Years becoming slow, like a train approaching a station.
And then . . . oh God . . . and then . . . he was tiny. He couldn’t move. His head was filled with a steady thumping noise that was somehow comforting. And everything was black. But not just black. It was red too. Blood red. And it was becoming bright, too bright. And something was pushing him out, out into a blinding vastness that frightened him. And he slid from the womb easily, even though there was no one else to help, only the trembling exhausted hands of his mother. He could hear her sobs, her cries of agony, and the rough sheets he lay on were covered in blood. And he lay between his mother’s thighs, and there was something else emerging, something that made his mother scream, something he could not see with his eyes, for he had no vision, but something he knew was with him, was part of him. And soon it was lying beside him, its limbs moving feebly as were his own. And he was pushing at it, not knowing why, a baby only just formed that was repulsed by something that had entered the world with him. And everything was black, black, BLACK!
As Kelso crouched there in the darkness of the pit, his body racked by his own sobs, his mind tortured by his own memories, the smell became intense, suffocating. A cloying sickness that covered him like black oil.
And something touched him. A hand scaly and brittle – and cold – closed around his and held it tightly.
14
Ellie was surprised to see, through the cabin windows, that the cruiser had turned off from the river and was heading into the marshes. She felt sure that the boat would become bogged down in reeds and mud, but soon realized that whoever was steering knew a way through. The roof and upper storey of the old mill rose up from the heavy morning mist, its lower portion vignetting into a swirling grey. Even at that distance, she could see the building was in a dilapidated state: the red brickwork was stained and badly patched and the tiled roofing had collapsed inwards at several points.
Was that where they were taking her? To Slauden’s mill? Was it there that they were holding Kelso? She looked across at the thug sitting on the opposite bench seat in the motor cruiser’s compact cabin and caught him coolly appraising her body. He grinned when their eyes met, and deliberately scanned her figure again, his gaze slow and lingering.
Ellie turned sideways on the cushioned bench and drew her legs up, hugging her knees to her chin, grateful that she was wearing jeans. The night had been a long one, full of fears, full of anxiety over the safety of Kelso. They refused to tell her what they had done with him, only taunting her with the threat that she would receive the same treatment if she didn’t answer their questions. A tall, grey-suited man had conducted the interrogation and Ellie assumed he was Sir Anthony Slauden’s personal secretary, Julian Henson. She had seen nothing at all of Slauden himself.
Ellie had fought wildly when they had grabbed her at the caravan site, but a painful bruise on her right cheek and a tenderness around her ribcage had been the only reward for her resistance. Although they had thrown a blanket over her head, she felt it reasonable to assume from the length of the following car journey and by the view from the room they had locked her in later, that they had taken her to Eshley Hall. Henson’s questioning had been soft at first, implying rather than stating that he knew both she and Kelso were involved in drug pushing and that their source was Andy Trewick; he wanted to know who else was involved and where the stolen drugs were distributed. She had feigned ignorance and gradually his tolerance towards her began to wear.
Her boyfriend had already admitted stealing the drugs with Trewick, she was told, and to save Kelly’s skin she had better add a few details of her own. Ellie had managed an astonished laugh, but it wasn’t convincing. The two thugs – not Suffolk folk these two, more like Whitechapel – were all for slapping her around a little, but Henson would not hear of it. Sir Anthony would be displeased. God bless Sir Anthony. The interrogation had continued, but Ellie had refused to be worn down: she didn’t know what they were talking about, and knew nothing about drugs. Who the hell was Trewick, anyway?
Eventually they had left her alone for a short time, giving her a chance to explore the small, bare room that was her prison. Naturally the door was locked and there would have been no point in climbing out of the tiny window, even if she could have opened it, for she was at the top of the manor house in what must have been the servants’ quarters at one time. Either that, or an attic. The sky was slowly dawning grey outside and she could see the wide river below, dark and brooding. Even as she watched, a mist swirled in from the direction of the sea and covered the river’s surface in a smothering shroud.
