‘Phil? Phil… ’
Marina stood at the mouth of the cave, called inside. It had taken her longer than she realised to reach the car and get the rope. The forest had been treacherous, the rain making it much harder. She had slipped down bank sides, been hit and scratched by branches and walked round in circles twice. But she had made it back to the hotel and the car eventually and had returned with the rope.
And now there was no reply.
‘Phil… ’
Nothing.
‘Stop messing about. Come on, Phil.’
Still no reply.
Marina was getting worried now. Maybe something had happened to him down there. Maybe he had hurt himself.
Maybe he had been attacked.
Wrapping the rope over one shoulder, she knelt by the opening, peered down. She had expected to see Phil’s torch down there, but there was nothing. She couldn’t see a thing. She was about to straighten up, take out her phone and try to call him, when she felt something being pressed into the back of her neck.
Something hard and metallic.
She knew a gun when she felt one.
She also knew the voice that went with it.
‘Well, well, well,’ it said. ‘Fancy meeting you here… ’
121
Phil opened his eyes. And felt panic begin to overwhelm him.
He was in the cage.
His nightmare had come true.
He looked round. Next to him, Finn was curled as far into the corner as he could go. The boy’s eyes were staring, vacant. Shock, thought Phil. He didn’t blame him.
Phil’s head was spinning from where the Gardener had hit him. He felt dizzy, nauseous. His body was tired and sore from the crawl through the tunnel. And the panic was still rising within him. Knowing it wouldn’t be of any help to give in to it, he tried to tamp it down, control it. Do something constructive instead.
He looked through the bars of the cage. The Gardener was at the altar. Head down, waving his hand over twin candles at either side, reciting some kind of invocation. He hadn’t noticed that Phil was awake. Good.
Finn managed to focus, stared at Phil. Moved further away from him.
‘It’s OK,’ whispered Phil, ‘I’m a friend. I’m here to help you. Get you out.’
He saw the boy mouth the word ‘friend’. Hoped he could live up to the description.
Phil grabbed hold of the bars of the cage. Twisted.
Nothing.
He kept going, twisting, pulling as hard as he could.
Nothing. The bone wouldn’t give.
Again. Harder this time, forcing it.
And there it was. A crack. The smallest of splinterings in the bone. But something to work on. He kept twisting.
The Gardener looked up. Saw what he was doing. Picked up one of the blades from the table, came towards him. Phil took his hands off the bars, stayed where he was.
Up close, the Gardener’s mask looked terrifying. It was the absence of humanity, of features to talk to. Like a horror-film scarecrow come to life. Probably why he had done it in the first place, thought Phil.
Phil was determined not to be scared, intimidated by the figure before him. After all, he had seen him without his mask, talked to him, even.
If his guess was right.
‘I assume,’ he said, his voice louder and more confident than he felt, ‘that the mummy on the bed back there is Paul Clunn?’
The Gardener stopped moving. Put his head on one side, listening. Phil kept talking.
‘His body. I found it back there. Was he your first? Is that when you decided you liked it?’
The Gardener remained still, said nothing.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Phil, voice still loud. ‘Lost for words? Not like you.’
‘You don’t know me… ’ The voice coming from underneath the hood was low, growling. Like he was perpetually trying to clear his throat and failing.
‘Oh yes I do,’ said Phil. ‘I do.’
‘Who… I’m… ’
‘The Gardener, yeah, I know that. But that’s just the hood, isn’t it? That’s just your mask. You put that on and you’re him. Take it off, and you’re-’
The Gardener stepped forward, raised his hand. The blade clutched in his fist gleamed.
Phil jumped back. His heart was racing, pounding in his chest. He had been close to death before, but this was different. This was a death he had dreamed about. A death foretold. This was something he had to stop. No matter how terrified he was.
And he was very scared indeed.
Not just because of the maniac holding the knife. But because of what he represented. He was a nightmare. He had power over Phil.
And Phil had to stop that.
‘You going to cut me now, is that it?’ he said, hoping his voice didn’t display the shake in his body. ‘That the way you deal with everything?’
The Gardener grunted, slashed the air in front of the cage. On the floor beside him, Phil heard Finn flinch, whimper.
‘Very good,’ said Phil, mock-applauding. ‘Very good. That all you can do?’
The Gardener stepped right up to the bars. ‘I can kill you… ’
‘Yeah,’ said Phil, aiming for nonchalance, hoping his voice could carry it off, ‘but where’s the fun in that? Tell you what, let’s have a little chat first. Yeah?’
And before the Gardener could reply, he reached his hand through the bars and pulled the hood off his head.
The Gardener drew back, shocked. And Phil stared at him.
Paul. The tramp.
But younger-looking. Mad, wild eyes.
And angry.
With a scream, he flung himself at the bars, blade outstretched.
122
The warehouse doors clanked into life, began rolling down.
‘Wait for it… ’ Fennell was staring at them.
Along with everyone else.
‘Right,’ he said into his mic, ‘into positions, first wave. Disable CCTV.’
As Mickey watched from the van, two armed officers moved to either side of the main gates, reached up, cut the wires on the CCTV cameras.
