Captive (20 page)

The doctor gives a smile as sweet as candy-floss and gestures him in.

‘How are you holding up, Miss Knollys-Green?’ he asks, settling into a chair.

‘Where’s Talon?’

‘Do you mean Samuel Fletcher? He is in a secure unit. He can’t hurt you again.’

‘He didn’t hurt me. He was kind. Feather and Scar are the ones behind all this. They made him take me.’ My head is hurting, like a percussion orchestra is playing inside it;
the sound of my blood is the drum. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning, and I’m sick and dizzy. The lights are bright in here and yet the room seems full of moving shadow.
Dark undulating shapes rise up at the corner of my eyes and creep towards me like an oil slick. I rub my eyes to clear my vision.

The police officer has to repeat what he’s just said. ‘You like this Samuel. Is that why you helped him escape yesterday? Or did he force you?’

‘It was a very dangerous thing to do, Robyn,’ the doctor says.

‘He didn’t make me do anything. You broke your promise. You didn’t free Marble.’

‘Marble is a known terrorist. He is charged with shooting your father,’ says Thomas.

‘But that isn’t Talon’s fault. You’re getting this all wrong. Talon only kidnapped me because the police wouldn’t listen to him when he said that Michael Bell had
killed his brother.’

‘Michael Bell? Sorry, who are you talking about?’

‘Michael Bell – the head of Bell-Barkov. My godfather. Dad’s best friend. There’s this drug and it isn’t safe. Michael knew it wasn’t but he still let it be
used on kids and Talon’s brother died.’

‘Samuel told you that Michael Bell killed his brother and that’s why you helped him to escape?’

‘Yes, no. It wasn’t as simple as that. You’re not listening. I knew you wouldn’t; that’s why we ran yesterday. I . . . I didn’t want you to hurt Talon. He was
kind to me. He . . . He . . .’

‘You told your dad where we were . . .’

‘Robyn, I want you to understand that what these people did, including this Talon, was wrong. They are all going to face charges of kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment and terrorism. They
will be going to prison for a long time.’

‘No! Not Talon. It’s not fair.’

‘There is a condition, you know,’ the doctor says in her honeyed tones. ‘It’s called Stockholm syndrome. It is where someone who has been in captivity begins to have
sympathy for her captor. Sometimes even feelings of love develop.’

‘I do not have that! You definitely do not understand.’

The officer is looking at me as if I’m insane, and I realise it is pointless. Even my own father lied to me about this. I stand up. ‘I want to go home now.’

‘Of course you do and you can very soon, but first we just need to understand what happened yesterday. And we’d like to have someone talk to you about your time in
captivity.’

‘I don’t want to talk any more. I want to go home, but first – I want to see Talon.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

‘Why not? What have you done with him?’

‘It’s not a case of that. We assure you that he is quite all right. He is in the holding cells—’

‘I want to see him
now
.’ I fling Doctor Flight’s tray across the room, narrowly missing Thomas’s head. The doctor’s smile drips from her face like melted
chocolate.

‘Robyn, you need to calm down,’ she urges.

But I’m tired of being calm and I’m fed up with doing what I’m told.

I walk to the door, sidestepping Thomas’s attempts to stop me.

‘Robyn, for goodness’ sake,’ the doctor says. ‘Where are you going?’

‘We can sort this out,’ Thomas says.

Maybe they can, but it won’t be in the way I want, so I start to run. I am still dizzy, but adrenaline has kicked in and I move fast. So does Thomas. He snatches for me, but I spin away
and open the door at the end of the hall. I dash through the gap and then pull the door shut behind me. After grabbing a nearby chair, I ram it under the door handle. It won’t hold for long
but maybe it will give me enough time to find Talon.

I run on through six more doors, taking as many corners as I can to try and throw Thomas off my scent. Then I come out into a wide atrium. I take in the scene quickly. There’s a circular
reception desk and in front of it are three long rows of chairs. To the left and right of the desk are doors and behind the chairs, an ornate red rug leads like a tongue to a set of glass doors
that open out on to a tarmacked forecourt. Sunshine glints on the glass, making the doors shine.