The sound of the door being unlocked had made her turn and Henson marched in, swinging the door wide so that it rebounded off its hinges. It gave her some satisfaction to see he looked as weary as she felt, but that little ray of pleasure swiftly dissipated when he snapped at her: ‘We know you’re both working for the police, so you may as well tell us everything!’
For a moment – just for the briefest second – she almost fell for the bluff; then quickly dismissed the doubt. Firstly, she wasn’t with the police, and secondly, if they really thought she and Kelso were, then why all the questions about drug pushing?
When Ellie informed Henson that he was mad, she thought he would hit her, despite Sir Anthony’s displeasure. Instead, she was dragged down the stairs and through the grounds of the estate into the boathouse. The trip up and across the broad river had been short; now she could see they were travelling along a narrow waterway leading through the marsh, long reeds brushing against the motor cruiser’s windows as the boat passed. A small jetty came into view.
Henson swung down into the cabin and his expression was grim.
‘Perhaps some time with your boyfriend will convince you to tell the truth,’ he said.
‘What have you done with him?’ There was a heavy weight in Ellie’s stomach.
‘You’ll find out soon enough. Bring her up!’
The man opposite Ellie stood and jerked her to her feet. There was no point in resisting as he shoved her towards the hatch. It was cold on deck, but good to be in the open once more. A hand roughly pushed her onto the jetty and she almost slipped on the damp boards.
Henson led the way and Ellie followed, the other two men walking on either side and slightly behind. One held her just above the elbow to prevent her from making a break.
‘It really is a pity, Miss Shepherd,’ Henson said over his shoulder. ‘You could both save yourselves so much inconvenience. I promise you, you won’t like where you will be kept over the weekend. Fortunately, the mill staff – those who are not employed in our other activities, that is – will not be back until Monday. By then, I think, you will have had enough.’
‘What the hell’s happening here? We’ve done nothing wrong.’ Ellie reached forward and pulled at his shoulder. ‘Look, I don’t know what this is all about and what you’re all up to. What’s more, I don’t care. Just let us both go and I give you my word we’ll say nothing.’
Henson shrugged his shoulder free. ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ he told her.
Ellie shuddered when they entered the courtyard of the mill, for its very bleakness seemed to reflect the dread she felt inside. At the far end a building straddled the yard, an archway cut through its ground floor giving access for lorries to the main road outside. Barn-like structures loomed over the courtyard on either side, their walls covered in moss, only a patch of faded red brickwork occasionally showing through. Metal drums, red, green and black, were scattered untidily around the edges of the open space and sodden loading platforms, the type used with fork-lift trucks, were stacked at various points. The yard’s tarmac was cracked and puddle-filled, only tufts of grass and weeds breaking through to relieve the overall drabness.
Ellie cringed back when she saw the black opening they were heading for and the hand holding her arm forced her onwards. ‘Don’t keep your lover boy waitin, darlin; I should think he needs a bit of comfortin by now.’ The other man snigge
red at his companion’s humour.
The shadows of the vast building’s interior seemed to spring down and absorb her into its dispiriting gloom. The floor was covered in a fine powdery dust, the product of the mill itself, and the smell of molasses and starch pervaded the air. Sections of the walls, obviously white-washed at some time in the distant past, were streaked black and growths of fungi could be seen where the crumbling brickwork had not been covered. Sacks of feedstuff were piled high and odd pieces of machinery skulked in the darkness as if waiting for prey.
They led her through a maze of openings and package-lined lanes, the building itself a complex of vast storage rooms and processing areas, until they reached a door. Henson unlocked it and pushed her through; she found herself in a square chamber, a metal staircase rising at one end and disappearing into the upper floors.
