Kiss the Hare's Foot

by Janet Wakley

  “Thirsty. My mouth feels like the bottom of a parrot’s cage.”

  “I’ll get you a drink of water.”

  She glanced up at Mat and noticed his attention was drawn to the screen of his mobile phone. An idea flashed into Mel’s mind. “Do you fancy something to eat as well, Charlie? A sandwich and a cup of tea, perhaps?” This was not refreshment which would normally be offered to a post-operative patient.

  “A ham sandwich’d be good. Get it for me, lass.”

  She approached to within six feet of the guard and stood before him expectantly. “Charlie needs something to eat to build up his strength. He says he wants a cheese sandwich and a cup of tea.”

  Without waiting for a reply she turned away and returned to the side of her patient where she began fussing around his bedding and pillow as though to improve his comfort. She could only hope that she was demonstrating a low risk to their security if he were to leave them alone; that she was purely absorbed in the welfare of their man. Lifting Charlie’s head, she offered him sips of water from a beaker.

  Mat looked uncertain. Then, with a cautionary warning to Mel, unlocked the door and left the room. She waited until she had heard the key turning in the lock as he secured it from the outside.

  “Won’t be a minute,” she whispered to Charlie and ran into the store-room. Scaling the shelving, she unrolled several strips of the sticky plaster and bonded it in overlapping strips along the whole width of the pane, working her way down to the base until the glass was completely covered. With trembling fingers she removed the scalpel blade from its foil wrapper. Without the benefit of a proper glass cutter, she attempted to score the perimeter of the glass, but abandoned it immediately when the blade emitted a high-pitched screech.

  With no time to lose, she jumped down to the floor, grabbed a metal stool and man-handled it up to the top shelf. Her heart was pounding, her palms wet with perspiration. From her kneeling position she heaved the stool against the plastered window. She heard the glass break with a muffled crunch and the upper part of the pane fell away from its frame, momentarily clinging to the lower beading before falling with a thud onto the ground below. Several shards of glass, like triangular daggers, still protruded from the groove. Frantically she tugged them out like extracting teeth and cast them aside.

  “Where are you?” Charlie’s voice could be heard from the room beyond. “Where have you gone to?”

  It was too late to stop now. She knew freedom was only yards away. Mat could reappear at any moment, she had to get out. Lowering her feet out of the window, avoiding the remaining treacherous splinters which stubbornly maintained their grip within the frame, she pushed her way backwards out of her prison.

  The drop was greater than she had anticipated and she stumbled crazily backwards with the momentum of her fall, landing in an undignified heap on the tarmac of the car park. Instantly the whole car park area was emblazoned in a bright light as the veterinary entrance security light was triggered by her movement, a detail she had completely overlooked. With rising panic, she scrambled to her feet and headed as fast as she could for the darkened rear of the building. Rounding the corner she collided heavily with the familiar black leather jacket of Hood and found herself staring into the poised barrel of his revolver.

  22

  “You fool. You bloody fool!” Silas threw up his arms in indignation. “Whatever possessed you to try such a crazy thing? You could’ve got us all shot!”

  Two guards stood impassively beside the door of the lounge, Mat with his hand rested on the butt of his revolver, Starchy with folded arms, both enjoying the surgeon’s uncontrolled explosion of remonstrations. Mel said nothing. Hunched up on the end of the sofa, she cradled her left hand in her lap, gripping together the ragged sides of a laceration to the palm of her hand, the physical price she’d paid for her desperate scramble through the storeroom window. Blood slowly oozed between her fingers and soaked into her blue top. She fought back tears. Pain, disappointment and now the wroth of Silas was too much to bear. But she had so nearly made her escape.

  “Oh, calm down,” said Clive wearily. “You can’t blame her for taking an opportunity to break out. She’s got guts, you have to admit.”

  “We said we’d stick together, help each other through all this,” Silas hissed between clenched teeth, “not play lottery with each others’ lives.”

