Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Chapter 8

*****

 

Michael

Back on the rear stairwell, we descend one level…

Another landing, again with a corridor to both sides, flanked by the ‘cells’ we saw on the security feed.

“Next one down,” murmurs Klempner. “This should be it.”

We pass under a single camera at the top of the next staircase, but it remains reassuringly off, its indicator light dark. Still, it’s unsettling to have the empty black eye follow us as we descend into the dank scent of basements everywhere.

At the bottom, the same single corridor, running right and left, doors off either side. Underfoot, slab floors are slippery with damp.

There’s no sound other than our own footsteps and, as I realise after a moment, my own heartbeat pulsing behind my ears. Down here, even the bass thump of the music doesn’t carry.

It’s cold. Not the iced night of outdoors, but a moist chill that creeps into lungs and turns breath to grey mist.

Klempner draws a fingertip through droplets hanging onto the brickwork, making a shining trail that trickles from the base, trailing fingers of water to the ground. “Looks like we're down to the river level.”

“Below it, I’d say. It's canalised here.” I try to get bearings in my head. “Could be it's just on the other side of that wall.”

And this is where they’ve kept her…

Klempner thumbs left along the corridor. “You try the doors that way. I’ll try these.”

He turns right, trying one door after another. None are locked and as doors open then close, the sound creaks, clanks then echoes away.

At the first room I try, rusted hinges complain as I turn the handle, then push. Resisting me all the way, the door opens. I already know she’s not here. This door’s not been opened since god-knows-when. Inside, all I find are stacks and files of papers; many mildewed, all yellowed, curling in the damp; battered ledgers, and ancient floppy discs, aged well past any possibility of there being a drive able to read them.

Finchby’s old business records?

The legal stuff presumably. He’s not going to keep hard copies of the kind of dealings he has…

… is he?

I pick up a ledger at random, checking the title. Winsbury Mill Inc. Purchase Ledger Y/E Dec ‘83

Not even cleaned the place out from the previous owners…

I enter the second room more easily. The door hinges are corroded, squeaking a protest as I enter. It’s a paint store: shelves stacked with tins and cans, brushes, bottles of cleaner and solvent, stepladders leaning against the wall. The walls run with damp and many of the tins are rusty or leaking.

As I back out, Klempner’s with me again. “She’s not down that way.”

“Only one door left, then.”

It’s solid. Nothing like the previous rotting remnants of a bygone time, this is new: bolts drawn at top and bottom, constructed in steel, set heavy into the wall, and with a high-grade security lock.

I run fingers over hinges and locks. “They weren’t taking any chances with her getting out.”

Klempner scratches at his scalp. “That may be my fault. I did mention to Baxter one time that Jenny had a talent for escape when she was younger.”

What do I say to that?

I have no idea.

So, I say nothing.

and I try the handle, just on the off chance. Of course,

offered out to me. “I think you should be the one to go in first. That

through Yales, skeleton keys, what could be filing cabinet or

That’s the one…

as the internal levers clunk. Then I try

sound, the door

I was ready for

ransom video. I saw the

I

I’m not.

unattended; the stink of drains and raw sewers and that sickly-sweet smell of rotten blood

All unmeaning, I recoil.

Don’t be a fool…

towel. Her manacled ankle is swollen red, the flesh puffed and shiny where the metal cuff bites. Her beautiful hair is dark with Christ-knows-what, hanging in rank

which she’s pushed towards the

eyes swollen, Charlotte’s foetid hospital robe is pulled up around her

eyes widen, then, her voice rising in pitch.

eye above the door to where a camera sits dead and black, then semi-turns away, standing in the doorway,

my shoulders, tugging out blankets and towels. I drop to my knees beside her, cradling her in my arms.

pressing my lips to hers. “Let’s get you off the ground and into something warm before

her eyes flick

is brief, as he looks at

I support her at the shoulders, holding her as close as I can while the contraction passes, then tugging at the putrid robe, “Let’s get this off you for a start. We’ll clean

around herself. Then I wrap a space blanket around that; the silvery surface reflecting oddly

drink some of this. It’ll help warm

heat the soup enough to warm, but not to boiling,

What has she eaten?

Anything?

her on the floor, a scatter of empty packets: peanuts, jerky, chips… Bar crap that’s fine as a snack with a beer, but as food for a pregnant woman at term? And to one side, the collection of bottles we saw her filling

security camera indicator remains a dull black. “We need to get out of here. And fast. It’s only

less covered now, ‘decent’

indecent

Not her…

and Klempner, gun in hand, watching through the half-open door, looks back, taking her in properly this time.

Nodding vigorously. “I'll try.”

each armpit. She tries to step, then cries out, collapsing on herself. “I can't. I'm sorry. I’m

down again. “Shh… It's alright. It's alright. We're here now. It'll be

do they

they’re after. They took you as

pass beyond Klempner and

“Shhh… I’ll tell you everything later…” I roll eyes up to the camera,

tries to suppress the groan, then breaks into a hacking

“Hold her upright, would you. Support her

unpack the bubble-wrap from my pack then, choosing a dry area, well off the reeking drain, unroll

Relatively…

Next…

away from the wall, as far as you can. Pull that chain tight against the

for the first time in her

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