‘No, not up there,’ Henson said, noticing her looking up at the stairs. ‘The stairs lead to the grain bins; you’re going somewhere else, Miss Shepherd, a place that will make you feel as though you’ve been entombed in a crypt. I think you’ll have plenty to say to us once you’ve spent some time down there – particularly when you see the state of Kelly.’ There was no emotion in his voice when he added, ‘I hope he’s still alive – you’d find it difficult to keep the creatures down there away from dead meat.’
He walked over to a crate standing in the middle of the concrete floor. One of the other men pushed past Ellie and helped him move the crate to one side. She saw it had been covering a trapdoor.
Henson reached down for the inset handle and pulled upwards, leaving a gaping black hole in the concrete. ‘Down you go,’ he told Ellie.
‘You’re kidding! I’m not going down there!’
Henson sighed. ‘We’re not giving you a choice, Miss Shepherd – unless you want to tell us certain things.’
‘Can’t you get it into your thick skulls – I’ve got nothing to tell you!’
He jerked his head and Ellie was shoved towards the hole. ‘You can climb down or be thrown down. That’s your only choice now.’
She sat nervously on the edge of the opening, placing one foot on a rung below. A not-too-gentle tap of a shoe against her spine encouraged her further. Before her head and shoulders disappeared from view, she gave Henson one last pleading look and for a moment, from the look in his eyes, she thought he might change his mind. Instead, he closed the trapdoor and she had to duck down quickly before it struck her.
‘Bastard,’ she said.
She clung to the ladder, too scared to move, waiting for her vision to adjust. But even after a full minute there was still only total darkness.
A scuttling to her right made her stiffen, and a high-pitched squealing made her panic.
She banged her fist against the trapdoor. ‘Let me out, you bastards! For God’s sake, let me out!’
A grating noise from above told her that the crate had been moved back into position. She thought she heard footsteps walking away.
Ellie stayed on the ladder for a long time before she cautiously moved a foot down towards the floor. More shifting sounds made her freeze.
When she ventured a foot down again, she was surprised how soon it touched floor level. She stood at the bottom of the ladder, slightly crouched, still trying to pierce the blackness around her, nerving herself against the small scrambling sounds that she heard. Ellie reached into her coat pocket and her fingers closed around something she had bought only the previous day. Although she had been searched when captured, only her shoulder-bag and its contents had been taken away. She tore open the small box and flicked on the lighter. Her thumb found the control dial and the flame rose higher; the light was still poor, but gave her some comfort.
Something moved and she just caught sight of a small bristling body scurrying into the shadows. Two others followed and she had to resist the urge to scream. Keeping her arm outstretched, Ellie moved the light from left to right, trying to distinguish shapes in the darkness. The flame singed a spider’s wed and she quickly withdrew her arm.
Pipes and concrete columns cluttered the confined space and a horizontal square-shaped shaft appeared from the shadows to sink into what must have been an outside wall. Ellie guessed its purpose, for Henson had said the stairs above led to the grain bins; the shaft would house the conveyor-belt which carried the emptied grain outside to be poured onto waiting transport. Ellie moved forward, hoping the lighter fuel would last for some time, when something lying against the wall behind the ladder caught her eye. She hadn’t noticed it before because she had been too busy trying to penetrate the far depths of the underground chamber; but now it gained her attention.
It looked like a bundle of rags or sacking at first; as she moved the light closer she realized it was something more.
‘Jim?’ Her voice was almost a whisper. ‘Jim? It’s me, Ellie.’ Her voice became louder, concern outweighing fear. They had said they were taking her to him, and they had implied he would be in a bad way.
Still crouching, Ellie made her way towards the still form, but she hesitated when she was only a few feet away, suddenly even more afraid than before. She could not understand why, but something made her loath to touch the body lying there – if, indeed, it were a body. The scuttling sounds had stopped and there was no more squealing. Ellie felt a thousand tiny eyes were watching her in the darkness.
She tried to speak, to say his name, but her throat was too dry.
The form, which had been so still, moved and Ellie found herself backing away. She held herself in check, aware that the very atmosphere of the cellar was heightening her fear, goading her into hysteria.
