Chapter One

The Ordeal of Juliet DeLore

“Come out of there, Juliet! Come out, you bitch. Or I swear to God I’ll kill you!”

Juliet leaned hard against the desk which she had shoved hard up against the storeroom door. There was a lock in the door, but no chance to look around in here for the key (if there was a key). The door began to judder and shake again as he put his weight against it from the other side. One of the files that she had thrown on to the desk to give it extra weight fell to the floor and split, scattering papers. She gritted her teeth and kept her weight against it. She’d been on a slimming diet recently and lost seven pounds. She wished to God that she’d put weight on instead.

“Juliet! I’m warning you! Open this door or I’ll…”

“Go to hell, you creep!”

“Juliet!”

This time when he threw himself against the door there was a muffled cry of pain.

“Good!” she yelled through the door. “I hope you’ve broken your shoulder, you mad bastard!”

“You…you…”

There was silence from the other side then. Juliet tried to control the involuntary noise she was making in her throat. It sounded like whimpering, and she knew that he would be able to hear it, and would take enjoyment from it. There was blood on her forehead, and she wiped away a smear when it trickled into her eye.

What was he going to do now? He was too quiet, and she didn’t like it.

Quickly, she looked around the storeroom again. It was about thirty feet square. There were filing cabinets of some kind along one of the cinder-block walls. On the other side, shelves containing cardboard boxes. No way of telling what was inside them, or whether there might be anything in there that could help her. At the far end of the room was a single window. The glass had shattered inwards and lay glittering on the floor. If she screamed again, would it help? Would anyone hear? That would have to wait; she could hardly find the energy to breathe at the moment. She needed something else to place against the door. The desk was heavy, but would it stop him from getting in if she took her own weight away from it?

The nearest filing cabinet was about four feet away. If she left the table and hurried, she might be able to drag it over and shove it against the door. He’d never get in then. But what the hell was he doing even as she thought about it?

“Trevor?” she asked at last, when she could find the breath.

There was no answer.

“Trevor?”

Still no answer.

She began to tremble then, and grew angry with herself. This was no time to be coming on with the weak female act. If she was going to get out of this alive, she had to think quickly. What if she just ran to the window and climbed out? It couldn’t be that much of a drop to the ground. She tried to work out where the storeroom was in relation to the supermarket entrance. She had come in through the main doors, had walked to the back before she’d found an assistant, and then when she’d asked for Trevor Blake, she’d been directed to the stairs leading up to a kind of semi-second floor, with the manager’s office and the storeroom. That should only be about twenty or thirty feet from the ground if she dropped from this window. Yes, that was the way. Someone must see or hear her, and it was worth the risk of dropping that far just to get out of this place and away from this madman. She looked back at the door. Ten seconds to get to the window, another ten to climb out. It couldn’t be any longer than that, could it? Maybe she’d be lucky.

Lucky? Pardon me if I say “Ha, ha”.

Still trying to summon up the courage to move, Juliet thought back to how the nightmare had all begun.

 

Juliet DeLore was twenty-four years old with long blond hair and a face that could have belonged to a model. But she believed her considerable good looks to be a curse, rather than of any benefit. On four separate occasions, she had fallen for the wrong man; each of them only interested in her as an “acquisition”, required just to hang on their arms and look good at parties. She had been hurt badly each time; had sworn on each occasion that she’d never fall for the wrong man again. After her fourth relationship had fallen apart, she’d come to the conclusion that all the clichés were right. She had finally decided that all men were interested in her only for one thing. But somehow she’d still managed to fall for Trevor Blake. Just how she had come to be attached to him she had no real idea. He’d reacted so well when she had turned down his first advances at the nightclub. She’d been there as usual with a bunch of friends. He’d been there with two friends of his own. On that first meeting, he’d shown that he was interested but hadn’t been pushy which, for Juliet, was always a good sign. Every Friday night he was there; still persevering, but not coming on too strong. Could it be that she’d finally found someone she could trust, who wanted to know her and not just get his leg over?

