10

Escorted in crocodile fashion back to Charlie’s room, the young lad who seemed to have assumed the role of carer for Charlie, had prepared a bowl of hot water, soap and towels and there appeared to be a pile of clean laundry and a pack of new pyjamas placed on a chair. He nodded faintly as they entered and withdrew from the bedside to allow the doctors to once more examine the patient.

Charlie’s pale skin appeared almost translucent by the stark strip light in the room and shadows danced across his face from the flickering fire as he lay recumbent with one pillow. Reddened rims surrounded dark sunken eyes and his respirations were fast and shallow, the effort sapping what little energy remained. His pulse, now weak and thready, was difficult to count accurately.

Silas stepped forward boldly and went through the motions of re-examining the injuries and palpating the abdomen of the dying man and passed a despairing look at Clive, who remained passively at the foot of the bed.

“Let’s give him a wash and try and get him to drink something,” Mel suggested, trying to promote a positive attitude to their predicament and keen to get her hands into the hot steaming liquid. “He’s becoming very dehydrated,” she added.

“He needs a drip,” snapped Silas.

“Well we haven’t got one, so we’ll have to do the best we can. We can at least give him a drink and a wash.” He noted her growing exasperation and withdrew slightly from the bed.

“I’d like to help,” the young man suddenly volunteered from behind, “If you tell me what to do?”

“Okay,” Mel answered gratefully. “Bring that chair over here and we’ll put the bowl on it. If you stand the other side of the bed, we can do this together.” Once again Mel ensured that she stood to the side of the bed nearest to the fire and prepared the towels and new pyjamas for Charlie’s wash while the water was still hot. Eagerly the young man obeyed her instructions.

Despite their intentions to try to stay together, the two bodyguards removed Silas and Clive from the room, leaving just the young lad and nurse together with their patient. Mel guessed that they were returned to the basement. Clive was a beaten man. He needed time to recover from his altercation with the boss and regain his composure. She prayed that Silas would use tact and encouragement with his cellmate, fearing that if he lost his temper yet again, it might ruin what slim chance they had of effecting an escape or release. She attempted to concentrate on the matter in hand.

Carefully, they removed Charlie’s sweat-soaked shirt and began washing his face and hands. The hot water was luxurious to the touch. Green soap, smelling sweetly of fern, stimulated her senses and she inhaled its fragrance appreciatively. Systematically they washed and dried each part of him. Clothing him in the pair of crisp new pyjamas, Charlie at last both looked and smelled refreshed. But the ordeal had exhausted him so that now he lay back against the pillow with his eyes closed.

“My name’s Danny,” the young man whispered confidentially across the bed, as they gently rolled Charlie onto his side in order to scroll up the old sheet and replace it with a clean one.

“Mine’s Mel. Charlie’s lucky to have you looking after him,” she encouraged.

“It’s my duty.” Danny’s eyes gave the flicker of a smile. The phrase sounded old fashioned, somehow; out of place amongst what was evidently a section of the criminal fraternity more accustomed to violence and personal greed. Throughout their ordeal, Danny had behaved as though disinterested in the threats made to their captives and yet had shown a sensitivity and respect for the sick man almost accepting of the desperate conditions in this squalid ruin. He seemed a complex character. Did she dare probe further? She felt she needed to test the commitment of the only member of the gang who might just sympathise with the plight of their prisoners.

“You take your duty very seriously,” she ventured.

He drew in a slow deep breath and as he looked down towards Charlie, the muscles of his jaws clenched, relaxed and clenched again. She had touched a raw nerve.

“He’s my dad,” he said eventually.

The gravity of his statement matched his solemn disconsolate expression and Mel saw the desperation in his eyes as he stared at the fatigued figure in the bed.

“I’m sorry,” she began awkwardly, “I didn’t know. In fact, I don’t know anything about him.”