I turn back to the desk. I’m not leaving here without seeing Talon. Thomas mentioned that he was in a holding cell. There must be a map somewhere. I pull open a couple of the drawers in
the desk. I doubt very much that any map I find is going to say ‘
Terrorists stored here
’ but at least it might give me some indication as to where I am now and in which direction
I should head first.

The double doors slide open as I am searching the third drawer. Two men enter. I duck behind the desk and then crawl on my hands and knees until I can peer around it to watch them. Thankfully
they don’t hesitate, but head straight for the door I just ran through. ‘Distress signal came from down here,’ one says. The other man nods and the two of them disappear through
the door.

I count to twenty, to make sure they aren’t coming back, and then stand slowly and resume my search of the desk. The third drawer contains only pens, paper and endless appointment diaries.
The sound of footsteps coming from the web of corridors reminds me that I need to hurry up. As I shove everything back into the drawer, my fingers run over something smooth at the bottom. A piece
of paper has been sellotaped there. It is a map of fire exits.

One corner rips as I tear it out of the drawer. I lay it on the desk, pushing back the curling corners. The building is immense and the map is complicated. There are so many different wings.
Corridors lead to more corridors. Panic is beginning to set in. I will never find Talon in this place. And then finally I spot the words ‘
Holding Area
’. They have been
handwritten in fading blue biro on a large grey box that looks like some sort of basement or cellar. A holding area could hold anything, but I have a feeling that what it contains at the moment are
Talon, Feather and Scar. Besides, it’s the only clue I have and I’m not prepared to admit defeat yet.

According to the map, there should be a lift down to the basement at the end of one of the hallways off the reception area. A woman in uniform appears through a door to the right of me just as I
am deciding which corridor to take. Her cry of ‘Hey! Stop!’ leaves me no time for any extended decision-making. To the sound of her stamping feet chasing me, I flee down a hall that I
hope will lead to the lift and Talon.

The corridor bends sharply to the right and I risk a glance back as I make the turn. A man in uniform has joined the woman and the two are gaining on me fast. I force myself to run harder,
nearly smashing into the wall as I skid on the shiny floor. The corridor branches out, to become two forks. I make a snap decision and take the left corridor and immediately regret it when I see
that it leads to a set of double doors that are most definitely not a lift. My hands are shaking so much that I can’t get a proper grip on the door. ‘Wait!’ The woman lunges for
me just as I manage to turn the handle.

I dance away, spinning out of her hands, and fly through the open door. The officers are right behind me. As I kick the doors shut, there is the howl of fingers caught. They pull free and
I’m able to shut the double doors. If I can just secure them somehow, I will have a chance. There is nothing, though – no rod, no . . . Wait. Bolts. Four of them, two on each door, one
that can be driven into the ceiling and another for the floor on each side. I slam the top two home. My breathing eases as I secure the bottom two. The bolts are strong but so are the police; four
bolts won’t keep them out for long, but a single second is a bonus now.

I hurry down the stairs behind me. The corridor beyond is empty, so I creep out and jog to the end of the hall. To the right is the lift. It is an old service one, with cage-like doors. I race
to it and press the call button; there’s a screech of metal as it descends.

I take the lift down to the basement. It comes to a stop and I slide the gates open to reveal a large room, its bare concrete walls illuminated by fluorescent strip lighting. Racks of shelves
fill the enormous space. They run for what seems like miles in all directions. Each shelf is crammed with containers, as well as what look like piles of syringes, all sealed in plastic, scalpels
and other medical equipment. There is a single metal door opposite the lift. A rusted sign above it reads ‘
To the holding area
’.

After getting out of the lift, I leave the door open, partly because I don’t have the strength to do anything else and partly because I have some notion that these sorts of lifts
can’t be called to other floors if their doors aren’t closed.

People are always talking about sixth senses. That feeling you get, when you just know. I just
know
as soon as I enter that dark, grim corridor that I am going to find Talon at the end of
it. Rotting cardboard boxes, old filing cabinets and other junk block my path, as if someone is keen to make you think that this is a disused corridor, it leads to nothing, so best just turn around
and go back the way you’ve come. I don’t turn back. I stalk through the darkness, swearing and yelping as my body bashes into the debris piled up here.

