Kiss the Hare's Foot

by Janet Wakley

  She looked towards Danny, who was now distracted, gently polishing the barrel of his pistol as if caressing a small animal in his hand. She guessed that the role of armed guard was not one he was accustomed to. Just maybe she could take advantage....

  Slowly and deliberately she rose from her stool. As she had done several times before, she wandered around the central operating table, checking the drain, drip, wound and, with her heart thumping in her chest, continued her casual wander towards the sink and the trolley. From the corner of her eye she observed Danny. He was still engrossed in his cleaning. Gently she folded back the towelling, exposing the instruments. Many were bloodstained. At the side of the tray lay spare sealed packs of needles and disposable blades.

  “What are you doing?” Danny called in alarm.

  “I need to change the oxygen cylinder soon. I thought I’d see if there was something here I could use to turn the valve on the flow-meter,” she lied. He was watching her now. He would see if she took something off the trolley. “I don’t think this will grip it properly, but I can try.” She pretended to examine a small retractor, opening and closing its ratchet as though deliberating its usefulness. Mel felt his eyes boring into her. She replaced the instrument. She would have to try again when he was less attentive.

  A thought struck her. Turning towards the operating table with folded arms, for a moment or two she gazed at Charlie. “Your father needs a proper bed to lie on. He can’t stay strapped on this table. If you care anything about him you’ll get him a bed or at least a mattress,” she insisted.

  Danny responded by giving two kicks with the heel of his shoe on the door behind him. He was clearly distrustful now and scrutinised her every move. It would be impossible now to take any of the instruments off the tray without him seeing.

  A moment later the door was opened from the outside, just wide enough to converse through. For a moment Danny was forced to turn and speak through the narrow gap to make his request. Mel seized her opportunity and stealthily slipped the packets containing the spare scalpel blades into her top pocket. Swiftly she grabbed a blade handle and small artery forceps, placing them into her lower pocket. Turning, she stepped back away from the trolley and pretended to adjust the quilt covering Charlie, to avoid suspicion. To have taken anything more bulky would give away her secret hoard. Nonchalantly she wandered back round to the head of the table and deliberately ignoring Danny’s watchful eyes, resumed her routine of monitoring Charlie’s vital signs.

  The transfer of their semi-conscious patient to the mattress on the floor proved more complex and problematical than Mel had anticipated. The additional attachments now adhering to Charlie in the form of a drip, oxygen tubing and a wound drain restricted a straightforward lift. Anxious that a poorly managed manoeuvre might further injure the patient, Mel called a halt to the proceedings, demanding that the move should at least be supervised by one of the doctors. Disgruntled, Mat left the room in search of the medics. Meanwhile, Mel resumed her seat on the stool and waited.

  “How’s he doing then?” Silas’s dark crisp voice broke the silence of the room as he marched towards the table.

  Mel gave a short account of Charlie’s progress and stood back while Silas first examined the wound dressing and drain before taking a stethoscope from the top of the anaesthetic machine and listened to his chest. He nodded with satisfaction.

  “Everybody needs to help with this,” he ordered, as though in his own domain. “Place the mattress at right angles to the table. We will leave the poles out of the canvas and carry him manually. Mel, take the head and look after the drip. The three of us will lift him from this side and together we’ll shuffle round and lower him onto the mattress.” Positioning himself next to the drain and level with the wound, he waited while Danny and Mat obediently joined him on either side.

  Minutes later, following the successful transfer from the unforgiving table surface and adjustments made to the positioning of the fluid bags and oxygen cylinder, Silas assumed responsibility for the patient with an air of begrudging acceptance.

  “Take a break,” he ordered with a curt nod of his head and took up his position on the stool overlooking the now sleeping Charlie. Without offering any resistance, Mel gladly stepped away. She was drained to the point of exhaustion, but although relieved to be returning to the comfort of the rooms upstairs, and hopefully some food, a growing concern swept over her that the patient’s condition might not remain stable. She wished it had been Clive who had relieved her. Silas had done his bit, but could she be certain that he would give as much attention to Charlie’s post operative care as he had to the surgery? Escorted by Mat out of the room, Maddie and Danny remained with their charges.

  The smell of hot food reached Mel’s nostrils as they started up the stairs. Returning to the lounge, a tray containing the remnants of a meal lay cold on the coffee table and the sound of deep rhythmic breathing emitted from the open mouth of a sleeping Clive. Hood, sat on a high-backed chair by the window, relaxed but attentive to his hostage. Clive, however, for perhaps the first time in three days, was temporarily freed from the stress of his situation. Overwhelmed by fatigue, the comfort of a warm, snug ambience and food, he slumbered on, oblivious to the change in company.

  A fine dust cloud rose from the soft sofa as Mel sank heavily into its deep cushions. Minutes later Mat placed a tray of hot food on the coffee table and she unhesitatingly tucked in, at last banishing the gnawing pangs of hunger. Clive slept on. Discarding the empty dishes on the floor by her feet, like Clive before her, she rested back in the sofa, closed her eyes and succumbed to a deep dreamless sleep.

