Jimmy’s bones ache from hunching inside the narrow cupboard since dawn. The noises ended over an hour ago, but he’s been too scared to leave his hiding place, terrified of being found. His legs tremble when he takes his first tentative steps outside, careful not to make a sound. Jimmy’s nerves steady as he absorbs the silence. All he can hear is the wind rattling shutters and whistling through chimneys. When his panic finally subsides, he walks down the corridor, searching for his friend.
An open doorway leads him to Naomi Vine’s studio. The place looks like a bombsite, with tools scattered among shards of broken glass. Plaster figurines lie broken at his feet. He touches a metal sculpture of a woman’s face, but deep scratches have been grooved through its eyes. Jimmy sets an upturned stool back on its legs, the rest of the damage too great to fix. He’s still staring at the ruins when a guttural sound comes from the other side of the room.
A chair stands at the centre of the huge inglenook fireplace, surrounded by firewood, a reek of paraffin hitting his airways as he draws closer. Naomi sits with her head bowed, arms chained to the seat, her ankles fettered. His gait falters when he remembers the burning man, but he forces himself closer. Naomi’s bright green top is stained with blood that oozes from her temple in a steady trickle, one of her eyes puffed shut by bruising, but at least she’s alive. He peels away the black tape from her mouth, allowing her words to spill out in a dry whisper.
‘Thank God. Help me, please.’
He tries to free her, but panic makes his hands clumsy, the chains refusing to budge. He manages to drag the chair from the fireplace and the woman’s voice is steadier when she speaks again, even though her eyes are glossy with fear.
‘Fetch help, quick, before he comes back. He’ll kill me next time.’
Jimmy flounders back down the corridor, where Vine’s phone lies smashed on the floor. He rushes to the nearest exit with panic rising in his chest, but the door handle refuses to give. He hurries along the corridor, hunting for another escape route. Every window is sealed and all the doors locked. Jimmy stands in the corridor, frozen in panic until an idea comes to him. He hurls a chair at the nearest window, then clambers through the opening. Shards of glass tear the palms of his hands but he barely notices the pain as he escapes down the path.