  “Well, no one can say we haven’t done what they wanted. When Charlie shows good signs of recovery, I reckon they’ll let us go.”

  “Get real, man, they’re not going to let us just walk out of here.” He paused to look across at the smug faces of the two guards. “Unless you’ve not noticed, we’re never more than a few feet away from their guns.”

  “I’m just saying the lass showed some guts, that’s all. And I for one would never have got out of that small, high window.” Clive tapped his belly, indicating an encumbrance highly unsuitable for agile climbing and negotiating narrow edifices.

  “Well, she’s lucky she didn’t get her head blown off, that’s all.” He glared at Mel’s cowering figure before finally sitting back down in the armchair beside the fire and continued to frown into its artificially lit coals.

  Clive reached forwards and gently examined the wound on Mel’s hand. “It’s not too bad,” he reassured her. “Will you let me clean and dress her hand?” he asked Mat tentatively.

  “We’re ordered to keep you all here,” he replied sourly. “We obviously can’t trust you any more, can we?”

  Silas let out a despairing sigh.

  A light tap on the door, the sound of the key in the lock and the rolling frame of the boss shuffled into the room, followed by Maddie. Mel could not bring herself to look up, but felt their icy glare and smelled the sweat of the vast man as he stood recovering his breath from the climb of the stairs. Angrily he directed his condemnation towards all three hostages, roaring his outrage with expletives and threats, all the time pulling at the tops of his gloves which dug into his flabby hands so that they looked distorted and cramped.

  “I’ve looked after you well,” he bawled, “fed you, given you beds to sleep on, electric light; I could have just left you down in that cellar without anything - except the rats. I even gave you a table and chairs. And how do you repay me? You’ll pay for this, believe me.”

  Mel could stand no more of the recriminations. Up on her feet she confronted him. “It was nothing to do with the others. It was just my idea to try and leave. They didn’t know anything about it, honestly. You can’t take it out on them; please don’t,” she implored, but his steely cold eyes showed no sign of submission. She searched the face of Maddie, the only other woman in this dastardly gang, in the desperate hope of averting punishment for the others, terrified now that her actions had sealed the fate of them all.

  Boss surveyed the hostages, lingering his contemptuous stare on each in turn. “From now on there will be two armed guards with you at all times. Any further attempt to put Charlie and the rest of us in danger and you will be shot - all of you. This job isn’t over until Charlie is well enough to stand and walk. You’ve more work to do until then and I’m expecting to see a lot of improvement in his condition very soon.”

  Finally Maddie’s eyes met Mel’s. “You’d better come with me and clean up that hand. I think you’ve left enough of your blood around here now for the police to identify you without too much difficulty,” she said with a sneer.

  Silas was once again returned to the clinical rooms where Charlie still lay in a semi-conscious state. The slow, persistent drip of blood into the wound drainage bottle now showed a residue of some 200 millilitres. The earlier seepage on the wound dressing looked unchanged, the tell-tale stain now dried and dark.

  Unaware of the recent activity, Charlie complained again of thirst and of pain in his stomach. Silas cursed at his new role of recovery nurse and administered a small d
ose of morphine through the cannula in the back of his patient’s hand so that Charlie once more closed his eyes to asleep as the pain subsided, leaving Silas to wander aimlessly around the make-shift theatre under the watchful scrutiny of Hood and Danny. Thanks to Mel, he now perceived their chances of making good their escape from the premises of the veterinary surgery non-existent and tightly clenched fists demonstrated his frustration as he paced the floor.

  ***

  The premature decision to vacate the veterinary surgery was sudden and impulsive. It instilled a frenzied alarm in the previously relaxed and confident gangsters, since their arrival at the comfortable premises. Silas’s protests went unheeded. Clive was instructed to take all useful equipment from the storeroom and pack it into boxes. With the return of their clothes, Mel took advantage of the mayhem to change back into her jeans and sweater, dreading the inevitable return to the old derelict property far away from habitation. The large veterinary premises lost its calm tranquillity, subjected now to an outburst of activity to remove evidence of occupation. The gang members, always prominently wearing latex gloves, cleaned every surface, door-handle and light switch and restored the partition wall dividing the theatre again into two smaller rooms. Tight-lipped, they bustled around until it only remained for the vehicles to be loaded and Charlie transferred into the back of the van.

