Hot Revenge Box Set 2

*****

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.

just on the

me. “I think you should be the one to

I work my way through Yales, skeleton keys, what could be filing

That’s the one…

insert, turn, then turn again as the internal levers clunk. Then

the door swings smoothly

thought I was ready

saw the ransom video. I saw the security feed in Finchby’s

thought I was

I’m not.

rot and filth left unattended; the stink of drains and raw sewers

All unmeaning, I recoil.

Don’t be a fool…

without so much as a blanket or a towel. Her manacled ankle is swollen red, the flesh puffed and shiny where the metal cuff bites. Her beautiful hair is dark

which she’s pushed towards the drain where it seeps green-brown. I’m fighting the urge

swollen, Charlotte’s foetid hospital robe is pulled up around her waist as she screams through

Klempner. Her eyes widen, then, her voice rising in pitch. “They left me here. Left me alone.

You see to her.” He casts an eye above the door to where a camera sits dead and black, then semi-turns away, standing in the doorway, looking

shoulders, tugging out blankets and towels. I drop to my knees beside her, cradling her in my arms. “Oh, God, Babe, I'm

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

you'd come.” Then her eyes

nod is brief, as he looks at her ‘without looking’

creases up again, gasping and clutching at her stomach. Reflexively 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 you up later. Let’s get you warmed up for now.” I pull the disgusting thing away, tossing

around her shoulders, tightening it around herself. Then I wrap a space blanket around that;

of this.

to heat the soup enough to warm, but

What has she eaten?

Anything?

a beer, but as food for a pregnant woman at term? And to one side, the collection of bottles we saw her filling from the

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

or less covered

indecent one

Not her…

through the half-open door, looks back, taking her in properly this time. His face is a carefully schooled blank. “Jenny,

Nodding vigorously. “I'll try.”

tries to step, then cries out, collapsing

her down again. “Shh… It's alright. It's alright. We're

they doing this? Why do

They took you as bait. They demanded ransom, but it’s him

pass beyond

roll eyes up to the camera, still blacked-out… “James had to do something else. We’ve come to get you

belly. She tries to suppress the groan, then breaks into a hacking

over. “Hold her upright, would you.

her from my arms, supporting her against himself. Charlotte’s expression is non-committal as I unpack the bubble-wrap from my pack then, choosing a dry area, well off the reeking drain,

Relatively…

Next…

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

time in