Martins stood proud in his living room; he held a glass of expensive brandy in one hand, and a fat Cuban cigar in the other. He was looking from his bay window at the darkening skies, where on the horizon a storm was growing.
He listened as the distant rumble of thunder rolled out its ubiquitous word of warning across the heavens. Holding aloft his glass as though proposing a toast he began to speak aloud.
‘Today is almost over,’ he said, ‘but for me, tomorrow is going to last for ever.’ Placing the glass on his lips he swallowed the remainder of the brandy and puffed triumphantly on his cigar.
For the next few hours he pottered about and did very little, other than become anxious. He wanted to return to his Guinea Pig to see how she’d fared. To see how his tests had fared. After a heavy meal, and another small brandy, and another Cuban cigar, and another hour of pottering about, the time had come to check on the woman.
He unlocked the door and once again descended the few stone steps into his basement, and once more he found Lucy sleeping. He again took the chair from the kneehole of his desk and picking up his journal he sat down outside the cell. By now the distant storm from earlier had moved directly overhead. And when the thunder sounded this time, it was with the astounding authority of the Gods.
‘Okay,’ he shouted. ‘Time to wake up…’ but Lucy didn’t stir.
Martins stood and again he shouted, but still she didn’t respond. He picked up his journal and commenced rattling it along the bars of the cell. Lucy started to move and sat up leaning against the wall. She rubbed her eyes and ran the fingers of her right hand through her matted black hair.
Martins watched as she stopped in mid-stroke to look at her broken finger, only now it wasn’t broken, nor was it discoloured in any way. He eyed her with a half smile as she touched her right eye to find it no longer felt tender, and she’d found the small cut below completely healed. He commenced writing this down in his journal before once more question her.
‘Tell me Lucy, it is Lucy right?’ he said leaning forward on the chair. ‘How do you feel now?’
He continued watching as she studied her hands, and apart from the dirt that still resided beneath them; her once chewed and tatty fingernails looked almost manicured.
‘What did you give me, in that needle?’ she asked.
Martins didn’t mind her question this time, he wasn’t going to answer her, but he didn’t mind. ‘So, how do you feel now?’ he repeated the question.
‘Like new, fresh,’ she frowned. ‘But very thirsty.’
‘We’ll sort out your thirst after I’ve weighed you.’
At that point a loud clap of thunder sounded overhead causing Martins to raise his eyes to the ceiling, when he looked back at Lucy she’d curled into a tight ball and also looked above; her eyes darting from left to right. Again the thunder sounded, this time Lucy put her hands over her ears.
Martins made the motion of removing his own hands from his ears, instructing Lucy to do the same. ‘Has the sound of thunder always frightened you?’
‘No, it never has before.’
He entered this into his journal just in case it had any bearing on his tests. After closing the book he stood taking a key from his shirt pocket and moved toward the cell ready to extract Lucy.
Lucy watched as the man stood from his chair. He moved toward the cell and began to unlock the door. She knew this would probably be her one and only chance for escape, and she was going to take it.
When she heard the key turn she sprang from the floor like a Jack-in-the-box and hit the door with speed and as much power as she could summon. The door flew open hitting the man in the face and knocking him unconscious and to the ground.
Lucy hurriedly left the cell and ran up the few steps to the two steel doors, but after pushing on them a couple of times she found them to be locked from the outside. She dashed up the stone steps leading to the house above, but when she got there she found that door to be locked also.
Running back down into the basement she began searching the man for the door key. Rifling through his trouser pockets she found a bunch of six keys, all of them different.
As she stood upright she remembered the little white refrigerator-like box which he’d taken the silver tray from earlier. Looking down on the man who now lay still, she so wanted revenge. She had time; a minute is all it would take.
Lucy opened the box taking out the silver tray that contained the two remaining syringes. She turned Martins onto his front and guessing roughly at the point where he’d not so long ago injected her; she inserted the needle and pushed down on the plunger.
‘Fuck you asshole!’ she said through gritted teeth. Then taking the second needle she injected him once more.
As she tossed the last syringe to the floor the man began to stir producing a low subdued moan; Lucy ran back up the steps leading to the house and frantically she began trying the keys in the lock. The first one didn’t work, the second one didn’t work, and then she dropped the keys.
After picking them up she started over; her hands were shaking with fear as she wept in frustration. What if none of them worked? Again the first two hadn’t.
She heard louder moans coming from the man in the room below. ‘Come on… third one’s a charm.’ She pushed in the third key and as it slid easily into the hole she felt slight relief, but it didn’t turn. ‘Oh come on you bastards, come on!’ she begged turning the fourth key as the lock clicked solidly. ‘Thank God!’
‘Stop right there…’ shouted the man from below.
Lucy froze to the spot; she had the door unlocked and knew she mustn’t hesitate any longer. She didn’t, she pushed open the door and was about to step through when she felt a sharp burning pain in her upper back, and a second later another.
She fell to the floor where apart from her rapid but shallow breathing she lay motionless; her eyes were wide and looked down the steps into the basement.
The man who’d kept her captive started to walk slowly up them; with his face heavily bloodstained he held a gun in his hand. She tried to focus on the man to see the look on his face, but as she breathed her last short breath her closing eyes denied her that… and her escape became absolute.
Martins reached the top of the stairs and closed the basement door turning the key. He put his fingers on Lucy's neck but found no pulse. ‘Fucking stupid bitch!’ He yelled kicking at her.
After dragging her down the steps he dumped her lifeless body back into the cell. Martins grimaced feeling a sudden stinging at the base of his skull, touching the area with two of his fingers he found a drop of blood. And again he kicked at Lucy.
Unsteadily he staggered over to the bench where he noticed the empty shallow silver tray. And looking to the floor he found two syringes lying there, just as empty. After dragging his chair to the desk he sat and entered all the events into his journal.