  Silas continued unrestrained to voice his objections, accusing his captors of undoing all the good that had been done and refusing to accept responsibility for Charlie’s probable death. His protestations were ignored.

  Charlie remained drifting in and out of sleep, still relying on the administration of oxygen via a face mask and a continuous infusion of intravenous fluids, supplied now in smaller half-litre bags, being the entire stock taken from the veterinary surgery storeroom. He remained unaware of the hurried preparations for his removal from the clean and warm environment and no-one thought to enlighten him. A bumpy ride in the back of a van was hardly going to enhance his prospects of a good recovery.

  With daylight still several hours away, it was impossible to know whether this sudden night-time exodus was planned or whether some other threat had prompted their departure from this comfortable accommodation.

  The three hostages were again congregated in the downstairs waiting room. Mel sat quietly, nursing the painful wound in her hand and avoiding eye contact with both Clive and Silas. The items taken from the instrument tray were still hidden within her shoes. Nervously she awaited the outcome of this unexpected turn of events. Were they now surplus to requirement, ready for disposal and execution? She felt sick. Returning to the old priory was the worst possible outcome. Unfounded suspicions which had prompted her to take a rash and ill-planned attempt to escape would doubtless ensure that all three would now pay the ultimate price. It was impossible to tell what had occurred to incite the move, but every member of the gang now behaved with hostility and an aggression that reaffirmed the fragility of their existence.

  “This is madness!” exclaimed Silas as he rose from his chair for the second time in as many minutes. “It’ll kill him if you move him now. Why go to all this trouble for nothing?”

  “Shut up and sit down!” yelled Maddie, the colour rising to her cheeks.

  “I won’t allow you to move him!” Silas persisted fervently.

  “Tell him, Hood.”

  The bulldog looking man stepped forward and struck a hefty blow to Silas’s abdomen, doubling him up with a noisy expulsion of air. He dropped to his knees just as a well-aimed knee struck him squarely in the face. Blood immediately pumped from his nose. Stepping back, his explanation plainly given, Hood folded his arms and leered with satisfaction as the surgeon struggled for breath and wiped at the free flowing blood with the back of his hand. Mel sat frozen to the spot as Clive reached forwards with a handkerchief and pulled the man backwards towards the row of chairs.

  “Bitch!” hissed Silas bitterly, as he struggled to regain his seat. Still bent forwards, he squeezed his nose between finger and thumb in order to stem the bleeding. The commotion brought the mountainous frame of Boss shuffling into the assembly, who glowered at the pathetic crumpled figure. Any further resistance had been effectively knocked out of the surgeon, who now sulkily nursed his injuries and damaged self-esteem.

  It was therefore Clive and Mel instructed to supervise and assist with the transfer of Charlie into the rear of the black van, leaving Silas, now beaten into submission, cleaning his blooded face with a couple of heavily stained paper towels.

  Convinced that her aborted escape was to blame for this sudden change of plan, Mel reluctantly obeyed Clive’s instructions for the preparation of Charlie’s removal from his room, gathering up in the yellow bags such equipment and drugs as they deemed appropriate for his continued care. Clive showed no emotion as he busied around his patient, attaching the drip and drainage bag to the bedclothes with large safety pins to protect them from accidental detachment during the journey. With a heavy heart Mel surmised that their living nightmare must almost be over and the future was not promising.

  With the outside security light now disabled, the three hostages were escorted into the back of the van, accompanied once again by Charlie on his mattress. There had been no question that Mel should travel in the car in which she had come, but was instead squeezed in with the other passengers, together with their armed escort of Mat and Hood. Mel neither knew nor cared whether Hood was his real name or not. What was guaranteed was the unquestionable certitude that he would use the revolver nestled firmly in his hand at the slightest provocation.