Eventually, the hallway widens. I take another step forward and a row of strip lights flashes on above me. The space is wider here, brighter, cleaner. In the middle of this area is a bank of
desks. Blinking computers sit among piles of paper. I come upon what looks like a small galley kitchen. A female police officer is in it, humming to herself and making a cup of tea. Very quietly, I
shut the door and prop one of the chairs under the handle to keep it closed. I hear a muffled female voice say, ‘What the hell?’ followed by banging.

At the end of the hall, to the left, I discover the cells, little more than crevices carved out of the walls with iron bars running across each one. The first two are empty. In the third, I find
a shirtless Scar doing push-ups. I recognise him instantly, even though I have never seen him without his mask. The stitches on a couple of his fingers have burst and blood congeals on the concrete
beneath him. ‘Knew you couldn’t live without me, Princess,’ he says, without looking up. If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. After grinding out another
push-up, he stands up. ‘Miss me?’ he asks.

‘Goodbye, Scar,’ I say, walking away. It is Talon I have come for. Scar can rot down here for all I care.

I find Talon, three cells down – and the sight of him stops my heart. He is lying on a cot, staring up at the ceiling. There is blood on his face, presumably from the knock to the back of
his head, and a bruise on his cheekbone. He rolls out of the bed slowly when he spots me. I open my mouth to speak. No words come. His hands slide over mine as I grip the bars and, for a while, I
have no idea if I am holding him up or he is holding me.

‘I’m sorr—’ I begin.

‘You came for me,’ he interrupts.

I grasp his fingers tighter. ‘I’ll always come for you.’

His eyes are bloodshot; the green light in them dimmed, almost gone.

‘Let’s get you out of here.’ As I say the words, I realise I mean it. I didn’t come to say goodbye. I came to set him free, because the police won’t believe him and
he’ll never get justice for his brother if he stays locked up. ‘I’ve got a map. We can find a secret way out.’

‘You shouldn’t get yourself into trouble for me. I deserve this, Robyn. I need to be punished for what I did.’

There’s a sound of splintering wood from further up the corridor. ‘We don’t have long,’ I say.

‘Will you do me a favour and just see if Feather is all right?’

‘You’re kidding me?’

‘Please, Robyn. I know what she’s done but she was in a bad way and – and she was my friend once. And she’s Marble’s sister. I owe it to him.’

Feather is on the floor of the next cell, her back against the wall. Her eyes are closed, the lids heavy and dark, and there’s a bandage around one of her arms. It’s the first time
I’ve seen her without the mask. What I notice first is the white patch of hair on her head. It looks like feathers, just as Talon said it did.

I hate this woman. She took me from my family because she wanted to get her brother back and she never thought, not once, about what the kidnapping would do to me. Because of her, I have learned
that everything I believed is wrong, and I have no idea how to begin again with what I have. I step away from her cell. Who cares if she lives or dies? She wouldn’t care if it was the other
way around. Still, I draw a deep breath, already knowing that I can’t just walk away.

‘Talon wants to know if you’re okay.’

‘Been better.’ She struggles to stand up, grimacing in pain. ‘Little Bird is out of her cage then.’

‘And Little Bitch is in hers, where she belongs.’

‘Grown claws since I last saw you, or should I call them talons?’ Her laugh becomes a hacking cough that racks her whole body. ‘Is this a rescue mission? If he tells you to
save me, don’t bother. I’d rather die than be saved by you.’

‘Good,’ I reply.

I’m about to walk away when she says, ‘It was me, you know. I shot your father. I wish I’d killed him. He is just as guilty as Michael Bell.’

My hands are trembling with anger. I march back down the corridor to the desks. None of the cells have locks and that means the doors must be controlled centrally somehow. I wiggle the mouse of
one of the computers and the screen lights up and asks me to enter a password. I don’t even bother trying to guess. I open a few of the drawers in the desk beneath it. Most of the drawers are
empty, apart from the usual stationery supplies. Then I rummage around on the next desk, before bending down to peer under it. No secrets there, just smooth wood. I check the other desks and on the
fourth one, I find it: a control panel, with red dots and beside them buttons, matching the layout of the cells behind me. I press one. There’s a whirl and a click and then the bars on
Feather’s cell slide down.