 

The storeroom window seemed to be shrinking; seemed to be getting further away. Juliet quietly rose to a kneeling position, still with both hands braced at the desk-edge. She winced when one knee popped, convinced that he must have heard it.

Come on, Juliet. Count to three and make a dash for it before he…

Suddenly the glass panel at the top of the door shattered inwards, spraying her with glass. Juliet screamed, but kept both hands braced against the desk, turning her face away as glass shards fell around her. When she looked up, she could see what he’d done. He’d found a crowbar or something, and was using it to break the window. Now he was yelling obscenities at her, and when she looked up she could see that he must be standing on something to have got up so high. Did he think that he could squeeze through the window? An arm snaked through the aperture, clawing at the woodwork. Screaming again, Juliet jumped up on to the desk and grabbed his arm, yanking it down hard on the ragged glass still in the frame. When he screamed in pain as the glass cut into his flesh, so did she, and she kept on screaming as she gripped his arm good and hard, pulling down with all her weight. He twisted then, and the crowbar lashed through the window, hitting her on the cheekbone. Instinctively, she grabbed for it. Hanging on to the crowbar and his arm, Juliet fell from the desk. Beyond, he yelled in pain again as the crowbar was torn from his grasp and Juliet fell heavily to the floor. Raging, Trevor pulled his arm from the jagged glass and fell from his perch with a thump. Juliet scrabbled back to the desk, sobbing with fear and effort, throwing herself back against it to keep the door closed, suddenly realising that she had the crowbar tightly clenched in one hand. Unintentionally, he’d given her a weapon.

“I’ve…I’ve…got it now, you bastard. The crowbar.”

“You filthy, stinking bitch! Do you know what you’ve done to my arm?”

“That’s nothing to what I will do if you stick your head back in here again.”

There was a strangled sound of pure frustration from beyond the door, and then silence. Juliet struggled to keep calm, to control her breathing. The terror threatened to overwhelm her. It seemed as if there was some kind of animal on the other side of the door, not the man she’d met in the nightclub; the man with whom she thought she’d finally found happiness.

“Mr. Right…” she said aloud, and fought to keep the tears back.

 

Trevor was thirty years old, medium height, with the same colour blond hair as her own, leading to jokes about the possibilities of having been made for each other. There was a scar on his right temple, which she’d laughingly called a “neat designer” scar. He said he’d got it playing rugby. He was single. When she told him that she had been working for a travel agency these past two years, he told her that he did business abroad a lot; maybe she could fix him up with some air travel?

They’d gone out for a meal, and he still hadn’t come on strong. But she’d been charmed by his style and by his wit. The next time they’d met, they’d slept together. It had been after another meeting at the nightclub, and they’d left early. Afterwards, they’d gone back to Juliet’s place, since Trevor shared a flat with a friend who had other friends staying over.

At last, she seemed to have found Mr. Right.

But Mr. Right didn’t telephone the following week, and wasn’t at the nightclub on the following Friday. And was Juliet just imagining this, or did Trevor’s friends seem to be leering at her over the tops of their glasses?

 

“You can’t stay in there for ever,” said Trevor at last. His voice was cold and measured. It was so close that he might even be here in the storeroom with her. It turned her blood to ice water.

“The police will be here any second,” countered Juliet. “And the fire services. When they get here, I’m going to tell them what you did. Do you hear me, Trevor? I’ll tell them.”

“You bitch!”

“So the safest thing you can do is run. As far away from here as you can.”

“No one’s coming, Juliet.”

In answer, she banged the crowbar on the floor.

“I swear to Christ, you so much as poke your head round that door, and I’m going to smash it.”

Trevor laughed then. It was an unhealthy, dark sound.

There was silence again, and Juliet remembered the knock on the door the previous Saturday morning. There had been a woman standing there, with a two-year-old boy. It was Trevor’s wife and son. Before the woman had a chance to explain, Juliet had promised that she’d never see him again. Trevor, it transpired, was manager of Greenhaugh’s Supermarket in Edmonville; this wasn’t the first time it had happened.