  As the van drew away from the comfort of the empty veterinary premises, Mel thought she heard the distant wail of an emergency vehicle. Police? Ambulance? Her desperation had probably caused her to imagine it. She didn’t hear it again as the van pulled away through the deserted night streets.

  Throughout the journey Silas remained uncommunicative and sullen, deep in his own misery. Charlie moaned with each lurch and sway of the vehicle, despite Clive’s management of his pain with repeated small doses of morphine. Mel’s bandaged hand was sore but she paid little attention to it, being now only focussed upon one ambition - how to escape and when. The cellar, if that was where they were returning to, was an impenetrable dungeon. They were never left unguarded now and to attempt to run when they were off-loaded from the van would be suicidal. Seated in the corner of the van, her back pressed against the partition to the front cab, she found herself staring intently, with unblinking eyes, at the menacingly dark steel of Hood’s gun; an interest that did not go unnoticed by its owner. The final quarter mile of their journey was bumpy and painfully slow. The dark interior of the van at least hid Charlie’s face from view as he grimaced with each jarring.

  Against the dark night sky, the derelict old priory loomed gloomily in front of them. The cold wind, gusting intermittently, whistled and moaned as though mocking the return of its unwelcome trespassers. Somewhere in its weary structure, loose boards rattled in protest and nearby trees bowed in unison against the squall. The oppressive building seemed to bemoan that its monastic past was now soiled by the sordid secrets held within its walls.

  Once again, pitch blackness swallowed them up as they stepped inside the low rear door. Air, thick with gritty dust, once more filled their nostrils and instantly clung to the back of their throats. The distant throbbing hum of the generator once more provided a sparse line of dim lights as they followed Mat, in crocodile fashion, gingerly through the labyrinth of corridors towards their inevitable prison within the depths of the huge building. Ungraciously disturbed, long legged spiders scuttled away into the dark shadows, their lacy webs torn and limp by the clumsy battering of human invasion. This was the third time Mel had entered the derelict house and her fear was no less acute. The possibility of release now looked impossible and the likelihood of a violent or tortuous death in the grisly bowels of this long abandoned monastery, an ev
er-growing certainty. Sandwiched between her two companions she followed in the slow faltering steps of Clive with her hand clutching the back of his sweater for support. Repeatedly she shrank from the fine silk webs that waved with the movement of air and threatened to attach themselves and cling to her face and hair.

  Was this really where her life would end? Panic accelerated her volatile imagination unrestrained. How long before their bodies would be discovered? Would they be shot and remain undiscovered for months or even years? Perhaps they would just be abandoned, locked in the cellar without food, water or light until time and starvation took its natural course? Stop it! Stop it! Mel scolded herself. She had to banish such negative thoughts and apply her mind surely to escape. With the pack of stolen scalpel blades still hidden in her shoe she reassured herself that they at least would provide them with sharp and effective weapons, although she had no idea what opportunity, if any, would present itself for their use.

  Reaching the main foyer, with its wide angled staircase leading to the upper floors, the trio were shepherded via the rear corridor to the room in which Charlie had been originally nursed.

  “You’ll stay here until we get Charlie in and settled,” ordered Mat, as he stepped aside by the doorway. They waited while Danny, who followed them into the room a few moments later, dumped the two yellow plastic sacks and laid on the floor a large F-size oxygen cylinder. The heavy metal container of compressed gas had been dragged along the ground from its disembarkation from the van and was now discarded with an undisguised sigh of relief.

  Thank goodness, thought Mel. Not the cellar. The room, however, was cold. Fine white ash lay in the fireplace where previously a cheerful log fire had given both warmth and extra light. There was now an overwhelming stench of damp and soot. Harsh yellow light once more shone down onto the empty bed in the centre of the room from the short suspended strip bulb. Ushered to stand away from the doorway, they stood awaiting the arrival of their ailing patient.