“We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it.”

Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore

Mike chewed futilely at the cloth wrapped around his head and pulled tight between his teeth. His saliva had long since dried up, and now his breath rasped down his throat as if he was inhaling sawdust. He had long since ceased to be conscious of the throbbing beneath his eye, adding it to the litany of pain that pulsed across his body. He thought he might have a broken rib, and everything but the shallowest inhalation sent a sensation of knives piercing up his chest and down to the base of his spine.

He was blindfolded, and had been for what felt like days. A slight gap created by the swelling of his cheek let in nothing but a dull grey light revealing a cold stone floor. He was bound by the wrists to what felt like a metal pole fixed into the wall, the pole too low for him to stand straight yet too high for him to sit and take the weight off his injured legs. He had stood for as long as possible, spine forced to bend by his bindings, until now he hung limply, weight pulling at his wrists, the bindings biting into his flesh. The world spun in pain and exhaustion.

At unknown intervals a metal door would rattle open somewhere in the distance, and booted feet would come towards him. He had little idea of where he was, but it was definitely a wide, high-roofed room. In his head, he envisioned a warehouse. It was cool, almost enough to make him shiver.

The footsteps would eventually draw up in front of him, and water would be splashed over him. It was always the same: a splash of cool water on his face followed by the bottle being poured over him from above, Mike having to lap up what he could before it ran dry. Whoever it was watering him said nothing, but the occasional chuckle told Mike his suffering was amusing to them. It also told him he was being held by more than one person. It was definitely not the same person every time; the pace, the rhythm of the steps, the chuckle differed.

Mike could only identify one of them with certainty.

Korez.

Korez had come to see him shortly after he had been bound and tied here. Mike regained consciousness just as the blindfold was placed over his head, and it was Korez's voice he heard.

"That should do it. We'll leave him here, see if this Trials guy takes the bait."

That had been the first time Mike heard Korez. The second time had just happened, when the crying girl was brought in.

She had been dragged into the room a few minutes ago, muffled screaming telling Mike she too was gagged. Korez had shouted at her to shut up, and left.

She must have been tied somewhere close to him, as the panicked screams that gradually turned to gentle sobbing came from nearby.

"Hello?" he called. At least, he tried. The actual sound was barely a grunt.

The girl, whoever she was, must not have known there was someone else in the room with her, for at the sound of his attempt to communicate her muffled screams redoubled. Mike made as soothing a sound as he could, attempting to make her understand he was in the same position as her.

His attempt to speak through the gag sent him into a coughing fit, razor blades slicing down his throat, making his eyes water and causing him to break out in a sweat. At least it quietened his companion, however. The sound of his choking must have convinced her he was no danger, as her screams and sobbing died down.

For the next few minutes all Mike could hear was the sound of whoever was trapped with him shuffling around, testing her bonds. Intermittent grunts of effort told him she was trying to break them, and failing. Next came a sound he could not identify, accompanied by a pained panting.

He was caught by surprise when a female voice suddenly broke the silence.

"Hello?"

She sounded young, but not a child. He grunted in reply.

"I got my gag off. Can't you?"

Mike let out a deep breath, and tried to convey through an 'un-huh' that he could not.

"I'm Lucy."

Lucy paused as if expecting an answer. Mike hung there, saying nothing.

"I can't see. Where are we?"

Mike sighed, hoping he was transmitting his total ignorance of any part of their situation in one exasperated exhalation.

"I can't get the blindfold off!" she said suddenly, fear a tremolo in her voice.

There was a scratching, rubbing sound. Was she trying to use the wall to knock the blindfold off?

Evidently whatever she was doing failed, as there was an abrupt silence followed by a resumption of quiet sobbing.

"He's completely crazy," she said through ragged breaths. "He can't live with anything but absolute control over everyone. I thought... I thought he was doing it for us... For the world... I thought he loved me!"

Her sobs grew in strength for a time, then subsided once more.

"He made me do things... Terrible things. I've hurt so many people, so many..."

Her words fell to a horrified whisper, dark confessions that Mike was afraid he might hear.

Her voice grew strong, resolute.

"We've got to get out of here," she said. "If I get you free, will you help me get out?"

Mike found a strength he thought had left him for good. He got to his feet as much as he could, sounding assent through his gag.

"I think... I think I can get out of these cuffs," she said.

Mike felt the cuffs, or whatever they were, that bit into his flesh and wondered if that were really likely. She would have to have exceptionally small hands for such a thing.