Juliet strained to listen, but there were no further sounds from the door. When she looked up at the shattered window, there was no movement there either. She weighed the crowbar in her hand and looked across to the window. If she was going to do it, now was the time. She rose again, backing off from the desk bit by bit, keeping one hand on the edge and her eyes fastened on the broken window. When a piece of broken glass crunched underfoot, she winced and halted, raising the crowbar high and waiting. There was still no sound, no sign of movement. Carefully sidestepping the glass on the floor as much as possible, Juliet headed for the window again, not taking her eyes from the door, ready to dash back. The journey seemed to take hours. At the halfway point, she paused.

Now or never.

Even if the drop was higher than she thought, it was still worth the risk compared to staying here with him. Quickly now, she lunged to the window and began to climb out.

But what she saw out there made her reel back into the storeroom, gasping for breath.

Because the world beyond the window had simply ceased to exist.

The shattered window looked out across a vast space. Climbing out there would be like climbing out of a cable car’s window. Vertigo made her head spin as she clutched at the sill, now dropping to her knees and with the after-image of the great, yawning gulf still imprinted on her retinas. Unable to comprehend, Juliet rose again slowly, gingerly approaching the window and carefully looking out once more.

The world tilted again, and she moaned when she realised that she wasn’t seeing things. Directly across from her, perhaps three or four hundred feet away, was a ragged cliff-edge. There were broken trees there, some of them hanging over the edge by their roots. And there were ruined houses too; some of them right on the edge itself, sliced in half and with the upstairs and downstairs rooms plainly visible, like some kind of sectioned drawing. Beneath, a massive and striated cliff-face of rock and clay, dropping away into utter darkness. The sight defied logic, but no matter how hard Juliet stared it would not go away, would not suddenly begin to make sense. On her immediate left, the supermarket wall curved away into grey space. On her right, the same; except that perhaps a hundred feet away she could see the beginnings of another cliff-edge on her side and piles of rubble from a collapsed wall. It seemed as if the supermarket was also perched right on the edge of another cliff and that a canyon really had opened up directly beneath her.

“The tremor…”

 

Juliet hadn’t expected anyone else to be in the manager’s office when she mounted the small flight of stairs. When she’d seen the sign, “Trevor Blake”, she’d just rammed the door open hard and stepped inside. Trevor was sitting on the far side of a desk, wearing a white manager’s jacket with the supermarket logo emblazoned on the top pocket. Opposite him was a small man in a business suit. Spectacles were balanced on the edge of his nose, hair parted sparsely over a balding pate. On his lap was an open briefcase full of papers. He turned to goggle as Juliet strode into the room, slamming the door behind her. But she didn’t even notice him. Her eyes were fixed on Trevor. She was disappointed that he didn’t look more surprised. His face was blank, and somehow more bloodless than she’d remembered. His lips were set in a tight line. Those lips had kissed her face in the darkness not two weeks ago.

“Hello, lover boy,” she said simply.

The man in the business suit goggled again, as if the remark had been addressed to him.

“Juliet,” said Trevor. His blank voice matched his blank face.

“Seems to me one of us has been telling fibs. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Perhaps you could wait downstairs,” said Trevor. “Until we’ve finished here.”

Now Juliet’s anger was starting to flare. This wasn’t going the way she’d anticipated. Trevor was staring at the man now, ignoring her, when he was supposed to be jumping up from his seat in shock and trying to usher her out of the place. At which stage she could really let fly, and make the scene that she wanted the whole supermarket to witness. But no. Trevor was remaining blank, not responding.

“You bastard.” Juliet turned to the little man. “Did you know that the manager of this supermarket was a bastard?”

“Listen,” stuttered the man, hastily closing the briefcase. “Miss, I’m not sure what’s happening here, but we’re in the middle of a very important meeting…”

“I’m sure it can wait for a few minutes while Mr. Blake hears what I have to say.”

