Sally Chen was at home alone in her bed, basking in the wonderful time between waking and sleep. Stretching her limbs like a cat after a long nap, her foot touched something solid, followed by sharp, slicing pain.
She woke up.
The arc light was still shining down on her; a constant moon on her darkest day. The walls of the pit were clear now, with little glints of light betraying the presence of the razor blades. Her hands fell to her sides and touched the dark, dank soil with its stench of fish and damp and mould.
She was still in the pit, sitting on the earthen floor.
She checked her arms and legs. The blood had stopped flowing from most of the cuts, congealing into long, horizontal stripes with a dark crust forming over the top.
As she looked at the wounds, the pain increased. A sharp, screeching pain, coming from a thousand places on her arms and legs and neck. She hugged her body to protect herself from it, but the pain became stronger. Some of her wounds were open again now, the blood oozing out.
How long had she slept? How long had she been there?
Ignoring the pain, she stood up, banging into a snake-like object hanging from the light-filled blackness. She remembered climbing, the rope swinging, the sharp, slicing kiss of the wall.
Where was he? He seemed to be a wraith, silent as a ghost.
She listened for his breathing, drawing on some long-lost sense to become aware of his presence in the blackness outside of the pit.
Nothing.
Why had he taken her? What had she done to deserve this? She was only a dancer, trying to make a living. What had he said? All her life was a lie. But didn’t everybody create little untruths to make life more bearable. Was it so wrong? She had told those thugs where Gordon was hiding, but what else could she have done? Their threats had been obvious; either she told them or she wouldn’t have been dancing for a long while. She couldn’t dance with a broken leg.
A wave of self-pity flowed over her, drowning her in its warm embrace.
Stop it.
Stop it.
You’ve fought all your life to get what you want. You’re not going to let another bastard grind you down. There had been so many of those, there would be no more. She would have to climb again but smarter this time, more carefully, avoiding the wall as much as she could.
She examined her camisole. Already it was frayed and ragged where the blades had sliced through it to get to her skin. She pulled it over her head and stood in her underwear. Taking a handful of earth, she rubbed it into her arms and legs. The pain seared through her head, but she had to protect herself from the kiss of the razor blades.
The rope hung down at her side. If she climbed carefully without letting it swing, she could make it to the top.
She would make it to the top.
She lifted her right leg and wrapped it around the rope, pulling herself up with her arms. Already, she was closer to the top. The edge of the pit wasn’t so black any more and she could see a little brown sliver of the room above.
The rope began to swing towards the wall. She put her hand out to stop it and felt a razor blade slice into her palm. A bright-red gash opened and the blood dripped on to the damp earth.
The voice of reason kicked in. ‘Don’t move, don’t protect yourself. Let the rope swing until it stops and move again.’
She let the rope come to a stop, before reaching up with both hands, gripping it tightly and, at the same time, kicking her leg free. She felt a searing pain as the rope bit into her gashed palm.
Ignore the pain.
The rope swung towards the wall. She gripped it more tightly, watching as the dark walls came closer and closer. She moved her shoulder to stop it touching the side, but her head fell back and her face kissed the blades. The sharp edge bit into her cheek, followed by a slice of pain.
My face, not my face.
Instinctively, she pulled away and the rope began to swing more violently.
Don’t move. Don’t panic.
Blood began to flow on to her neck and underwear. She braced her arms for the impact with the wall again. When it came, it wasn’t as sharp as she expected, just a light kiss. But the pain was immense, flooding her head, drowning her mind.
Must keep going. Don’t give in.
She reached up again. A couple more feet and she should be at the top. The rope swung and she could feel the blades bite into her right arm through the fabric of her torn camisole.
Can’t stop now. Got to keep going.
She pulled herself up once more. The rope was swinging wildly now, the blades slicing into her arms and legs. She could feel the blood flowing down her body and dripping on to the floor.
One more pull. She gritted her teeth, excised the pain from her mind and pulled herself up.
Her head was above the edge now. The pit was in the centre of a whitewashed room, with puddles of water reflecting light on the ceiling.
The rope was swinging less now as she neared the top. It was attached to a hook and crossbeam, two feet above her head. She reached up, one hand fastening on the metal of the crossbeam, then the other. The rope hung by her side. Now she was dangling over the centre of the pit. She swivelled her head and saw the edge. If only she could inch her way over there; it wasn’t far.
She peered through her legs to the pit below. The glint of the razor blades shone from the wall.
She swung her legs, jackknifing from the hip. Her right foot caught the lip of the pit, her toes gripped the edge and fell away again, dangling in mid-air.
Come on, you can do it. Just one more try.
She steadied herself and thrust her legs forward, kicking with all the strength she had left. Her toes caught the edge and stayed there. She pulled up with her arms and pushed off the crossbeam, standing upright on the edge of the pit.
I’ve made it, she thought. I’ve finally made it.
The soft edge of the pit gave way beneath her feet and she was falling backwards.
A hand reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Well done, Sally, you did much better than I thought.’
She stared into the face of the thing that had grabbed her. There was nothing but darkness. In the black mass of the head, she saw a pair of eyes looking straight at her.
Dark eyes with no soul.
An arm pulled her towards the dark body. She caught the glint of a blade, reflecting the light of the spotlight. A whisper: ‘I did say I would set you free if you made it.’
In slow motion, the blade swept round in a wide arc, stopping just below her left eye, the blade pressing into her skin.
‘You can go,’ the voice whispered, without the lips moving.
It was a mask. He was wearing a black mask. Her body was pushed towards the door, her feet stumbling through pools of stagnant water.
‘One last thing, Sally. I want you to tell Danilov something important. Tell him, “Let the game begin.” Remember to tell Danilov, only him. “Let the game begin.”’
She stumbled out of the door, up some wet and greasy steps and out into the daylight.
It was a bright day, a bright new day. She had to get away from the man and his eyes.
An open door. She stumbled through it, her bare feet bloody on the uneven brick path.
Get away, get away, run, just run.
She ran down the road, screaming loudly, not caring where she went.