Captives

NINETY

The needle slid easily into his vein and Scott looked down at it, welcoming the morphine as it was pumped into his system.

Anything to stop the pain.

Dexter swabbed the puncture and fixed a small plaster over it.

'You should be all right for the rest of the night now,' he assured Scott. 'One of the orderlies will be around if the pain gets too bad, but I've told them not to disturb you until the morning.'

Scott sucked in a deep breath.

Dexter reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen-light which he shone first into Scott's left eye then his right, watching the pupils react accordingly. He nodded to himself.

'You should be fine until the morning,' he said. He turned to leave, pausing at the door to take one final look at Scott. He walked out, leaving the patient alone.

Take it easy now. Take your time.

He glanced at the wall clock.

8.36 P.M.

The pain in his head was just a dull ache now, thanks to the morphine. He wondered how long it would stay like that.

Forget the pain.

He closed his eyes.

Silence.

Scott awoke in a stillness broken only by the spattering of rain against the windows. Through the gloom he could see the clock.

11.06 P.M.

He blinked hard, feeling a slight pain in the roof of his skull. He turned his head slowly from side to side; the pain was never very far away. Yellow light spilled beneath the door from the room beyond. He could hear no sounds of movement from the other side of the door.

Scott slowed his breathing and then, with infinite slowness, raised his head from the pillow.

The dull ache remained but did not develop suddenly into the searing pain he had come to know so well. For that, at least, he was grateful. He propped himself up on one elbow and rose a few more inches, swinging his feet out of bed, touching the cold floor with his toes.

He sat upright.

No pain.

Steadying himself, he prepared to stand, aware of the weakness in his legs.

He stood up.

A wave of dizziness hit him; for a moment he thought he was going to collapse. The room spun madly around. He shot out a hand to steady himself, almost knocking over the jug of water on the bedside table. It teetered precariously for a second but remained upright. He leant against the bed, closing his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. He stood up more slowly this time, pressing each of his feet in turn hard onto the floor.

All right, hot-shot. Now let's see you walk.

He took a faltering step, afraid that the dizziness would return, or worse than that, the pain.

Neither happened.

He walked with relative ease towards the door, turned and walked back again. He repeated his movements, still aware of the silence beyond the closed door.

He had to know if there was anyone there.

From what Porter had told him, he knew he had to get into the adjacent room.

Porter.

Scott hoped he'd managed to fulfil his part of the plan. Not that it would matter if he had or not, if Scott couldn't get into the next room.

He reached down for the door-knob; his hand rested on it.

If the orderly was there he would want to know why Scott was out of bed.

If he wasn't, he couldn't be far away.

If…

Scott glanced down at the door-knob again.

He swallowed hard.

Still silence from the other side.

He hesitated, looking across at the bedside table. To the jug of water.

Scott turned and headed back, sitting on the edge of the bed. He waited a moment then pushed the metal jug. It landed with a loud clang on the floor.

No one came running to see what was happening.

The door didn't open.

Scott got to his feet and crossed to the door, this time turning the knob immediately. He peered out into the room beyond. It was empty but for a small desk and some cupboards round the walls.

On the corner of the desk was a steaming mug of tea.

Scott realised that the orderly who'd left it would be back to claim it.

He had to move fast.

The laundry chute was directly opposite him, a hole in the wall about three feet square.

Scott closed the door behind him and made for the chute, clambering in feet first, feeling the cold metal against his back when the surgical gown opened. He supported his weight against the frame of the chute, aware of the dull ache in his skull.

Please don't let it be a long drop.

He let go of the frame.

His weight carried him faster than he would have liked; in seconds, he found himself coming to the bottom of the chute. He went hurtling off the metal lip and sprawled on a pile of dirty sheets, rolling over once.

He grunted in pain as he hit the bottom and flopped over onto his back, the pain in his head intensifying for a moment.

It was almost pitch black in the laundry room, the only light coming from a furnace that stood in the centre. It was used to burn any linen too soiled to be used again. The small chamber was lit by a hellish red glow from the furnace's mouth.

Scott got to his feet, touching his head tentatively, aware of the stench around him.

The sheets he was lying on were smeared with excrement. Scott grunted and dragged himself upright, wiping the reeking mess from his hands with a clean portion of the sheet. Still, they had served their purpose to break his fall. As he looked around he could hear the low rumble of the furnace. The stone floor beneath his feet was warm.

Scott squinted in the gloom and finally found what he sought.

The laundry cart was there, just as Porter had promised.

Scott crossed quickly to it, rummaging through the dirty linen inside.

He found the prison overall.

Moving swiftly he pulled off the surgical gown and tossed it aside. Climbing into the overalls, he held on to the side of the cart momentarily as he felt a particularly violent stab of pain inside his head.

Not now.

It passed. He continued searching through the cart, ignoring the stench that rose from its contents.

His hand closed over the torch and he pulled it free. Ficking it on, he tested the beam in the gloom of the furnace room.

At the bottom of the cart he found the knife.

It was fully ten inches long; Porter must have taken it from the kitchen. Scott ran his thumb gently along the edge of the blade, feeling its razor sharpness. Satisfied, he slid it into his belt.

The door of the furnace room opened out onto one of the prison's two courtyards. As Scott peered into the night he could see search-lights moving slowly back and forth over the open, cobbled area.

A little to his left was the drain cover, two feet square and rusted. He knew he must remove it.

He stood there for moments, trying to estimate how long he had between the light passing. It was no more than ten seconds.

The beam swept by and Scott hurried across to the cover. He dug his fingers inside and pulled.

It wouldn't shift.

The light was turning, sweeping back towards him.

He pulled at the lid again.

Jesus, it was heavy.

Five seconds before the light returned.

He pulled.

Pain filled his head as he grunted with the effort.

Four seconds.

It moved a fraction.

Three.

Scott dropped the lid again and scurried back inside the furnace room as the light swept by.

He watched it disappear in a wide arc then tried the lid for the second time.

It moved a fraction more, the rusty metal scraping against the stone.

Come on. Come on.

The light was beginning its movement back towards him.

Scott lifted, his muscles screaming with the effort, the pain in his head intensifying.

Nine seconds away.

The drain lid was coming away.

Eight.

He lifted it free with a final triumphant grunt and shone the torch down into the black maw below.

Seven.

The powerful beam picked out a rusted metal ladder. Far below, the light reflected on the surface of a stream of filthy water.

Six.

Scott swung himself into the outlet, climbing down the first few steps. Gripping the metal grille in one hand, he hauled it back into place behind him.

Five.

Jesus, the pain.

Four.

The grille dropped into place above him.

Three.

He clambered down the next few rungs as the light swept over. Scott hugged the ladder, his breath coming in gasps. He shone the torch below surprised how far down the shaft went. The old sewers must be a good seventy or eighty feet below ground. Scott swallowed hard, then began to descend.