  How long she slept, she didn’t know, nor what it was that dragged her back to consciousness but she sensed, rather than heard, movement in the room. Not wanting the warm and comfortable world of sleep to leave her, her eyes remained closed; to open them would be to face reality again. The sound of whispering in a low rasping voice, however, enticed her to tentatively peep through the lashes of one eye. Hood appeared to be speaking secretively to Clive. Ever since her abduction from the hospital he had hardly spoken a word, his imposing stature made all the more menacing by his grim-faced silence. He leaned towards Clive with his back inclined towards Mel and she strained to hear.

  “Not a word. No one’s to know.” he confided. “C’mon mate. Downstairs and look after our man.”

  As he took a step backwards and turned, Mel closed her eyes and feigned sleep, exaggerating slow heavy breathing for maximum effect. She felt the brush of air on her face as the two men walked past. Her heart pounded with a new fear. The possible implications of those remarks hit home. Mate? Could they possibly know each other or was that merely a term of familiarity? And who must not know what? It was incredible. So it was likely that Silas was right after all. But, she argued with herself, Clive exuded all the gentlemanly qualities of all that was nice in a man. She could not accept that he could in any way be involved with this awful criminal gang. He had been the only reason she had managed to stay sane through this nightmare. Surely he would not betray her? She remembered the ferocity with which the big man had punched him. No, it was impossible to even think that he could be in allegiance with them. Her mind was in turmoil, speculating the possibilities of deceit.

  The image of Silas’s expression when Clive had been struck to the floor came to her. That stupefied look of disbelief had been the moment when Silas appeared to have lost confidence in his colleague. Mel was confused, frightened. Who could she trust? And how could she tell? Opening her eyes fully, she looked around. Mat now sat alone on guard, slumped on a wooden stool by the door with his back leaned against the wall.

  “You’ve had a good sleep. Make the most of it ‘cos we’re not staying here long.”

  “Please don’t take us back to that awful place,” Mel pleaded. “Charlie’s not well enough yet to be moved. You’ve got everything you need right here.” She met his
sullen stare but he declined any further communication, choosing to smirk as a demonstration of their power, rather than respond.

  Curling her legs up underneath her, Mel leaned against the arm of the sofa and redirected her gaze with unseeing eyes towards the fireplace. She had to try and think clearly. If necessary she would have to plan her own escape. Subconsciously she felt the pocket of her blue cotton top. Yes, the blade handle and forceps were still there. A glance downwards also told her that the thin flat packets of the blades had remained in her top pocket.

  Footsteps on the stairs, as though on cue, prompted Mat to stand up from his stool and await Silas’s reappearance in the lounge. Taking her opportunity, Mel pulled the four packets from her top pocket and quickly pushed them down the inside of her shoes, a packet in each. She pushed them down hard, until they were almost under the foot. Silas’s impromptu diversion sufficed long enough for her actions to pass unnoticed.

  Rooted in the doorway, Silas argued in favour of taking another shower. He looked tired; the whites of his eyes were now bloodshot and dull. Physically and mentally the stress of the last two days was taking its toll on all of them. She rationalised that Clive would surely not subject himself further to such an ordeal of imprisonment voluntarily. Her suspicions must surely be misplaced - or were they?

  21

  Silas grumbled half-heartedly when told he could not shower again until his clothes could be returned. Until then he must remain in his theatre ‘blues’.

  “He seems to be holding his own now,” he directed the remark to Mel, who stood up from her sofa and stretched her arms above her head. Despite the sleep she still felt stiff and tired and the warmth and comfort of the lounge incited a feeling of apathy but she knew that any attempt to escape must surely be activated from this building. Time lost now without an intelligible plan would only result in their return to the old priory, from which likelihood of breaking free would be very much harder, if impossible. Feigning a yawn she casually wandered over to the window and looked down to the driveway below. There were no vehicles or obvious signs of a guard to the front of the house. In the distance, beyond the gate piers, she saw vehicles and the occasional pedestrian pass by along the road, oblivious to the drama being played out so close to their ordinary suburban existence. Turning from the window, Silas had resumed his seat beside the fire and looked relaxed, staring absentmindedly at the fire. Mat, too, showed no signs of the tension from earlier in the day and was doubtless feeling satisfied that the purpose of this extraordinary assignment had almost been concluded without too much difficulty.

  Mel again considered her two colleagues and their mistrust of each other. Should she trust either or both of them? Could they possibly also have doubts about her, suspecting that her readiness to comply with the demands of the gang had been too willingly given? Despite their acceptance that any escape plan must involve all three of them, Mel was beginning to warm to the idea that not only would it be easier for one of them to escape, but perhaps the time had come to take the matter into her own hands. She was, after all, the youngest and fittest of the three of them. If she were to get out alone she would have to get help quickly, for once her disappearance was noticed, the lives of Silas and Clive may be put in even greater danger. She made up her mind she would have to give it a try. If either of the doctors were secretively involved in the gang, then the police would have to investigate it. It was not for her to decide who may or may not be guilty of such a heinous deceit.

