Toby would be Okay.
He would probably be scratching at Mrs Llewellyn's back door by now, nosing around for food like he usually did. He was used to his mistress coming home late from work.
Meanwhile, Molly had started to wonder what the knock on effect of her disappearance would be. In the long term, it wouldn't have much impact on the universe as a whole. In the short term, there were people relying on her work. She'd already missed the afternoon conference and twelve liver biopsies weren't going to analyse themselves. Sometimes she wondered if she even mattered at all, in the big scheme of things, beyond a name on a badge that people came to for professional advice. She was just a dispenser of knowledge; who she was, or what happened to her didn't really matter to anyone.
That was why she took particular care over the unclaimed bodies, like her missing Jane Doe. They didn't matter to anyone either. It just didn't seem right, that someone's entire life and the manner of their death didn't matter, and would be forgotten, just a line of text on a form in her office.
Well, she was going to live. She was going to live through this and bring justice to the forgotten, unclaimed cases, damn it. That was her raison d'etre from now on. Forget Sherlock… Forget Tom with his mundane version of life.
A noise outside the door made her flinch.
Wade could come back any minute. She had to figure out a way to get out of here, get away from this stinking bed and these crazy people. And she desperately needed the toilet; that was possibly the worst thing; wouldn't they just love it if they burst in to find her covered in her own piss? As if she could be any more humiliated than she already was. She'd been holding it in for over eight hours now, a record if ever she'd heard one. Luckily, long shifts had given her the opportunity to train for this. It was a fine balance between her stamina and risking cystitis through voluntary deferral of micturition.
Think! What would Sherlock do?
As she tossed her head to the side, a hair pin stuck her in the scalp. Why hadn't she noticed this before? Of course, she'd used Kirby grips all over her bun this morning. Her hair was now a bird's nest, near enough, but this little bit of metal could be her salvation. If only the inventors of such an innocuous object could know the ray of hope that it had provided her in this awful situation.
Each wrist was bound with a large nylon cable tie. Through the first cable tie, another had been threaded and it was this second tie which tethered her to the bed post. It was the same situation with her feet; a chain of nylon cable ties. She was splayed out corner to corner, but if she could somehow manage to work the restraint over the knob on the end of the bedpost, she might be able to reach the pin in her hair.
She pulled with all her might. Gradually, the plastic loop began to slip over the metal ball. It hurt like hell, but it was worth it; she could slide her right hand over to just above her head. She did the same with her left hand and then began to painstakingly work the hairpin toward her fingers using her head as a fifth limb.
This is bloody ridiculous, she thought as the pin frustratingly brushed her fingertips and fell away from her grasp over and over again.
"You sound like my wife," Jokic brushed aside Wade's concerns as they poured vodka for all those at the table, "and we all know what happen to her. Nagging bitch."
Rudolph laughed and dealt the cards, competing for space among the litter of fast food wrappers.
"All I'm saying is," Wade gesticulated with long nicotine stained fingers as they talked, "is that now the authorities know about the contamination, we need to be on higher alert."
"No way they ever find this place," Jokic drawled, his roll-up flopping about on his lower lip, "Place like Fort Knox. Even customers cannot find without invitation."
"So how is this Holmes fellow going to find us?"
"I send invitation."
Rudolph smirked, knowing his boss's methods, but Jokic slammed his fist down on the table, making the vodkas jump. "What you call this? Idiot. Give me better cards. What I tell you last time?"
Rudolph sulked and dealt him better cards.
"I don't like it. It feels unsafe somehow. I say we fuck this joint over and push the attack forward to this week, that way we'll still have the element of surprise." Wade examined his own hand of cards.
"No, we stick to the plan."
"Your little vendetta is going to get us all slaughtered, I hope you know that."
"I not pay you for opinion. I pay you for spy. Now play."
So they played for a while, until Jokic gave a little smile of his own, out of the corner of his mouth, the dimples and the scar contorting like a mask. "Besides," he said, "this Holmes like bloodhound, you no read? He find me but he is weak. He will dance for me by tonight end, and we will have our goat of escape."
"Scapegoat. The word is scapegoat."
