Out For Blood 4

When he had gone Lucy tried the cell door, it rattled but did nothing more. She looked around to see what she could possibly do to escape should the opportunity arise. There was a room to her right close by the fireplace, the door was closed but she had never seen John, or what ever his real name is lock it.

After hearing his true accent she knew he was an American, and not even an Irish American at that. To her left close to ceiling height was a small window, the glass had been painted over and bars that were covering it were fastened to the stone wall above and below. Even so, it was too small for anyone bigger than a small child to squeeze through.

Below the window was a long shelf, on the shelf were some wire cages containing a white rat in each, and below the shelf stood a bench with all kinds of glass tubes and lab apparatus. One other wire cage sat on top of the bench and it contained two white Rats. At the end of the bench was a small white box that looked like a refrigerator, in the wall just beyond the bench was a square hole that had two steel doors at the top of half a dozen or so stairs, she knew this because she saw them whilst on the scales.

In front of her beyond the gurney on the far wall was his desk; it contained a short pile of papers, all stacked neatly, a green reading lamp and in the centre above his chair was the journal. On the wall behind her to her right and outside of the cell was the door leading upstairs to the house, this he always locked after leaving. Hanging from the ceiling was a high wattage single naked bulb.

Lucy really was tired, she had no idea what that man had injected into her but she felt alert before it had happened. She touched the back of her head where the needle had been inserted and found a small dry droplet of blood. There was no tenderness there however, unlike the throbbing sensation around her right eye, and the blackened little finger of her right hand. She curled up once again on the sheet that lay on the floor, and shortly after closing her eyes she drifted off to sleep.

Martins was stood in his living room with a large glass of Brandy in one hand and a Cuban cigar in the other. He was looking out at the darkened sky from his large bay window; a storm had begun to form on the horizon. He could hear the far off rumble of thunder rolling out its synonymous word of warning. He held up his glass and said,

‘Today is almost over, but tomorrow my friend, tomorrow will last for ever!’ then he swallowed the remainder of his glass and puffed on his cigar triumphantly.

For almost six hours he pottered about doing very little, after three or four more Brandys’ and two more cigars the time had come to check on the woman. He unlocked the door and descended the steps once more to find Lucy asleep on the sheet. He again took the chair from the kneehole of his desk and picking up his journal he sat down outside the cell. The storm now was directly overhead, and when the thunder sounded it was with astounding authority.

‘Okay,’ he shouted. ‘Time to wake up!’

Lucy slowly started to move and then sat up against the wall; she rubbed her eyes and ran the fingers of her right hand through her matted hair. She stopped in mid-stroke and looked at her broken finger, only now it wasn’t broken. She touched her right eye and it was no longer tender, the small cut below it had healed completely. Martins noticed what she was discovering and was writing it down.

‘Tell me Lucy, it is Lucy right?’ he said leaning forward on his chair. ‘How do you feel now?’

Lucy was looking at her hands, she used to have skin blemishes on them but they too had gone. ‘What did you give me, in that needle?’
Martins didn’t mind her question, he wasn’t going to answer it but he didn’t mind. ‘So how do you feel?’ he repeated.
‘Like… new, fresh, and wide awake! But thirsty too!’
‘We’ll sort out your thirst after I have weighed you.’ he said.

Then there was a crash of thunder and Martins raised his eyes up to the ceiling, when he looked back at Lucy she had curled into a tight ball and was also looking at the ceiling, her eyes darting from left to right. Again the thunder sounded and Lucy put her hands over her ears.
Martins made the motion of removing his own hands from his ears instructing Lucy to do the same.
‘Has the sound of thunder always frightened you?’ he asked.
‘No, it never has done before now!’ she said.

Martins wrote this down in case it had any bearing on his tests. He stood and unlocked the cell door so he could weigh Lucy again. When she heard the key turn in the lock she sprang from the floor and hit the door at speed. The door flew open and hit Martins in the face knocking him unconscious and to the ground. He had sustained a four-inch gash across the top of his forehead.

Lucy left the cell and ran up the few steps to the two steel doors but they were locked from the outside. Then she ran up the stone steps leading to the house above and when she got to the top she found another door and it too was locked. She ran back down into the basement and began searching Martins for the key.

She found a bunch of six keys, all different. As she stood she saw the shallow silver tray, she reached over and picked up one of the syringes, she turned Martins on his front and guessed at roughly the point where he had earlier injected her; she pushed down on the plunger saying the words, “Fuck you asshole!” as she did, then she took the second syringe and did the same.

Martins then began to stir; she ran back up the stairs leading to the house and frantically began trying the keys in the lock. The first one didn’t work, the second didn’t work, and then she dropped them. She picked them up and started trying the keys over again, and again the first two hadn’t worked, she then heard a moan coming from below. The third key didn’t work, the fourth turned in the lock. ‘Thank God!’ she thought.

‘Stop right there!’ shouted Martins from below.

Lucy had the door unlocked, she mustn’t hesitate now. She didn’t, she pushed open the door and then felt a sharp burning pain in her back and then another. She fell to the floor with her eyes looking down the steps into the basement. The man that had kept her captive was walking slowly up them, his face was covered with blood and he had a gun in his hand. Then she closed her eyes and the man was gone.

Martins closed the door and turned the key to lock it again; he put his fingers on Lucys’ neck but found no pulse. ‘Fucking stupid bitch!’ he said kicking her.

He dragged her down the steps by her feet and dumped her in the cell, he then felt a stinging at the base of his skull. He touched the area with two of his fingers and found a drop of blood, then again he kicked Lucy. Martins went over to the bench and noticed the empty shallow silver tray; he looked to the floor and saw the two used syringes lying there empty, then went over to his desk and sat to write the events in his journal.