“This isn’t the time, Juliet,” said Trevor.

“Oh, but I think it is.”

Trevor placed both hands on the table in front of him and began to rise, slowly. As he did, he seemed to be trembling. But to Juliet’s ever-mounting anger, he was still not looking at her, or responding to her the way she expected and wanted. He was still staring at the man. And now she could see the blank face cracking; could see the ferocious anger inside him as it came to the surface. But the anger was not directed at her. Trevor was still staring at the man.

“This is the man,” shouted Juliet, stabbing a finger at Trevor, “who…”

And then the desk began to judder and vibrate.

The large window behind Trevor, which overlooked the supermarket aisles below, began to rattle. Overhead, the strip light began to sway from side to side. There was a rumbling now, like the sound of an underground train. Somewhere beyond, there was a crash of glass—and screaming. Over Trevor’s shoulder, down below in the supermarket aisles, Juliet could see shoppers running. She saw a trolley spill over, saw an old lady go headlong into a pile of tins, scattering them everywhere. A man seemed to shoulder-charge one of the shelving units, toppling it over.

“Oh my God…” began the small man in the business suit, leaping to his feet, the briefcase clattering to the floor.

And then the window behind Trevor cracked and fell out, down into the supermarket below, great shards disintegrating as they fell. Juliet cried out, staggered back and lost her footing on a floor that now seemed to have lost its solidity as the sounds of an express train exploded into the office.

But Trevor remained where he was, not reacting to any of the sounds of destruction, as if it had nothing to do with him. Hands flat on the vibrating desk, his eyes remained fixed on the little man as he rolled into a ball on the floor and then gave a loud yelping sound as the filing cabinet in the corner toppled over, missing him by inches, scattering its drawers on the floor.

Juliet heard tearing from above, like ripping cloth. When she looked up, to her amazement she could see that the ceiling was being pulled apart. A widening crack had appeared from one end of the room to the other, letting in daylight and emitting a spray of plaster dust and insulation material like yellow cotton wool. Juliet cried out, heading backwards on elbows and heels until she bumped against a far wall. A slab of the roof fell inwards, the four square feet of material slamming down hard on to the desk, demolishing it and sweeping Trevor from sight in an impacting dust cloud.

The sounds of crashing and broken glass were suddenly stilled. The rumbling beneath Juliet subsided to a low groan, and then all was quiet in the office. There was no sound from the supermarket beyond. No wailing or crying, no pleas for help. Juliet screwed her eyes shut, hoping when she opened them again that she’d see that none of this had happened. She was wrong. Her shoulder hurt and her black jeans were covered in white dust finer than flour. She pushed herself to her knees, choking, wondering whether the ground was solid again.

Trevor appeared from the far side of the desk, now edging dazedly around the chunk of roof that had fallen on it. His hair had also been whitened by the fine dust. Flinging himself away from the falling debris, he had almost brained himself on the wall behind. Without once looking at Juliet, as if she weren’t even kneeling on the floor right in his sightline, he came around to the front of the desk, just as the little man—his black suit suddenly turned white—grabbed at the fallen filing cabinet and struggled to rise.

“All right…” said the man, strands of hair once so carefully parted over his head now white and awry. “Is everyone all right…?” He looked up groggily as Trevor came to meet him. “Miss?” continued the man, rubbing the dust out of his eyes and looking for her. “Are you…?”

“All right,” coughed Juliet. “I’m all right. What happened?”

And then she saw Trevor stoop down to the floor and pick up a ragged chunk of concrete from the littered carpet. She wondered what he was going to do. Wondered why he was raising it to head height so methodically. And she would have screamed at what happened next, but she was still too shocked to let the sound out—as Trevor took two quick steps forward and slammed the concrete slab full into the little man’s face. There was a wet crunch as the man’s spectacles were impacted into his face, his nose instantly flattened and crushed. He dropped soundlessly to his knees. At first there was no blood. Just a creased and flattened and terribly skewed expression on his face. Then the redness began to spurt around his eyes, his crushed nose and from his mouth until his face was a crimson mask. His hands rose, juddering, towards the mutilated face.

