Her whole body shook with sobs. She felt dirty, used, ashamed. And
the fact that it had been Manson, her governor, that had paid Windsor to do
this was almost enough to send Sam over the edge. The one thing keeping her
together was the thought of sending Manson down when she got free. When? A
sceptical little voice in her head tormented her. If.
A head popped around the DI's office door. "Gov, GOV" "WHAT? Oh Phil." the DI sounded relieved. "Are you alright" Phil gave him a questioning look. "You haven't quite been with it all morning. "Sore head" "Whatever. Thought you might like to know we found traces of DS Nixon's blood on that brick. I think we can safely say she's been abducted. "There's no need to look so pleased about it" the DI snapped. "Sorry" his grinning face disappeared around the door.
The next time he came in she would be ready for him. It was over a day since she had gotten here and yet it seemed like a lifetime. The ropes bounding her hands together had finally given in allowing Sam to explore the tiny room she was being held captive in. amongst the junk Sam had found a broken table leg.
The lock creaked. Expecting to find Sam tied up, the shock of the first blow stunned Windsor. With out giving him a chance to react Sam swung the table leg as hard as she could at Windsor's head. Rushing out of the room she flung the weapon away, and ran down the flight of stairs that were directly opposite the room that had acted as her prison. The front door. The cool air felt like heaven after being cramped up for almost two days. Looking around, Sam realised she had no idea were she was. Knowing she couldn't stay put she decided to walk until she found someone that could help her. "Right. You can do this" Sam headed up the path on her right and prayed she'd come to a police station soon.
That little voice was still bothering him. The DI closed his eyes and thought back to when it all started. Without warning hundreds of memories that he had locked away for so long flooded into his brain. No. he didn't want them there. His eyes flew open, full of unshed tears. Neil took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. And he remembered. Memories so awful and terrible fought to be looked at first.
He was eight. His mother and father had started arguing again. He looked up. Only for a split second, but it was enough. "What are you looking at" bellowed his drunken father. "What business is this of yours?" "None" he had answered in a scared voice, his father was really losing it. "Well let's make it your business" the words were etched with cruelty .Then his father had grabbed his arm and told his mother to hold him still. A very sharp looking knife had been produced. The pain had been incredible. It felt as if someone was placing a red hot poker on his arm and pressing it down. He'd thought it would only last a second. It had taken nearly two minutes. He'd screamed in agony, but that hadn't stopped his father. The hospital had given him three bays of blood, stitched his arm up and told him not to play in junkyards. The school had been told the same thing, an accident in a junkyard.
Neil opened his eyes the memory had only taken a few seconds. He brushed away the tears that had begun to fall and rolled up his sleeve. The scar was still clearly visible. That cruel little voice in his head spoke again One down, thousands more to go.
A head popped around the DI's office door. "Gov, GOV" "WHAT? Oh Phil." the DI sounded relieved. "Are you alright" Phil gave him a questioning look. "You haven't quite been with it all morning. "Sore head" "Whatever. Thought you might like to know we found traces of DS Nixon's blood on that brick. I think we can safely say she's been abducted. "There's no need to look so pleased about it" the DI snapped. "Sorry" his grinning face disappeared around the door.
The next time he came in she would be ready for him. It was over a day since she had gotten here and yet it seemed like a lifetime. The ropes bounding her hands together had finally given in allowing Sam to explore the tiny room she was being held captive in. amongst the junk Sam had found a broken table leg.
The lock creaked. Expecting to find Sam tied up, the shock of the first blow stunned Windsor. With out giving him a chance to react Sam swung the table leg as hard as she could at Windsor's head. Rushing out of the room she flung the weapon away, and ran down the flight of stairs that were directly opposite the room that had acted as her prison. The front door. The cool air felt like heaven after being cramped up for almost two days. Looking around, Sam realised she had no idea were she was. Knowing she couldn't stay put she decided to walk until she found someone that could help her. "Right. You can do this" Sam headed up the path on her right and prayed she'd come to a police station soon.
That little voice was still bothering him. The DI closed his eyes and thought back to when it all started. Without warning hundreds of memories that he had locked away for so long flooded into his brain. No. he didn't want them there. His eyes flew open, full of unshed tears. Neil took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. And he remembered. Memories so awful and terrible fought to be looked at first.
He was eight. His mother and father had started arguing again. He looked up. Only for a split second, but it was enough. "What are you looking at" bellowed his drunken father. "What business is this of yours?" "None" he had answered in a scared voice, his father was really losing it. "Well let's make it your business" the words were etched with cruelty .Then his father had grabbed his arm and told his mother to hold him still. A very sharp looking knife had been produced. The pain had been incredible. It felt as if someone was placing a red hot poker on his arm and pressing it down. He'd thought it would only last a second. It had taken nearly two minutes. He'd screamed in agony, but that hadn't stopped his father. The hospital had given him three bays of blood, stitched his arm up and told him not to play in junkyards. The school had been told the same thing, an accident in a junkyard.
Neil opened his eyes the memory had only taken a few seconds. He brushed away the tears that had begun to fall and rolled up his sleeve. The scar was still clearly visible. That cruel little voice in his head spoke again One down, thousands more to go.