“He’s the brains of the firm, does all the planning an’ that.” There was pride now in his voice as he disclosed the reason for his constant attentiveness. “He’ll make it; I know he will. He’ll never let us down.”

Mel didn’t share his optimism, but nodded agreeably. No wonder they were going to so much trouble. Would she dare to take this opportunity to probe further as to the nature of their business? “Do you rob banks, or something like that?” she ventured quietly.

Danny’s eyes hardened and she saw a look of distrust set in his face. She had gone too far. “I can’t tell you things like that,” he hissed. “In fact I shouldn’t have said as much as I have.”

“It’s nothing to do with me.” Immediately regretting her tactlessness, she tried to restore her credibility by adding, “as far as I’m aware, I am here just to help your dad get better. I’m no threat to you.”

Quickly she returned her focus upon Charlie who was now difficult to rouse from his semi-conscious state. An hour later, half a cup of water was as much as he could manage to drink, before closing his eyes again to sink into a deep sleep.

Mel thanked Danny for his help and decided to take advantage of his good nature to ask him if hot water for washing might be made available for the three of them. He looked embarrassed by her request and somewhat apprehensive, but cautiously promised to see what he could do. Together they tidied the room, reluctant to leave its warmth, but inevitably, with the arrival of one of the guards Mel was again taken back along the dark, filthy passageway and down to the cellar. She left Danny piling more logs onto the glowing fire.

Silas and Clive sat facing each other at the table. Silas was grim faced and Clive had resumed his habit of grinding one fist inside the other. They both looked up as Mel approached and she was instantly struck by the puffy disfigurement of Clive’s face as the shadows of the swaying light drifted back and forth over the contours of his cheeks. He looked a mess.

Joining them at the table, Silas complained, “You’ve been ages. Everything alright?”

“Fine,” she assured them and proceeded to relate the care they had given and her discovery of the relationship of Danny to their patient.

Silas fixed her with a quizzical expression that made her feel uncomfortable and looked as though he were about to say more, but instead said quietly, “Mel, when you and Clive get out of here, you have got to try and make a run for it. We’re not cooperating with these monsters. With only one guard with each of you, you’ve got to take a chance. Smash a fire alarm... anything,” he pleaded.

“They’ll be armed,” Mel protested. “I’m scared enough without trying to get a bullet in my back. And you’ll never get out of here. They’ll shoot you as soon as they know that one of us has tried to escape. We can’t take that risk. We hardly want your death on our conscience. What do you say, Clive?” she asked desperately, looking for support.

Clive, who seemed at last to have salvaged some of his composure, agreed. “Even if one of us did manage to get away, it’s true what they say. By the time we have convinced anyone who we are, I doubt the police will find this place very easily because we don’t really know anything about them. What good are a few first names? And we don’t even know if they’re real. You will be dead and they will be long gone away from here.”

For a few moments they silently analysed the facts. Clive was right, and in their hearts they all knew it, but clearly Silas was still frustrated both by the lack of positive opportunity to work on their escape and of being the one member of the group to remain in the cellar, dependent upon others for his safety. Making them steal their own equipment was a shrewd move. Their knowledge and recognition of the packs and drugs was more likely to bring success to the venture than by those who had no idea what they might be looking for, or even less, where to find it. Hospital operating theatre suites contained a reasonably standard lay-out of storerooms and facilities, ensuring that equipment and drugs were within reasonable distance of the theatres in which they served.

It was no surprise that Silas, the most volatile of the little team, was far more likely to be non-compliant and ruin their stratagem.

Nausea was returning in waves as Mel thought of the task ahead. What if they were caught? What if Charlie died before they returned? Clive’s face was bound to draw attention to him; what if he was caught? She could sit still no longer and paced the floor of the cellar trying to get her nerves under control and calm the rising panic. Finally she sat down on the foot of the mattress which had been her bed the previous night. She felt she was getting into the same mental state as Clive and as such, would inevitably bring disaster upon all three of them. She had to think more clearly. Closing her eyes she tried to consciously slow her breathing into a more controlled rhythm. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, although it felt as though they had been incarcerated in the dungeon for considerably longer. Still the nightmare continued unabated. They would be okay, she told herself over and over. She had to believe it.