Expression still blank, Trevor brought the concrete down hard on the man’s head. It sounded like a side of meat dropped from a ten-storey building. The man went down instantly, and soundlessly. With that blow, Trevor had let go of the concrete. It thumped to a rest on the man’s neck, pinning his head to the floor. A dark pool began to spread on the dust-covered surface around him.

Juliet thought she could scream now, but still nothing would come. Horror overwhelmed her. Trevor was looking down at what he’d done, nodding his head again and again in satisfaction. Wiping the back of a trembling hand across his mouth, he seemed to notice her at last.

“You see?” he said. “You see, Juliet? Fate again. Looking after me.”

“What…?” Juliet had found her voice, but she choked on her own vomit; moaned and hugged herself; trying to make sense of what she had seen—if she had really seen it at all.

“Know what that bastard was going to do?” continued Trevor. “He was from Central Office. Been sent down to check out discrepancies in the accounts. Found out that I’d been creaming off some of the readies over the last year and a half. Thought it was five thousand. The stupid bastard. More like ten. That’s how much he knew. Now the little fucker is dead. Killed when the roof fell in. I told him to get out of the way, didn’t I? You heard me, didn’t you, Juliet? But no, he was frozen there like a rabbit when the accident happened. Killed him outright.” Trevor began to laugh then. It made Juliet’s nausea worse. “So now we’re okay, honey. Just me and you. We can take what I’ve put away and just go. Somewhere abroad, eh? That sound good to you?”

Juliet clawed her way to her feet and fled.

But Trevor lunged across the room and caught her arm just as she yanked open the office door. On the landing outside was the staircase leading down to the supermarket, and one other door facing her. She had wanted to head down the stairs, but Trevor was hanging on to her arm, now stumbling to block her path. He yelled when she raked her nails across his face, pulling back to punch her hard. The blow flung Juliet back against the other door, which flew open as she tumbled into the storeroom. Trevor lunged for her again, missed his footing and fell on the landing. Quickly, she slammed the door shut and dragged the desk in front of it. Now, it seemed, she was trapped; and no matter how much she yelled, no one came to her assistance.

 

The screeching of the desk being pushed inwards jerked Juliet away from the window and her view of the chasm below. Fear overwhelmed her bewilderment as she lurched back across the storeroom. The door had opened a crack as Trevor continued to shoulder it. Now his arm was through, fingers groping at the wall as he tried to squeeze in. Juliet hit the desk hard, trapping his arm. Trevor yelled in rage and pain.

“You mad bitch!”

“Mad?” Juliet’s voice rose to a scream. “Me, mad?”

Lunging forward again, Juliet brought the crowbar down hard on his arm. Trevor screamed, but the sound of his voice was cut off when the second blow broke two of his fingers. Dragging his arm out, he fell back to the littered floor, hugging his hand, as Juliet rammed the door shut again.

Trevor sat with his back to the door, breathing hard. There were two parallel scratches across his cheek where Juliet had gouged her nails. His fingers felt as if they were on fire. How long did he have before the police got here? He looked down the stairs into the supermarket. Cartons and cans littered the floor, but his view was restricted. He shook his head and tried to clear vision that had somehow become blurred. Now he could see clearly again, and think clearly. He’d had another of his “turns”, just when he thought he was getting better. Normally, when the mists came, it was his wife and child who received the punishment. But when the little bastard in the black suit had arrived and it was apparent that he’d been rumbled about the money, the mists had come quickly flooding again. Trevor had found a way of shutting him up, but it couldn’t possibly end there. He’d have to draw the money he’d put into his secret account, and just clear out. Maybe leave the country altogether.

How long had it been since the “accident” had happened? He looked at his watch, but the dial was shattered, only one bent hand remaining. It couldn’t have been that long. He had no idea what had hit the supermarket, but surely it was some kind of sign that fate was on his side. If someone came now, to help, what would he do? What would he say? He was thinking logically now. He had to do something about Juliet, and straight away. She had seen him kill the little bastard.

