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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - Escape

The same day… the afternoon of Tuesday 18th April…

1:00 pm

Many miles to the north, on the edge of a small picturesque English village called Muddleton Morton, the situation was getting desperate. Tim and Wendy remained trapped beneath Cuckoo Cottage and rations were running low.
Tim delved into his rucksack and took out a curled up sandwich. It was tuna fish and smelt a little off. He broke the sandwich in half and handed one portion to Wendy. He then thought again and handed her the other portion too. He had always hated tuna fish.
“That’s the last of the sandwiches Wendy,” he told her, “the cider’s all gone too.”
The couple were seated on a small mattress with their backs to a wall. Tim had an arm about Wendy’s shoulders.
In silence Wendy nibbled the broken halves of the sandwich. As the last of the crumbs disappeared, she looked up to Tim with her dark sunken eyes and spoke.
“No one’s going to find us are they Tim?” she said with a sigh.
Tim hugged her tightly and tried to comfort her.
“Of course they will Wendy,” he told her, but alas the voice did not sound convincing at all.
Wendy put her head to Tim’s chest.
“What are we going to do Tim?” she asked. “We’re trapped aren’t we… and nobody’s going to find us.”
Tim looked about the chamber. At least the electricity was still working and there was water in the toilet’s cistern. He reckoned they could survive for a few more days before things started to get really desperate.
“I’ll find a way out Wendy,” he told her.
As he spoke Tim looked upwards above his head. There was a switch on the wall with two buttons. He had noticed its presence for quite some time, but never thought much about it up until now. He unravelled his arm from around Wendy’s shoulders and stood up. He could see the buttons now. The one on the left had an arrow pointing upwards, whilst the one on the right had one pointing downwards.
He dabbed at the ‘up’ button and withdrew his thumb quickly. To his surprise there came a hum of an electric motor from somewhere up in the roof. He dabbed again, but this time holding down the button a little longer. On this occasion he was looking to the central hole in the ceiling where presumably the noise was coming from, and this time he saw what was happening. The hoist cable, with spreader bar attached, that came down from the circular opening in the roof, rose upwards a little. Just to prove that he had the right controls he pressed the ‘down’ button next, and sure enough the spreader bar dropped a little. After that, as if like a small boy with a new toy, Tim pressed first one button and then the other repeatedly, and watched with excitement as the cable wound up and down.
After having played around enough, Tim walked to the centre of the chamber and looked upwards through the circular opening. He recalled standing like this many times before, and staring blankly up through the opening, but only now was he beginning to get an idea. There was a hint of daylight up there. The blades of a fan were rotating slowly under the down draft and leaving a flickering of sunlight in their wake. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully then called Wendy over to his side.
“Wendy… stand up and come over here… I think I’ve got an idea,” he told her.
Wendy rose to her feet and crossed the floor. Together they stared upwards through the opening.
Tim took hold of the spreader bar attached to the end of the hoist cable, then began to explain his idea.
“If I stand on this bar and hold on to the cable, and then you raise me up into the opening… I might be able to dislodge something up there so that we can get out… It’s worth a try anyway… What do you think Wendy?” he told her.
Wendy nodded her head. She had looked on and watched the spreader bar go up and down whilst Tim played with the buttons, so she knew what it was all about.
“Yes Tim… it’s worth a try… I’ll work the buttons and see what happens,” she replied.
Wendy moved to the wall and pressed the down button. The spreader bar descended almost to the ground before she released her thumb. Tim then took hold of the cable and stepped onto the spreader bar, keeping his feet as close to the cable as possible.
“Right Wendy, take her up,” he called as soon as he was ready.
Wendy pressed the ‘up’ button and the cable began to rise. Soon Tim’s head was within the opening.
“Keep on going Wendy. I’ll tell you when to stop,” he called.
Wendy kept the button depressed.
“Right… Stop!” called Tim.
As Tim spoke Wendy released the button. She looked on. Only Tim’s legs from the knees downwards could be seen below the opening. From within the shaft there followed a whole lot of thumping and banging.
“Right Wendy… there’s a grill here and it’s loose,” called Tim between several grunts and groans.
For a good few minutes the twisting and grating of metal could be heard coming from the opening. Also bits of metal and masonry were falling to the chamber floor. And that was not all; Tim’s language said it all as he tore  away at the grill with his bare hands. Then suddenly there was crash and a huge amount of debris hit the floor.
Wendy screamed and jumped away as the roof fell in.
Above her head the opening in the roof echoed to the yells for joy, but she could not hear this for the noise. As the dust settled a shaft of light hit the floor and Tim’s spinning reflection from above cast dancing shadows on the ground.
“I’m through Wendy… it looks like some sort of well shaft above,” called Tim from way up in the opening.
Wendy moved to the centre of the chamber and looked skywards through the swirling dust. She was looking upwards from the bottom of the well. The circular walls ended with a small roof. There was also a bucket and winding gear up there at the very top. The hoist motor was mounted on the side of the wall and about half way down.
After a while Wendy looked down at the wreckage about her feet. Tim somehow had managed to dislodge the complete fan housing. It now lay twisted and in pieces on the chamber floor. She could also see the reason for the darkness. Some old clothes had been thrown down the well and had been resting on top of the grill.
Tim stopped his swinging motion and called down to Wendy.
“Wind me right up to the top Wendy… if I can climb onto the motor I think I can reach the top of the well,” he called.
Wendy stepped gingerly over the fallen debris and returned to the buttons on the wall. She pressed the ‘up’ button and waited.
“Right… stop…” called Tim from above.
Wendy released her thumb and waited.
“That’s it Wendy… I’ve got hold of the motor now… I think I can climb up from here,” called Tim.
Wendy moved back to the centre of the room and looked up. She could see Tim’s feet kicking as he tried to pull himself upwards. More debris fell, this time mainly small bits of brick and stone from the side of the well as Tim’s feet tried to get a purchase. She watched with baited breath as Tim first scrambled up onto the motor, then standing upright he grabbed hold of the top of the well. Finally she saw the upper half of his body disappear over the side, and quickly followed by his trailing legs.
After a few seconds a face appeared and looked down at Wendy.
“It’s a wishing well in the middle of the rear garden,” Tim called down. “I’m going into the house now and getting to the other side of the door… I’ll see if I can open it from the other side… if not I’ll go for help.”
Wendy nodded her head.
“Please… and be quick Tim,… don’t leave me here all alone,” she called up the shaft.
“I’ll be quick Wendy,” responded Tim then pulled himself away from the top of the well.
As Tim’s shadow disappeared, leaving Wendy staring up the walls of an empty well shaft, she returned her gaze to the debris about her feet, and in particular to the clothes that once clogged the grill. Suddenly a cold chill ran down her spine. These were motorbike leathers and boots, and she knew exactly who the previous owner had been. These items of clothing once belonged to Malcolm Smith, the young lad that had abducted her from outside her home on Castle Point and then subjected her to some most horrendous tortures.
Wendy clenched her fists and began to shake uncontrollably. She could not stop herself. Dr. Lang had warned her that memory of these horrors might someday return, and now here they were come back to haunt her.
Wendy clasped her hands to her face and began to scream. She had put up with being entombed in a dungeon with Tim for three days. But suddenly she was alone and very much afraid. Tim was no longer by her side to comfort her and memories of that dreadful madman Malcolm Smith had come back to haunt her.
Suddenly the door burst open and in rushed Tim. He caught hold of Wendy, picked her up off her feet and carried her up the stairs. On the lawn outside the front of the cottage he laid her down and tried to comfort her. She was still in shock and shaking uncontrollably.
“What spooked you in there?” he asked and showing concern.
Wendy sat up and clenched her arms about Tim’s neck.
“Don’t ever leave me again Tim,” was all she could say.