  Resuming her seat on the sofa, she closed her eyes and purposefully recalled the lay-out of the clinical suite below and tried to formulate a plan of action. There was one window, set high in the wall of the storeroom which might be accessible. The shelving, if it would take her weight, would give her the height advantage that she would need to climb out. The drop on the outside might be considerable, but now was not the time to be put off by minor inconveniences. She had noted earlier that the frame did not possess an opening catch which would mean she would have to break the glass, but it had at least appeared to be only single glazed. Perhaps it was possible to cut through the beading of the glass surround with a scalpel, although the time that might take could be prohibitive. If she were caught.... She banished the thought from her mind - she had to try.

  Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she recalled either reading or watching a film where a villain had entered a property using brown paper and treacle. The treacle, being sticky, had been smeared onto the glass and the brown paper adhered to it. A glass cutter had been used to sever a circle around the paper so that when the pane of glass was smashed with a brick, the fragments had remained stuck to the brown paper and fell to the ground with very little noise. The idea excited her. There was plenty of thick wrapping paper in the storeroom encasing various instrument trays, but the treacle? Iodine was sticky when it dried, but would not be substantial enough to take the weight of the glass. Perhaps strips of sticky tape would do the job equally as well as treacle? It was definitely worth a try.

  A tray with Silas’s supper was brought into the room by Maddie. “Enjoy it while you can,” she said, giving him a knowing sneer. Silas ignored her and continued to rub the furrows of his forehead absentmindedly, resisting the temptation of the food until she had left the room.

  She became aware of Mat, whose attention was now focussed upon her. Could he see what she was thinking? Had her expression changed in such a way as to give away her private intention to make a break for it? Don’t be silly, she scolded herself, that was impossible, and self-consciously picked at her fingers as though unconcerned by his presence. All she could do for now was wait until it was her turn to stay with Charlie and hope that the gang could be persuaded not to move him out of the veterinary surgery for at least several more hours. A mixture of nervousness and excitement brought colour to her cheeks.

  By the time Clive was again returned to the lounge escorted by Hood, the autumn light was already fading. The clock on the mantelpiece showed just after six. Clive looked tired, the strain of the past few days clearly shown on his grim expression. He nodded almost imperceptibly to her as he sank heavily into the armchair beside the fire, indicating that it was her turn for the next shift with Charlie. She tried not to look too eager as she led the way ahead of Mat back down the stairs towards the clinical section. Three guards were playing cards in the corner of the waiting room at a small table. Absorbed in their game, none showed any interest in the passers-by. Only Danny, who sat reading a magazine, lifted his head and acknowledged Mel with a faint smile. That accounted for six of the gang. There was no sign of the big boss or Maddie, whom she supposed were relaxing in another part of the building. She tried to walk nonchalantly towards her patient’s room, anxious not to arouse suspicion of her intentions.

  Charlie was asleep. Lying comfortably on the mattress on the floor and covered by a duvet, he looked peaceful and his breathing rhythmic and deep. As Mat followed her into the room he locked the door, pocketed the key and took his place on a waiting-room chair beside the doorway. Mel walked around to the far side of the mattress so that she had the vantage point of observing both her patient and the guard. Gently she took hold of Charlie’s wrist for his pulse and under the covers, inspected both the wound and drainage bottle. There were tell-tale signs of slight seepage from both the dressing and bottle, which now contained some 100 millilitres of blood, increasing gradually by a very slow persistent drip from its tubing. She decided that if it had been a concern to Clive, he would have called for Silas’s opinion.

  For as long as she could contain herself, Mel sat on the floor beside Charlie. Twenty minutes passed before she stood up, stretched and wandered slowly into the storeroom on the pretext of looking for another dressing pad. There were four metal shelves lining the wall, the top shelf about 18 inches below the level of the window.

  Once out of sight she quickly and quietly removed several boxes from the metal staging and tested her weight on t
he lower shelf. She estimated the window itself to be about 30 inches wide and 18 inches high; big enough for her to crawl through provided she could remove sufficient glass. She threw a box containing several rolls of Elastoplast of varying widths and a pair of wrapped sterile scissors from one of the veterinary emergency boxes onto the top shelf.”

  “What are you doing in there?”

  “Looking for some dressing pads. I can’t find any big enough, but I’m sure there must be some somewhere.”

  “Get out here where I can see you,” Mat’s suspicions were clearly aroused.

  Mel threw several items into a cardboard box and brought them back into the make-shift theatre. As though to mitigate her absence, she proceeded to rummage through the remaining items in the yellow sacks in search of the right equipment. With a selection of dressing packs, she returned to Charlie’s side and re-examined his wound, before spending several minutes in an elaborate hand-washing scene at the farthest sink. Mat at last appeared to lose interest in the over-zealous nurse and began cleaning the outer barrel of his revolver with a soft cloth.

  Charlie woke up and grimaced slightly when he tried to move.

  “Nice to see you again, Charlie,” said Mel. “You’ve had a good sleep. How are you feeling now?”