But first, he had to check what had happened in the supermarket; find out where everyone had gone. Trying not to make any noise, he slipped away from the door and descended, step after careful step on the littered stairway.

The supermarket was a mess. Tins, cartons and shelving all over the place. And the ceiling was a gigantic mass of cracks. But he could see no one. Something bad had happened—and everyone had fled. Casting glances back to the staircase and the door above, Trevor edged around an aisle to get a look right down to the main entrance. All the glass had shattered there, and sheets of jagged shards lay heaped on the tiled floor and around the revolving door. Could he see a pair of legs sticking out from under that overturned sales display? He took a tentative step forward, but his change in position made him catch sight of something that brought him up short. He stood, staring.

He knew that the bread section was on the other side of the aisle unit before him, but after that there should be a further seven aisles: fresh meat, poultry and other cold meats.

But all of that had gone. Beyond the aisle marked “Bread”, there was only daylight—of a sort. From the entrance area on his left, right across the supermarket to the rear of the building, everything seemed to have disappeared. Above, the ceiling now ended in a crumbling ridge of cracked brickwork, ragged plaster and twisted iron supports. It was as if something had come along and shorn the building in two. Trevor edged around the aisle, back to the shelving, to get a better look. Now there was what seemed to be a blank, grey emptiness around the corner of the aisle. Trevor shook his head. Were the mists coming behind his eyes again? He kept moving. And then he saw something that gave perspective to the great empty space. There was something out there, after all. Perhaps five or six hundred feet away. A cliff-edge. Moving carefully forward, Trevor could see that the cliff-face dropped away to an impossible depth, vanishing into darkness. Recoiling, he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, of what had happened. Now he could see a gap between the shelving units before him, and the ragged cliff-edge on which the remains of the supermarket itself were precariously balanced.

At last, he understood.

There had been an earthquake. Impossible in this country, it seemed. But there was no arguing with the facts. And the earth tremor had resulted in this gigantic pit opening up. A pit over which the supermarket had been standing. Half of the entire building had crumbled away and fallen into the abyss. The remaining half stood right on the edge of the chasm. Realising how close he was to the edge, Trevor eased himself back around the shelving unit and then hurried to the foot of the stairs again. How long could it be before rescue came, and how much time did he have to deal with Juliet?

Then Trevor saw the barbecue section, and knew what he should do.

There was barbecue fuel there.

“Burn her out,” he said aloud. “That’s what I’ll do.”

He headed forward.

Too easy, a voice seemed to say behind him.

Trevor whirled, staring back towards the edge of the chasm. There was no movement. No sign of anyone.

“What?”

Too easy, said the voice in his head. And now it seemed that the mists were coming back behind his eyes again. But that couldn’t be. They only ever came when he was angry; maybe when that stupid bitch Theresa was getting on his nerves, or one of his many girlfriends started to get stroppy, like Juliet. Trevor rubbed his eyes. He’d never heard voices before.

That’s because you haven’t been listening properly, came the voice again, from beyond the cliff-edge.

“Where are you? Who are you?”

I’m the real you, Trevor. The one you’ve been struggling to hear for so long. Now, something important’s happened. Something that will set you free.

“I’m going mad, aren’t I? I’m hearing voices, and I’m going mad.”

There was a sound in his head now. Something that sounded like laughter, but was like no human laughter he had ever heard. It was the sound of a mocking wind; the sound of a crowd whispering. But somewhere in that sound he could also hear something that was very like his own voice. The sound was swept away like leaves on an autumn wind.

Mad? What’s mad, Trevor? Mad is just a way of dealing with problems. Perhaps you’re the only sane one left. Ever thought of that?

“Who are you?”

I’m you. You’re me.

“Show yourself.”