‘. . . Jim? . . .’ she finally managed to say, and the figure moved again as though a shiver had run through it.
Ellie almost dropped the lighter when something scrabbled across her foot. The rat quickly disappeared.
She drew in a deep breath before forcing herself to go back towards the huddled shape. Her footsteps were slow as if she were deliberately delaying the moment when she would reach the wall. But soon there was nothing else to do but reach down and touch.
She held the light forward, spoke his name once more, and allowed her trembling fingers to grasp the bundle lying there.
The figure began to turn.
Then she was in his arms, holding him, softly calling his name, the flame from the lighter extinguished. And Kelso was holding her, scarcely believing what was happening, sure that he would never have seen Ellie again. His clutching fingers were weak, his thoughts jumbled and uncomprehending, but he could feel that she was real, could feel her tears that wet his own face.
‘Oh, Jim, what have they done to you?’ Ellie cried, for she had seen his battered face before the light had gone. And worse than the physical punishment that was evident was the terror in his eyes.
‘Ellie?’ His voice was thick, his words slurred. ‘Is it really you?’
She held on to him, squeezing him tight as if to make him feel she really was there. ‘What did they do, Jim? What did they do to you?’
Kelso felt her lips against his skin and his mind slowly began to clear, the physical contact bringing his scattered thoughts back to reality. ‘Injection.’ He ran his tongue over his lips, trying to wet them so he could speak. ‘They injected . . . me . . . with . . . LSD.’
She pulled away, but could not see his face in the darkness. ‘Oh those bastards!’ she said, pulling him close once more.
‘It’s all right, Ellie.’ He shook her gently. ‘I’m . . . I’m okay. Now.’
It was several minutes before either could speak again, Kelso because his mental faculties had not yet fully returned, Ellie because she was too overcome with emotion. It had been a long night.
Eventually, Ellie loosened her embrace and lightly ran her fingers over Kelso’s face. ‘How much did they pump into you, Jim?’
She felt him shake his head in the darkness and when he spoke, his voice sounded distant. ‘I don’t know . . . I can’t seem to . . . I can?
??t remember, Ellie. Everything’s hazy.’
‘It must have been quite a dose if they intended you to freak-out. I’m just surprised that you’re conscious.’
His hand gripped her arm tightly. ‘Something . . . something happened.’
‘I’ll bet it did.’
‘N-no . . . something happened here . . .’ His body stiffened and he seemed to be listening. Slithering noises made Ellie shift her position so that her back was against the wall.
‘It’s only rats, Jim,’ she reassured him, the thought of the bristling creatures lurking in the darkness sending a shudder through her body.
‘No . . . it’s not the rats. Something . . . something else.’ He lapsed into silence and the girl pulled his head down onto her shoulder.
‘Don’t try to talk for a while,’ she told him. ‘Just let your senses find their own way back. Give it a little time.’
His breathing, at first shallow, and harsh, began to slow. He murmured something incomprehensible, then she realized he had fallen into a deep sleep. Ellie let him rest, knowing the mental ordeal he had been through would have left his mind in a shattered state. Despite her own fears, exhaustion took its toll and she, too, fell into a troubled slumber.
The hand that brushed her cheek awoke her with a start.
‘Ellie, is it really you?’ It was Kelso’s voice and it was his hand.
‘Jim, how long have we been asleep?’
‘Asleep?’ He sounded more alert now.
‘Are you feeling okay?’
‘I’m . . . my head’s still a bit fuzzy. Christ, Ellie, what’s happened?’
‘They drugged you. Put you down into this hell-hole.’
‘Yeah, I remember that. But how did you get here?’
She quickly told him the events of the previous night and, as she talked, Ellie sensed his mind was quickly clearing, bringing him back to reality. She was surprised at just how fast he was recovering. When she had finished, he said: ‘What a bloody mess. I should have listened to you and called in help.’