2:00 pm

Gayle Jackson hung limply on the end of the chain. An hour had passed since her beating, and her screaming was now reduced to a mere occasional whimper. Apart from the intermittent sob and snivel nothing moved; nothing stirred.
The small chain that connected her manacled wrists was threaded over a large hook on the end of a suspended chain. Above the chain was a pulley system that raised that mechanism up and down. Gayle’s naked body hung straight and lifeless; her head bowed; her feet some two feet off the ground. Her arms were drawn straight above her head; her toes drooped and pointing downwards. From the very tip of each big toe small droplets of blood dripped down onto the floor. She was in a sorry state; her body streaked with welts from shoulders to thighs and from breasts to knees. The beating had been indiscriminate. The blows catching whatever part of the body happened to get in the way of the onslaught.

The person that had done all this to Gayle lay exhausted on the floor close by. A blood stained whip rested by his side. For the past hour he had done nothing but lie there and gaze up at his victim. But now he stirred. He sat upright, flexed his fingers and stared at his hands. He felt a lot better now. His breathing was more controlled and his hands no longer shook.
He stood up and looked around. It was time to go, but before he went there was one thing left to do. He would swap his prisoners over. He would return his current victim to the wall and suspend his second prisoner from the hook. She would then be ready for him if the shakes returned. He moved across to the limp hanging body and began to wind down the chain. As the tips of the toes touched the ground he stopped. He was now in a position to swap the girls over.