Clive walked slowly over from the table and joined her. Companionably he sat cross-legged on the mattress beside her. Several minutes passed before he said quietly, “they seem to have thought of everything, don’t they?”

She nodded. “I just don’t think I can do it,” she confided.

“You will. We both have to. Better to go along with them for now. We’ll buy as much time as we can. Someone out there,” he gestured vaguely with a sweep of his hand, “must be looking for us. It can only be a matter of time, you’ll see.”

Why didn’t she feel reassured? How could anybody possibly work out where they were, much less rescue them without violent resistance resulting in a bloodbath? The man upstairs was obviously dying - what happens when he does? It was her turn now to wallow in misery.

“Who’s there for you? At home, I mean,” Clive gently attempted distraction, but it only compounded her despondency.

“Mum and Dad. They’ll be absolutely frantic by now.” She visualised the homely rotund figure of her mother, constantly watching from the window, repeatedly phoning all Mel’s friends from her address book and startled at every sound of the doorbell or telephone. Her father, a quiet and amiable man in his late fifties, with greying hair at the temples, would drift about the house aimlessly, unable to console his wife or offer any believable explanation for their only daughter’s absence. By now they will have contacted the police, she reasoned, but how seriously do they look into the disappearance of an adult who walked out of work? She wasn’t a child or last seen walking the streets at night. A rescue from here looked impossible.

“Bound to be a boyfriend somewhere, missing you?” Clive continued.

“Not any more. I dumped him a week ago. I don’t really know why I went out with him in the first place; he was awful. I should have been going on holiday today,” she said bitterly. “It can’t happen now.”

Mel’s resonance of self-pity was interrupted by the now familiar noise of the bolt sliding across on the door. Instinctively they rapidly rose to their feet and backed away from the steps as Starchy entered with a cardboard box containing their lunch. Placing it on the top step, he withdrew without speaking and the door again slammed shut.

“Well, I wonder what culinary delights they’ve brought us this time.” Silas attempted to lighten their gloom. “Who wants caviar, roast beef and a good bottle of red?” as he claimed the box and carried it over to the table.

The lukewarm pizza and tea did little to raise their spirits. At least they were getting food, although the rations were basic and unappetising. Mel imagined a car leaving the old house on repetitious errands to convenience food outlets and wondered what sort of distance it would need to travel in order to collect meals for all the occupants of this place. Perhaps, she reasoned, someone, a farmer or walker, might notice the constant and unfamiliar activity around the boarded up old building and get curious?

Time seemed to drag by interminably. They could only wait and listen for the inevitable sounds of approaching footsteps when next they descended the last few steps outside the heavy wooden door. Clive lay on his mattress and stared blankly towards the rough plastered ceiling. Silas, with stick in hand, wandered slowly around the irregular walls of the cellar, prodding again in the crevasses of the stone walling, intent on finding a previously overlooked exit to the room. Not for the first time he gave up, throwing the stick back amongst the debris from where he had found it with an accompanying expletive.

Despite the intensity of the past day, Mel still knew very little about her fellow cellmates.

“Silas,” she attracted his attention. “Is there anyone waiting for you at home? A wife, children?” She had not noticed a wedding ring, but was aware that many surgeons did not wear rings.

“Divorced,” he said smartly and without emotion. “Live alone. Just a daily housekeeper and a cat.” He declined to elaborate further.

Somehow she didn’t see Silas as a cat lover, but then even the most arrogant of people sometimes relate to animals, she surmised.

Without warning, heavy stomping outside the door, followed swiftly by the hard metallic clang of the bolt, sent her heart rate into orbit as Kurt and Mat entered the room accompanied again by the big bulldog-looking Hood.