than an hour, just such an opportunity arose to leave the abhorrent dungeon. In single file behind Hood they were escorted to the top of the stairs and lined up, like a row of school children waiting outside the headmaster’s office, to take turns to use the grossly inadequate bathroom. A tall, blonde man in his early thirties, with the physique and suppleness of a lifeguard together with the driver of the car Mel had travelled in, hovered close by. Mel observed how Silas could not resist pausing to stare with contempt into the eyes of the blonde man and looked as if to say something, but resisted the temptation and entered the bathroom with just the click of his tongue.

  When Mel’s turn came, she first inspected the reddened score around her neck in the cracked mirror, which now showed it to be less angry in appearance, but was nevertheless still sore. Her matted hair felt gritty and hung in tousles. Twenty-four hours since her abduction and the dirt clung to her skin, which the jug of cold water did nothing to dispel. Her longing for hot water was becoming an obsession.

  Ablutions completed, they were filed along the dark ground floor corridor towards the main entrance hall. Without an electric light, Hood’s hand-held torch swung as he ambled along, but its meagre light was mostly hidden from Mel’s view by the taller expanse of Clive’s form ahead. She had to concentrate to follow directly in his footsteps. Not wanting to touch the lace-like cobwebs that draped every appendage and hung heavily with thick dust, she restrained her instinct to put out a hand to touch the walls for support in the darkness. She heard Silas stumble behind and curse softly, followed by the short sharp sushing sounds as he brushed off the offending filth from his clothes.

  Silas had not mentioned again any plans to break out later in the day and Mel wondered as they stumbled along in the black labyrinth what thoughts were chasing round in his head now. Would he act impulsively and put them all at risk? She found herself passionately hoping that he would display patience and control his temper, which, since his capture she sensed was simmering so close to the surface as to erupt like a volcano at the slightest trigger.

  Escorted again to the
room in which Charlie was being kept, the mountainous man who called himself ‘Boss’ stood, feet splayed and hands clasped behind his back at the foot of Charlie’s bed, looking more like a nightclub bouncer than a carer. Acting like a magnet for their attention, the fire crackled in the fireplace providing warmth and life. Dancing flames licked around misshapes of wood and logs, which glowed red in the grate. Cheerful and energetic popping seemed out of place in this dark and depressing house of fear and secrecy.

  The night hours had not appeared to have significantly changed Charlie’s condition and it was with relief that they saw that he was still very much alive. His pale, sallow complexion still looked ghost-like and contrasted with the red rims of his sunken eyes. Conscious, he turned his head towards the medics as they trooped in. His position appeared to be more upright than when last seen, the previous afternoon.

  Mel noticed Clive glare solemnly at the ‘boss’ as he entered the room before going straight away to the far side of the bed. “Hello, Charlie. How do you feel today?” he asked professionally and automatically took his right wrist as he spoke, assessing his heart rate from the radial pulse as he looked to the man for an answer.

  “I’ll live.” The patient attempted a thin smile.

  Mel stayed on the fire side of the bed, taking advantage of its warmth and from a vantage point of being able to observe all the participants within the room. Silas halted abruptly as he entered the room and surveyed for the first time both his surroundings and the injured man with an expressionless face. It was impossible to tell from his stature what he was thinking and Mel’s anxiety mounted as she waited for his inevitable response to the reason for his abduction. He deliberately ignored the presence of the big man, and frowned slightly as he studied first Charlie and then Clive’s attention to him. He stood rooted to the spot, avoiding eye contact with Charlie or Clive, as though fearing that acknowledgement of the man and his condition would somehow compromise his professional status. He seemed unwilling to acquiesce to the doctor - patient role. Clive, however, was keen to appear co-operative and looked to Silas for his medical opinion. Stalemate.