Not very far away Sylvia Sparelli sat listening through it all. First there was the beating, then the screams and finally the silence. During all this period she sat motionless with her back to a wall. But then, she really did not have much choice. She could not go anywhere if she wanted to. A short chain linked a steel collar about her neck with an eyebolt set in the wall. Like Gayle before her she sat naked with her hands manacled to the front; a short chain linking the two steel bands about her wrists. Her head was also swathed in tape. There was tape about her eyes and about her rag filled mouth. She had a blanket too, but unlike Gayle she had chosen not to cower beneath it. Instead the blanket lay spread out beneath her for comfort and protection against the cold stone floor.
If there was one good thing to come out of this ugly episode, it was the identity of her fellow prisoner. Amid pitiful screams there had been pleas for mercy and desperate calls for the man to stop. Despite the echoing interior, the distortion of the voice under duress, and the many layers of tape about Sylvia’s ears, she recognised the voice. There was no doubt about it. It was the voice of Gayle Jackson, a good friend and colleague from the Cropwatch Organisation.

The resumption of activity made Sylvia cock an ear. The man was moving about again. For the past half hour she had wondered where he had got to. Despite the prolonged silence she had not heard him walk away and knew him still to be nearby.
Sylvia listened to the rattle of winding gear and tried to picture what was happening. She knew it had something to do with her fellow prisoner, but could not quite figure it out. There was a faint possibility the man was about to return Gayle to the wall alongside where she sat, but she doubted that was all. Instinct told her it was her turn next.
As the rattle of winding gear came to an end, approaching footsteps told Sylvia she was right to assume the worst. Her captor was coming towards her, and by the sound of the footsteps he was normally. There was nothing to indicate the laboured carrying of a body, nor anything to suggest that he was hampered in any way. This was a man walking alone.
Whilst waiting for something like to happen, Sylvia had formulated a plan. She was a survivor and remembered her conditioning. The man only hurt and punished girls that were disobedient.
As the footsteps drew closer she sat upright with her back to the wall and thrust her breasts forward. She then placed her manacled hands against her stomach and opened her legs wide. With a lone finger she pointed invitingly between her legs then began to massage her clitoris in a slow circular motion. She hoped that the display of sexual pleasure would distract the man enough to reconsider his actions.
She guessed she must have done something to distract him when the man stopped and knelt down by her side. Even though she was blind to what was happening she could sense him looking down and drooling over her. She decided to entice him some more by placing a second finger between her legs and parting her labia lips. Beneath the many layers of tape Sylvia shut her eyes and prayed that her little rouse was working. If only she could say something to him; she would tell him how horny she felt and how much she wanted him inside of her. She just hoped that her actions would induce sufficient arousal. If not she was in deep trouble.
Sylvia saw the display of sex as her only weapon of survival. She could sense that the man was still watching so she took her actions one step further. She slipped a finger inside of her and began to glide it gradually in and out. Beneath the many layers of tape about her mouth she began to simulate a moan. She hoped from the outside the noises she was making sounded pleasurable. As time went on and nothing more happened, she upped the tempo a little. She wanted him to enjoy the show, and hoped and prayed she was achieving what she had set out to do.
A career woman, in her thirties and living alone, and without a man for most of her working life, Sylvia knew all about masturbation. She had a hundred and one ways of reaching orgasm, and possessed a great number of sexual toys, but using her fingers as she lay in bed at night was probably the most commonest way of working herself off. So what she was doing right now came as second nature to her. However, on this occasion she knew that a climax was impossible. She felt dirty and abused and the mind was not up to it. This was an act of self preservation and what she was doing was simply putting on a show. She would act like a prostitute going through the motions with her tenth client in as many hours. She would simulate orgasm and hope that it appeared convincing enough to fool her captor.
Sylvia speeded up her actions and began to roll her shoulders in rhythm to her performance. She began shaking her hips and thrusting her buttocks forward to match an incoming finger. She then added a second finger and increased the pace even further. Soon she was shaking and rocking on her blanket, and her muffled moans turned to groans of ecstasy. She kept the action going for as long as possible, then when she considered the time had come she sent her body into climax mode. She jerked and rocked and howled like she had never managed to do in real life. If this did not fool him she did not know what would. At the end of it all she just let her body go limp, slumped down from the wall and lay there on the blanket gently rubbing a finger up and down her crack.
Beneath the veil of tape Sylvia prayed that she had done enough. She could hear her captor breathing heavily above her. She wondered what he was going to do next? Then suddenly the man began to stir and moved between her legs. Hands grabbed at her knees and pushed them further apart. The weight of his body then fell upon her and she felt the tip of his penis probing for an opening. She adjusted herself and let the erection slide inside her. He then began to pump, steady at first, then with a gradual build up until he was going full frenzy.
As the man pumped away Sylvia began to get a stirring in her loins. She had reckoned under the circumstances it was impossible to reach orgasm. But now she was having second thoughts. She told herself; if she was not a prisoner and nauseated by the man’s presence, she would be enjoying this. Slowly she began to move her hips in rhythm with his thrusts. She was thinking; perhaps there was nothing wrong with coming after all. Instinctively she raised up her knees and spread her legs wider so that his thrusts would penetrate deeper and touch the parts of her inner walls that stimulated her the most.
As the man ejaculated, Sylvia climaxed. Her body shuddered to his thrusts and despite the restrictions about her mouth she managed to scream. It was a wonderful feeling and unlike anything else she had ever experienced in her entire life. As the man pulled away she just lay there in a warm glow and wanting more. She had several more orgasms waiting to follow the first. If only this was love and the real thing she would tell him so.
As the man moved away Sylvia’s thoughts returned to the real world. She could hear his footsteps fading away in the distance. He seemed to be staggering and reeling as he moved.
She gave thanks that he did not hurt her, and gained solace from the fact that her little rouse had worked. Now her only concerned lay with Gayle and what sort of condition she was in.

