No one had entered the house since the discoveries. No one had pushed open the rotting wooden gate that swung on squeaky hinges. No one had crunched their way up the gravel path that led to the front door cordoned off by a stretch of yellow tape bearing the words, 'CONDEMNED – DO NOT ENTER', printed in tall thick letters that drew and held the eye as they stood out against their stark background. The tape remained undisturbed since the day it had been placed there. Not even the bitter winter winds or sweating heat of the summer had touched it.

They hadn't dared.

They had found the bodies in the basement, at least ten of them. Each killed in a different way, each with parts of their body missing, many had been drained of their blood. One of the bodies was almost completely devoid of their skin, what remained of their mauled torso was dressed in a nurse's uniform. A badge pinned to the lapel of the bloodied clothing gave a name to a face savaged beyond recognition, 'Ellen'.

Tucked into the corner of this macabre slaughterhouse they had found a make-shift operating theatre, what atrocities had been performed there they didn't yet know. Hours of searching revealed no clues as to the whereabouts of the parts of the bodies lying outstretched on the dusty floor underneath the flickering haze of lights that seemed to stretch on forever into the darkest regions of that room of death.

Had not the smell of the decay of those left to rot upon that cold sea of tile begun to infest the air outside with its putrid matter they never would have known what had happened. They never would have found the body sitting in the chair, eyes wide, mouth agape, silently calling out for help.

It hadn't taken them long to find the basement. Those few unlucky people that had been the first to see what awaited them had all fallen to nervous disorders, even months after the event some were still dependent on help. The darkness hadn't spared them from the cruel visions that seemed to glow against the dark red backdrop on which they lay.

They knew who had committed the gruesome acts, the tableaux of horror showing a disturbed mind beyond recovery but they didn't know who had killed the killer. It hadn't taken long to find out his identity. A card in his jacket pocket named him. His picture upon that crumbled piece of laminated paper confirmed his identity. It was a name they had heard before.

Doctor Dominic Trent.

What sick manifestation had been his goal, they didn't know. There was no telling what he could have been doing down there in his sanctuary of obscenity. The only evidence that could have unlocked a dead man's secrets had been found in a pile of ashes. There was nothing left, someone had gotten there first.

It was that someone that now waded through the darkness of the basement. Still the smell was present in the air but that didn't bother her. Nor did the sight of blood dried into the once white tiles, she had been here before.

She had been reborn here.

It was here she would live, hidden from the light of the sun, concealed from prying eyes, they would never think to look for her here. No one ever came here. Except for those she had made sure would join her. They would remain here, safe from intruders, living in secret.

Soon one of them would join her.

A muffled footstep on the stairs above him forced him to look up. His eyes widened in fear as he saw her standing there, her hands outstretched, her features fixed into a mask of determination to accomplish something nearly impossible. In what looked like slow motion she placed one of her hands on the wall next to her, flattened, her other hand she wrapped around the banister rail, holding on firmly. Her eyes seemed fixed on a point beyond her that he couldn't see. They ignored him as he called to her, asking her what she was doing. No words answered his plea, only action. She lifted one foot slightly in the air. With her eyes still fixed in the same spot she planted it almost gingerly on the step below. As her hands tightened their grip where they had been placed he knew what she was going to do. Calling to her again he tried to gain her attention but again she ignored him. Her ears were as deaf to him as her eyes were blind.

His appeals were useless.

He watched in horror as she began to slowly lower her foot. If she put any weight on it she would fall, it was her weak side. Adrenaline pumped through his body as he bolted towards the foot of the stairs.

He had to stop her.

Even as he ran towards her she didn't see him. She didn't want to. To look at him would be to show him her fear as her foot reached ever downwards. Its progress was slow, as if she were stepping into a pool of mud. It seemed to resist as her toes touched the carpet. More and more of her foot touched down on the step, her heel came to a rest moments after her toes. Two steps down she began to move her other foot to greet the one she had just placed but that was when it went all wrong.

Kit grabbed Robyn just as she fell, the force of her fall sent them sprawling down several steps before he managed to grab hold of the banister. He grunted as he felt his shoulder hit the wall as his body turned, jerking against the sudden stop. Breathing heavily he looked at Robyn. She seemed to be unharmed aside from being shaken by what had happened. Carefully he moved her down a step before slowly standing and lifting her up from the stair and carrying her down to the ground.

When he had sat her and himself on the sofa he broke his silence, "What the hell were you trying to do?! You know you can't walk down the stairs on your own."

"I know." Came the short, defiant reply.

"Then why do it then?"

"I want to do things on my own. I don't want to use the crutch anymore."

"But you need it until we can get you sorted out. If you keep pulling stunts like that you'll hurt yourself. What good is getting around without your crutches if you fall down the stairs and crack your head open? What if I hadn't been there to catch you? What would you have done then?" Kit's voice was harsh.

"We both know the answer to that question. I have one of my own. Would you miss me?"

Kit's eyes narrowed, "What kind of question is that?"

Robyn squirmed against the tightening grip of Kit's hands on her wrists. He was hurting her.

"Let me go!"

"I won't until you tell me what you meant. Why would you ask that question?"

"Let me go!" Robyn repeated louder than before.

Finally she managed to snatch her hands from his grasp. He didn't try to reclaim them. Instead he rose from the sofa and walked out of the house.

A confused Robbie stood in the middle of the stairs, fresh from his shower, wondering what had been happening.