Leah Giarratano - Vodka doesn't freeze

Instead, she thought about the killer. Sebastian must have been behind all of the deaths. He'd admitted to killing his own mentor, the man with whom he had abducted and raped Jill twenty years ago. Another sensation of inner synchronicity settled over Jill with the sudden realisation that both of these men were now dead. She sighed deeply, and kept moving.

Sebastian had also killed Mercy, or had at least had her killed. Maybe he knew that Mercy had witnessed him murdering Wayne Crabbe, maybe he didn't. He knew that she was threatening his organisation, and he could never allow that to happen, even if that meant cannibalising his own members. He must have killed Crabbe, Rocla, Manzi and Carter because their crimes could somehow be traced back to his club. They'd all been charged, and all of their victims had seen Mercy. Mercy must have discovered a connection between the men and that led her to Sebastian, and to her death.

Jill wondered how far Jamaal was involved. Mercy had said he had kidnapped Jerome Sanders, and that fitted with all Honey had told her about the man. Had he staged the blow to his head and helped Sebastian kill Manzi in the car? Or had something maybe gone wrong, resulting in his injuries? Or did Jamaal not know that his boss had taken out four of their party pals, and he had perhaps been a failed fifth? Surely he would suspect it?

The wall felt hard and cold on her palms as she edged along. She sensed that the room lay buried under the earth, and she pushed away a brief image of herself entombed. Twice, she moved around heavy furniture of some type. She knew by now that she had gone away from the direction of the door, but it was too late to double back the other way. She gritted her teeth with the pressure of the passing moments. The low hum of a refrigerator escorted her through an open kitchen, and when she passed the second corner of the room, she knew she was on the home straight, heading back towards the exit.

Moving quickly now, Jill almost missed it when her hands ran over some sort of recessed panelling in the otherwise smooth concrete of the wall. This was not where the doorway should be, but, her hearing honed by years of training sessions in the dark, she could sense air moving behind the surface. She scrabbled at the area with her hands, trying to wedge her fingertips into the fine vertical fissure she felt running up the wall. Nothing. She couldn't make it move. She forced herself to slowly smooth her hands across each part of the surface, seeking a handle of some description. The moments ticked by, and her instincts urged her to move on. She forced herself to continue covering the area with her hands, but she could feel nothing marring the surface at all. Finally she reached another vertical crack in the wall and realised that this doorway was very large; it was probably a sliding door, and it might be operated by remote control, or by a button that could be anywhere in the room. With a squirm of frustration at the time she had wasted, she moved on, faster now, urgency bursting in her chest.

The third corner. She knew the other doorway had to be close to the last corner of the room. Almost there.

And then, from behind the wall, descending from a height, Jill heard someone clattering, running towards her.

She scrabbled at her eyes, in her terror thinking she had a blindfold on, as she had countless times when training. Her fear redoubled when she remembered that her eyes were wide open and staring, and she could see nothing at all. She wanted to howl in the dark. Instead, she did the only thing she could: tried to make herself as small a target as possible. She squatted on the ground and listened.

Pressed against the wall, Jill took several fast, very deep breaths to increase the oxygen in her blood, pumping herself up to attack. She crouched, poised, ready to spring as soon as the door opened. But the next sound shocked her so much that she almost lost her balance and rocked back on her haunches to the ground.

Instead, she stood, a sob in her throat, waiting for the child who was crying and running behind the door.

When the door opened and she heard his little body hurtle through, she called to him.

'Jerome? Jerome Sanders?'

He knocked her against the wall when he rushed at her, scrabbling, sobbing.

'Help! Can you help me? He's coming.' 'Jerome. We're going to get out of here. My name is Jill. I'm a police officer. I'm going to help you, and you're going to help me.'

She reached for him, put her cool hands on his hot face, held his head still.

'Is Jamaal behind you, Jerome?' she asked him.

'The door in the floor was still open, but I slammed it when I got in. I could hear him behind me and I thought he'd follow me, but maybe it locked or something.'

Jill couldn't make sense of all this, but understood they had very little time.

'Jerome. There are three things I need to tell you. You've got to be brave okay?' She felt him nod. 'First thing is that there is another door in here, and you and I are going to find it and get out.'

'Yeah! He brought me in that way. Come on!' He tried to run from her.

'Jerome, I said three things. You have to wait, just a moment.' She held his shirt. 'I can't see anything, Jerome. They did something to my eyes. You're going to have to lead me.'

'Uh-huh.' He sounded small, scared, waiting for the third thing.

'The other thing, Jerome, is that there is a body down here. It's Mr Sebastian, the man who owns this house. I don't want you to freak out when you see him, all right? Best thing you can do is try hard not to look at him, take me to the door, and we'll get home to your mum and dad.' She paused. 'You ready?'

'Let's go. Now, please.'

Jill held Jerome's hand and they crossed the big room in about ten seconds. When she heard a sharp intake of breath, she squeezed his hand harder, knowing he'd just seen Sebastian.

When Jerome spoke, though, his voice sounded steady. 'I saw Tadpole press this thing. Hang on.' He let go of her hand. She heard him moving a chair, and then a deep mechanical rumbling. Fresh, salty air hit her face.

Next to her, Jerome suddenly screamed. She reached out, grabbed his arm and ran towards the air.

The sounds of someone trying to move quietly woke Jill, but she felt so exhausted that she just listened for a while with her eyes closed. When she couldn't figure out what thesnick, snick noise could be, Jill opened her eyes and saw the blurry shape of her mother's back standing near a sun-filled window. Snick, snick.

'What're you doing?' Her voice was gravelly.

'Good morning, darling!' Her mum bustled over to the bed. She held scissors in one hand, a couple of wilted flower heads in the other. 'How are you feeling?'

'Tired.' Jill looked around the hospital room, fingered a ribbon on the nightgown she was wearing. Pink. Definitely not one of her own.

'And, how does everything… look…' she trailed off.

'Blurry, but I can see. What did they do to my eyes?'

'I'll get the doctor, darling. He can explain. It's good to see you awake at last. They've kept you sleeping for twenty-four hours.' Her mum beamed, wiped her eyes, and left the room.

Jill stretched gingerly, registering surprise that she didn't feel too bad. She reached up and touched the back of her head, pressed her fingers against the bandage there. A bit harder. Didn't hurt too much. Her ribs ached a little, but she was getting used to that.

Sensing her body was going to be okay, Jill prodded a little at her feelings, memories. The knowledge that she had literally been back in the basement with Sebastian was there, but it didn't send her scurrying behind her mental doors. Nor did it drag forward image after image of what she'd endured when she was twelve. Huh.

She wondered how Scotty had handled the clean-up at the mansion in Hunters Hill. The waves of relief she had felt on hearing his voice when she and Jerome had run out of the underground room had dropped her to her knees.