"Whatever."
"So what are we going to do if he brings the cops?"
"He too smart for that. No, I make sure he in deep shit."
The workshop door swung open and Dario came in, letting it close with a metallic clang. "Hey," he said, digging in his pockets, "anybody wanna do a line?"
"Yeah, go on then." Wade casually threw down his cards.
Jokic tugged at Dario's sleeve as he pulled up a chair, and cleared a space on the table. "Don't forget; delivery of fresh product tonight. You wait by gates."
"Can I take Rudolph?"
Rudolph sulked again.
"I thought we were wrapping up business this week," Wade fiddling with a razor blade, "Why are we still receiving product?"
"It already on way Sreda. Cannot stop now."
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Wade got up from the table, abandoning Dario and his coke. "I may as well go and enjoy myself then."
Molly twisted the meagre slip of metal inside the nylon tie until it was cutting into the tender, white skin of her wrist. She couldn't quite reach the tie that bound to the bedstead, so it was going to have to be the one next to her skin. If she twisted it enough, it would snap. Her eyes fluttered closed with pain. It was a competition between her epidermis and the plastic now. Which would break first?
There was no room. There was no bed. There was nothing else left but those two materials, antagonising each other, the whole universe condensed down into a test of her grit. Seconds ticked by, or were they hours? She just didn't know any more.
Everything stank. Sweat burst on her forehead. Nylon twisted and stretched. Skin yielded and developed blood blisters.
Until… snap!
And she almost cried with relief. She dare not look at the damage for a minute, only stared at the dimly lit ceiling and held onto the hairpin for dear life. But when she did look, her wrist was ringed with an ugly welt. Blood began to drip down her forearm, but she didn't care.
She started on the other side.
Before long, she'd released both hands and was sitting up, dizzy from lying down for so long. She started on her feet. Now that she could reach, she could break the ties furthest from her ankles and didn't need to risk further injury. The hairpin stood up to the assault admirably.
But what was she going to when he did come back? Wade had 12 inches and at least 100 pounds on her. What could she possibly do to protect herself when he came through that door? She tried to get her head together as she threw the restraints to one side.
For the first time she had a proper look around the room. Over in the corner was a basic sink and faucet, and underneath that, a bucket catching a drip that snaked down a disused dishcloth. She gratefully prised herself off of the sticky bedclothes and put her aching feet on the plywood boards, but her knees betrayed her and she sunk to the floor. She was numb with cold and fear. Somehow, she made it to the bucket and used it to relieve herself, all the while thinking how degrading it all was and what she was going to do when she got out of here.
A hot bath and a hot cup of tea. Mmmm, she could almost lose herself in that fantasy, but she had to keep her wits about her, keep on her toes. The next thing she investigated was the corners of the room. No Joy there. She tried the door on the off chance it might not be locked. But that was silly; she heard the turn of the key and the click when Wade had left, and her test on the handle confirmed this. She was trapped. Next the floorboards. Nailed down.
Damn! She punched the wall, alarming herself with her own vehemence.
How was she going to get out of this one?
There was only one thing for it; she was going to have to somehow knock Wade out. It was against her faith and not to mention the Hippocratic oath to hurt someone as much as she was going to have to hurt this man. There must be no way of him getting up once she'd exhausted the element of surprise. Her only chance was to hit him hard and hit him once.
Solar Plexus? Occipital Precipice? Philtrum? These were all effective places for an incapacitating strike, but really there was only one choice; one that could leave him crippled or even dead. Sometimes she cursed the morbidity of her knowledge; weren't people's consciences better off when they don't know a thousand ways to kill a man? Yep, there was only one way she could be sure wade was incapacitated and that was to hit him in the throat.
Even after she'd made the decision, she still cringed at the thought of the damage she could do. She'd never deliberately hurt anyone before… Okay, there was the fork stabbing incident, but that didn't count. Tom had driven her to it.
Tom. Oh, Tom. Would he ever know what had become of her?
But she mustn't get distracted. She lifted up the mattress and worked one of the slats free from the bed. Armed with this plank of wood, she backed up against the wall next to the door, and waited for her prey.