Luke Delaney - The Keeper

He looked confused. ‘Don’t worry. Just wash your face for now.’

‘But I want to be properly clean for you,’ she insisted, calculating how best to play him. ‘I want to be as pure as I can for you. If you untie me I can take these clothes off, then I can wash everywhere.’

He felt his testicles begin to coil and tighten. The thought of watching her willingly undress and bathe in front of him, the water running down her slim body, following her curves, made him forget his caution. He stepped forward to untie her. But as he held her wrists he stopped, looking from Deborah to the pitiful figure crouched in the corner of the other cage, then back to Deborah. She sensed him hesitate. ‘You can watch,’ she told him. ‘You can watch me wash myself. I don’t mind.’

‘No,’ he said, stepping back. ‘It’s not safe for you yet. Some of their poison may still be in you.’

Deborah knew her face betrayed her disappointment and only hoped he misinterpreted it, that his sick mind actually thought she was saddened by his physical rejection. ‘You’re right,’ she lied. ‘Let’s be careful.’ She began to cup water in her bound hands, bringing it up to wash her face, trying to sense his position. Carefully she dabbed her fingers on to the bar of soap and pretended to massage it into her face. ‘Ow,’ she suddenly winced.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘My eyes,’ she complained. ‘I’ve got soap in my eyes. It really stings. I can’t see.’ He felt anxiety begin to creep up his spine, thin strands reaching through the bone and wrapping themselves around his spinal cord, transmitting the sense of panic to every sinew in his being, freezing him where he stood, smelling a trap, but unable to overcome his instinct to help the woman he loved. ‘Please,’ she implored him, ‘I need a towel. My eyes are really burning.’ Tears of frustration and sorrow blurred his vision and he moved towards her, snatching the towel from the screen and handing it to her searching fingers, smiling as she rubbed the cloth into her eyes, the pain clearly easing.

‘Is that better?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Thank-’ Deborah broke off mid-sentence, slamming her right knee into his groin. It connected with his testicles, bending him double. Memories of childhood fights with her brothers flooded back to her. Only this time she wouldn’t be pulling any punches — not when her life depended on winning. She drew her knee back again and launched it towards his face, aiming for the bridge of his nose. He saw it coming and moved just in time, but the knee still connected powerfully with the side of his face, splitting the inside of his cheek wide open and loosening several teeth. He coughed on the blood that ran down his throat and struggled to keep his bearings, feeling nails gouging and scratching at his eyes. By the time he realized the onslaught had stopped it was too late, the searing pain in the side of his neck replaced everything else, making him moan and whimper like a wounded animal. His hand shook as it moved to the source of his agony.

Deborah released the syringe, leaving it embedded in the side of his neck. She’d aimed for his jugular but missed, although she’d still forced the liquid into his body, praying that if it was an anaesthetic it would at least slow him down, even if she hadn’t pumped it straight into his bloodstream. The sight of him bloodied and wounded, pawing at the syringe that hung from his neck was both appalling and terrifying. Her will to survive was screaming at her to run before the tide turned, before his rage made him rise again with the strength of a madman, adrenalin driving him forward through his pain.

A woman’s voice cried out from behind her: ‘Get the key, Deborah. Get the key!’ Louise was clawing the wire of her cage door, trying to shake it open with what little strength she had left in her body after days without food or water. Deborah looked from the woman to the wounded beast crawling on the floor, still trying to pull the syringe from its neck. The muscles had constricted around the needle, making it difficult to budge. The smell of fresh air drifted down the stairs and into her face, fuelling the urge to run. ‘Hit him again and get me out of here. Deborah. Deborah,’ Louise screamed, sensing the other woman’s intentions.

‘I’m sorry,’ Deborah mouthed at her. ‘I’m so sorry …’ And then she ran. She ran past the wretch on the floor, who made a grab for her ankle, the touch of his damp skin making her squeal more than scream. But his grip was weak and he couldn’t stop her. When she got to the stairs, she tried to climb them three at a time, but her bound hands threw her off balance and she fell forward, both shins crashing into the harsh edge of a stone stair, the pain making her call out as she dragged herself back to her feet, running up the stairs again, trying to be more careful. Fear of what was behind her made her reckless and uncoordinated as she grew closer and closer to the oblong of light above, its brightness making the tears sting her eyes so painfully she had to close them. And all the while Louise’s voice screamed after her:

‘You fucking bitch. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me here. I hope you die, you fucking bitch. I hope he fucking kills you. I hope he fucking kills you.’

The staircase felt like an unconquerable mountain as she stumbled up the last few stairs, slipping again, smashing her kneecap, the pain as it fractured punching the remaining breath from her chest. Gripping the knee in both hands, she tried to squeeze the pain from it. Movement in her peripheral vision drew her eyes down into the darkness: a shape was emerging from the gloom below and beginning to climb the stairs, lolling from side to side, arms outstretched, feeling for the walls either side of the staircase as if drunk or blind, his head too heavy to lift. She didn’t have the strength to scream, the only sound that escaped her mouth was an exhausted whimper as she pulled herself to her feet, the injured knee rendering one leg little more than useless as she tried to run.

Deborah burst into the light, temporarily blinded by the bright sunshine, unable to see the sharp stones beneath her bare feet that cut through her thin skin. She staggered forward, her broken knee suddenly collapsing, her outstretched hands breaking the fall. As her vision returned she searched the door for a lock, but found only a flapping latch, the padlock that locked it missing, still down there, in the darkness with him, the darkness where she had abandoned Louise Russell to her fate. She slammed the door shut anyway and tried to run across the littered courtyard, unfamiliar objects making her trip and stumble. A jagged lump of concrete protruding from the ground caught the foot of her injured leg, sending a jolt of pain up through her bones and into the knee, dropping her to the floor. Barely able to see for tears, she searched the ground for a makeshift weapon or a crutch. Finding neither, she looked back to the cellar door. Despite all the pain and effort, she’d travelled less than twenty feet. Her scream shattered the quiet of the spring morning as the door burst open and her captor fell into the light, the syringe still obscenely protruding from his neck as he shook his head violently from side to side, trying to dispel the effects of the anaesthetic.

Squinting against the effects of the alfentanil and the sunlight, Keller steadied himself, his eyes drawn by the sudden movement of Deborah scrambling to her feet. He lunged towards her, swaying from side to side as he used the oil drums to steady himself, his prey little more than a hazy figure that seemed to his confused mind to be moving in slow motion, as if they were both trapped in a nightmare where they were running through treacle or glue.