I…we…can’t. Not yet. Not until the darkness comes. But we can speak to you, Trevor. Because you’re special. What you’ve done today proves how special you are. And I…we…want to help you.

“Help me…?”

Yes, Trevor. Everything’s changed now. Nothing you’ve ever known, or experienced, will be the same again. You’ve nothing to fear.

The mists were swirling behind his eyes again, but this time they were not impeding his vision. He did not have to shake his head to clear it. Suddenly, it seemed as if he were seeing everything through different eyes with a different focus. Everything in his life had been skewed before, with bursts of occasional clarity when he went after what he desired. But now it appeared that he would see everything with that clarity, for ever. The truth in the words of his invisible friend…or friends…was undeniable.

“I’ve got to do something about Juliet…”

Yes, she must be dealt with first. She’s an ungrateful bitch, Trevor. Just like the others. And she deserves to be punished.

“I’ll burn her out…”

No! You must listen to what we say. She deserves worse than that. You must make her torment last longer. She’s betrayed you, Trevor. Let you down, like the others. Her pain should reflect that betrayal.

“But I’ve got to do it quickly, before someone comes. The police, or the fire service. I’ve got to finish her off before they come…”

Listen, Trevor. Listen to me…to us…carefully. No one will come. Listen, and know the truth of these words. There will be no one to interfere. You have as much time as you need. All the time in the world.

It seemed that the last statement by the voice had caused it great amusement. Again there was the sound of laughter which was so unlike anything Trevor had ever heard, but which seemed to touch something inside him deep down. Somehow, the truth of the voice’s words was again undeniable.

“So what shall I do? How can I make her pay?”

Burning is too fast. Too easy. She needs to be taught a lesson.

“Then how?”

Keep her locked in there. Starve her. Torment her.

“And no one will come?”

No one. I…we…promise. It’s what she deserves, Trevor. Make her suffer. You’ve got plenty food here for yourself.

“Yes, she should suffer. It’s her own fault.”

Good…good…

 

Juliet seemed to hear a mumbling voice somewhere beyond the door. Could it be that help was on the way at last? Hope rising, she yelled at the top of her voice:

“In here! I’m in here!”

There was a sound then; of someone hurrying up the stairs, feet crunching on the debris that littered the stairway. Juliet began to rise. Thank God. Trevor must have decided to run for it after she’d hit him with the crowbar. He wasn’t crouched on the other side of the door waiting, as she’d thought.

“In here!”

Something banged against the door, making her flinch. She was just rising, to push the desk away, when Trevor’s voice came through the door to chill her blood.

“I know you’re in there, darling.”

“Trevor, you fucking bastard!”

“You shouldn’t talk to me like that, Juliet. I’m going to make you pay for that. Going to make you pay for everything you’ve done.”

Juliet sank hopelessly to her knees again, keeping her eye on the shattered window at the top of the door. There was another sound now, like tins clattering.

“What are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” replied Trevor. “Why don’t you come out and join me?”

“You can’t stay there for ever, Trevor. Someone will come soon. They have to. If I were you, I’d put as much distance between yourself and this place as you can.”

“Well, now…” Trevor sighed. Back against the door, he slithered down to his haunches. He’d dumped a pile of cans beside him. Casually, he reached for one. Juliet heard the can being opened, and wondered with trepidation just what Trevor had planned. “Let’s examine what you’ve just said. First of all, you’re not me. Secondly, no one’s coming—and I’ve got that on good authority. And as to staying here for ever…well, I’ve got all the time in the world. More time than you, my darling.”

“You’re mad, Trevor. Stark, staring mad.”

“Sticks and stones, Juliet. Sticks and stones. Why don’t you come out?”

“I can stay here for a damn long time.”

Trevor laughed, his mouth full of cold meat. “Think so?”

“What the hell are you doing back there?”

“Are you hungry yet, Juliet?”

Juliet yelled in anger, slamming the crowbar against the door.

“We’ll see,” laughed Trevor. “We’ll see…”

He laughed again, and stuffed another spoonful of food into his mouth.