Oliver Stark - American Devil

The Lair

December 4, 10.40 a.m.

Deep underground, Denise crawled forward towards the bars. She could hear the cutters snip through the bottom of the second bar. There was one more cut to go. Then he would be in.

‘It’s going to be nice to get some pictures of you,’ Sebastian said. ‘I’ve not shown you my exhibition, but you’re going be an important part. So is Tom Harper. I’m going to put you out like bait to get him here, then I’m going to kill you. You understand that? I’m going to cut your heart out.’

Denise stayed silent. She was waiting for the moment when the second bar fell.

The final cut, then Sebastian’s laugh as the bar hit the concrete floor with a clatter.

‘Well now, here we are. Here we are. Now don’t try anything stupid, Denise. If you do, I’ll make this a whole lot worse.’

Sebastian put his hands on the bars. Denise could hear his clothes brushing against the thin gap.

Then she lit her fantastic sparkler. She flicked the light back on. Except the bulb was missing and the wires had been pulled out of the damp, decaying plaster and wrapped around the steel bars of the door.

The cell lit up like a firework. Sebastian was momentarily bright with sparks, then his body was thrown back against the wall. She heard a thump in the darkness.

Seconds passed. Denise flicked the light switch off. Maybe he was dead. She crossed to the body in the dark. Then a roar of pure rage blasted against her face as two hands grabbed her throat in the darkness.

‘I always give my girls a chance, Denise, and that was yours. You failed.’ He took out a flashlight and shone it in her face. He pushed her towards the bed.

‘I need to lie down, Denise.’ He forced her on to the bed. He was unsteady on his feet. ‘I feel… strange.’

In the dark, damp cellar, Sebastian lay down on the bed beside her and put his arm around her waist. His hands didn’t touch her. The electric shock must’ve drained his strength. She waited, but he didn’t move.

Denise Levene lay in terrified silence, feeling Sebastian’s heavy body close against hers and his arm resting over her stomach.

She felt his breathing become deep and regular. He was unconscious. There was a sleeping monster beside her. There was nothing to stop her pulling away, smashing his head in with the bolt cutters if she could find them.

For what seemed like a whole hour she considered all her options. She wondered whether she had enough strength to incapacitate him with one blow. She tried to think where she could hit him. Across the bridge of the nose? On his temple? In his groin?

She didn’t know, and anyway he was very strong and he was insane. She knew that pain was not the same for psychopaths as for normal people. They could sometimes keep going even if they were shot.

She concluded that she couldn’t be sure of hurting him enough. Her mind suddenly filled with thoughts of escape. She could risk it and try the door. Then what? Trapped underground with a psychopath you’d just betrayed.

She wanted her life. She didn’t want to die down here. If he was sleeping heavily, she could creep out, maybe get ahead of him… Get out… The thought of it already seemed alien to her. The freedom she longed for was so near and yet so distant. It amazed her to see how quickly she’d become accustomed to this hole. And to him. It terrified her.

Now here was a chance. Perhaps the only chance that she would ever have. She lay awake, in the dark, planning her escape over and over in her mind. She would act. And by the time she needed to act, she would be ready. It was then she would make her escape.

Denise lay for another half-hour, rationalizing everything. In the face of all her trauma, she shut her feelings and reactions into a box in her mind. The mind has a capacity for suffering. She imagined a three-inch bubble of gelatinous liquid all around her body. The world was muffled and distant. She promised herself that she would deal with her fears at a later date. She told herself to stop whining on about it. Get over it. People are being slaughtered across the city. You’re the one chance they’ve got.

Stop being so fucking emotional! Stop!

With the thought came the clarity that she needed. Denise looked out into the pitch darkness.

She knew every inch of that cell. She knew how to operate in the dark now. She had that advantage over him. She could find each wall, each corner, the door, almost instinctively. He was not used to it.

Use your natural advantage.

He was also fast asleep, his body in shutdown, while she was wide awake. Her mind was as clear as it ever was. Crystal clear.

Now it was time.

She counted to ten and then began to move her body away from him. The mattress was so hard there was very little give when she moved. Her left leg left the side of the bed and moved, inch by inch, towards the floor. Her pelvis inched sideways too. This was the important moment. Her body would leave his. Contact would be lost.

She slid away. Gone. She was free from his touch. It felt good. She lay still for a moment, giving him a chance to react. He didn’t.

It was easier now. Denise’s body inched further sideways; her left foot touched the cold stone floor.

It took her ten minutes to move from the bed. She was so careful, aware that this was her one and only chance. If she failed, he would kill her.

Standing upright on the floor, facing the bed, she knew where she was. She had her bearings. Three steps backward and her right hand would touch the cold metal of the door. She listened, but there was nothing.

One step. Breathe, Denise, breathe. Two steps. He moved restlessly. She stopped. Fear shot through her like an injection of adrenalin straight to the heart.

Her left foot slid backwards. It stopped. Her body shifted weight. Has your life ever hinged on the sound you make as you try to walk silently across a room after midnight, afraid of waking someone?

The right foot slid back. Three steps. Her right arm came round and touched metal. The door.

Her fingers gripped the bars. One foot went through the space — and her heel hit one of the loose bars. It rolled on the rough ground, making a low gravelly sound as the metal moved against the concrete. Denise’s heart jumped as she stood stock still, waiting for the sound of movement from the bed.

There was none. There was no going back now. Nothing but escape. She pulled herself further through the bars.

One inch. Two inches. Three. Six. She was through. She was out of the cell. She kept one hand on the wall and moved up the corridor, her feet making only the smallest sound as they padded on stone.

She could still see nothing. Fourteen steps and then another door. She counted.

Then she was there. The second door, the outer door. There was a sound from the cell, a body moving in sleep. She listened out in frightened silence, but there was nothing more.

The second door now. She pushed it. Nothing. She pushed it again. It didn’t yield. Perhaps it was locked. She was trying to avoid panicking but it was hard.

Her fingers followed the door frame round. She was searching for the bolt, but there was nothing at all — the bolt she had heard would be on the other side, of course. Then she feared the worst. Was the door locked with a key that she had not been able to hear from her cell?

She searched for a key hole.

She didn’t find one. The door was not locked. If it was not locked, then it was just stiff or stuck and she was not using enough force to move it.

She put her shoulder on the door and tried to push. Nothing. She pushed harder, then leaned her whole weight into it.

If it was going to open, it needed barging. Barging would make a noise. She stood, thinking, but there was no alternative. It would wake him, but she would have to hope she had enough of a start to run and find a way out. It was a slight chance, but it was her only one.