6:00 pm

Dr. Gabriel Lang had just finished surgery when he sat back and relaxed in his chair. He had a lot to think about. The girls had let him into their little secret. He now knew all about the Pact. Chloe Chambers was aware too, so now everyone involved was fully in the picture.
After that showdown at Davina’s house it was inopportune that he had to leave straightaway. Unfortunately duty called at the hospital and there was no way he could get out of it. All his patients would be there queued up and waiting, and he had no choice but to be there.
He left Davina’s house with a promise that they would all sleep on what they had learned and all meet up again the following day. They all agreed to assemble at Castle Point at nine o’clock the following morning.
Everyone was of an opinion that before they took their tale to Inspector Hawkins they would check out this mysterious Clive Carter. No one wanted to act in haste anymore. They had already made one great mess of the investigation, and they did not want to create another. Everyone was of the opinion that the true facts had to be established before they did anything stupid.
Dr. Lang reflected on one other fact to arise from the meeting. Tracy and Chloe had bumped into his twin brother Michael in the course of their investigations. He decided to give him a call. It had been a long time since he last spoke to his brother.

8:00 pm

Wendy could not stop eating, and Mrs. Trubshaw was in a mood to let her have whatever she wanted, and in double proportions too.
Wendy and Tim had arrived back at the ‘Shoulder of Mutton’ public house in a bedraggled state. Mrs. Trubshaw had been horrified and gave them all the assistance they wanted. She then telephoned the police to inform them that the two missing persons had turned up.
After showering and changing into something clean and fresh, Wendy and Tim went down stairs. The police had arrived and wanted to interview them. Here they learned that the local police had been active during their absence, but like most disappearances in the area, they had concentrated on the river first.
Afterwards Wendy and Tim went on to explain what had happened to them. They told the officers about sheltering from the violent hailstorms and finding themselves trapped inside the cottage when a door slammed shut. They also explained their escape via the wishing well in the garden.
Wendy and Tim were asked if they would like medical assistance, but this was declined. However, it was agreed that the police would get Cuckoo Cottage boarded up, and possibly put ‘Danger - Keep Out’ signs about the premises. But other than that it was impossible to do anything until the rightful owner of the cottage could be traced; and on that front they were having very little success.
After this the case was considered closed since no harm had befallen anyone. The police officers went away leaving Tim and Wendy free to enjoy the biggest meal of their life, and all at Mrs. Trubshaw’s expense. She insisted that the meal should be on the house.
Drinking a cup of coffee afterwards at the dining table, Wendy broached the subject of going home. Those awful memories of Cuckoo Cottage were playing on her mind an she wanted to put as much distance between herself and Muddleton Morton as possible.
“So Tim, you’ll take me back to Littlesea tomorrow, won’t you?” asked Wendy as she sipped at her hot cup of coffee.
Tim nodded his head. He had seen enough of Muddleton Morton too and did not particularly want to hang around the place longer than was really necessary. What had turned out to be an enjoyable weekend tryst had ended up a nightmare. It was an experience he never wanted to live through ever again.
“Yes Wendy, we’ll set off for Littlesea first thing tomorrow morning, as soon as we’ve finished breakfast we’ll settle the bill and go,” he told her.
Wendy smiled. She too would be glad to get out of here. Like Tim the place held nothing but bad memories.
The couple held hands across the candlelit table. If anything the experience had brought them much closer together. They did not know it, but both were deeply in love.
“Thank you Tim,” said Wendy softly.
Tim smiled back.
“Well that’s tomorrow settled Wendy,… but what are we going to do tonight?” he asked with a glint to his eye.
Wendy chuckled and gripped Tim’s hand tightly..
“Sleep together in a nice comfortable bed for a change,” she replied.
“And maybe a bit of bondage thrown in?” suggested Tim.
Wendy smiled.
“Why not!” she replied. “I’m feeling horny already at the thought.”

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End of Chapter Thirty-four