A cry of pain made him start. Lucy, as she had called herself, let out an extended shout that increased in intensity and strength as a repeated metallic clanging was swallowed up by the room. The cries grew stronger and sobs returned, but the clanging never let up.

A final scream, and silence. Several seconds later, Mike felt his blindfold slide off his head and the gag was removed. He flexed his jaw as sensation flooded back and his saliva glands flared in pain.

His eyes took a while to adjust to the gloom, to distinguish the shadows from objects. His rescuer came into focus.

"You're Lawntie... Lucy Lawntie... I remember you from the news a few years back... What the hell are you doing here?"

And it was her. Mike knew she was beautiful, in an objective way, but there was no way to be objective about a girl who had massacred her family and her neighbours. He drew back instinctively, and cried out as his bindings pulled taut.

"Nigel... He's crazy... He got me out, but I don't want to be out! I don't want to go back to him... I can't go back to him..."

Her eyes darted around in desperation.

"Nigel Matterson? The man who made you..? What does he have to do with anything? And how did you get out of your..?"

His voice trailed off as he looked down at her arm. Her right hand was shredded, skin and flesh scraped loose and pulled up from the top of her wrists to the base of her fingers. Blood was dripping profusely across her palm and falling from her fingertips, her hand hanging loosely at her side.

She barely glanced at it.

Mike looked at his own wrists, and saw what was locking his hands together. They weren't handcuffs in the traditional sense, rather they were restraints, flexicuffs made of plastic, essentially cable ties. They had no key or lock. Once on, they needed to be cut off.

Lucy must have forced her hand through the cuff, kicking her body repeatedly off of the wall and forcing her limb through bit by bit.

"I have to get away from him," she said simply, unblinking, responding to his questioning look.

Mike froze at the look in her eyes. Somewhere behind the madness and terror was a core of solid ice.

"Ok, ok, I'll help you, but how do I get out?"

He realised what she was going to do before she could do it. As she reached up to literally drag his hand through the cuff as she had hers, he yelled and blocked her with his body.

"No, no, I can't. I can't do that. You need to find something to get me out of these."

He rattled the cuffs against the bar.

Lucy looked from him to the cuffs, nodded to herself, and walked away.

Mike took this chance to look around. It wasn't a warehouse he was in, he realised, it was a wine cellar. Barrels of the stuff formed two rows for what must have been a hundred metres or more, traditional, hand-hewn wooden casks hinting at the expense of the contents within. The walls were a cold white, the floor bare stone. Patches of flaking paint spoke of the age of the place. The bar he was tied too was clearly a later addition, cracks in the surface of the wall noticeable where it had been hammered in.

The cellar roof itself was arched, forming one round semi-circle above his head. It wasn't anywhere near as high as he had supposed. His eyes followed it along to its end, where a heavy-looking grey steel door stood closed and foreboding. Lucy was heading directly for it.

"Lucy... Lucy!" hissed Mike in as loud a whisper as he felt he could risk. "Where are you going? There could be someone out there!"

He thought for a second that she hadn't heard him as she gave no reaction to his words, but she stopped before the door and reached up to a small inset shelf he hadn't noticed. A silver candelabra stood there, and next to it a long-nozzled fire lighter. She picked this up and walked back over to him.

It seemed to take forever to melt through the plastic restraints keeping him held against the wall, every second Lucy took to work her way through the flex cuffs punctuated by the certainty that he could hear footsteps heading towards them. The tension was so great that Mike barely felt the burns being made on his wrists until the cuffs were half-burnt through.

He hissed in pain and unthinkingly knocked Lucy out of the way. The middle section of the cuffs was untouched - Lucy had decided to melt through one ring, the one enclosing his left hand. He guessed it made sense; it was the quickest route to freedom, but it also meant she had held the flame against his skin. A circle of darkened skin surrounded an already suppurating area of exposed flesh. He swore to himself.

The cable, however, was nearly melted through. Just a few millimetres remained. Mike felt sure he could snap it with a little force. Pulling it taut over the burn would smart, but then he was already in more pain than he thought he could bear for much longer. Closing his eyes and muttering a prayer to whoever might be listening, he slammed his hands down and back and...

The tie broke apart with a sharp crack, and his elbows drove painfully into his own stomach, leaving him slightly winded. Still, he was free, the cuffs hanging loosely from his right hand. Lucy was already hurrying back to the door.

"Where are we?" Mike whispered at her back.

"Can you speak Italian?" she asked in return.

Mike shook his head. "No... So we're..."

"Benvenuto a Roma," she said sardonically.

"Huh," Mike replied, wincing as his joints popped as he hobbled over to join her, "...and I didn't even have time to pack."