Chapter 23 Penny
Penny
The sound of a door opening brought Penny back to reality, but god she wished it hadn’t.
Beneath her swollen eye, she glanced up at the man who’d entered the room—the keeper of her newfound cage, she presumed. He was the only person she’d seen since Bielak had dragged her in here half-conscious. Was that yesterday? Or was it still today? She didn’t even know.
Penny flinched as he lobbed a bottle of water and an unheated microwave burger in her direction, guarding her broken elbow as best she could, given her chains. She snatched the water up the moment it was in reach, wincing as it quenched the drought-like conditions of her throat.
Her keeper slammed the door behind him, sending a spike of pain through her brain.
She let her head rest against the cool wall, cradling the water in her good arm.
Her skin itched as she moved, and Penny glanced down to discover a glaze of dried blood over her chest. She could see a hint of her reflection in the plastic bottle, with the dried blood coming from her nose.
She closed her eyes, letting the wall hold her up and wishing she were anywhere else but here.
The next time Penny awoke, it was almost dark.
Moonlight shone through the line of windows above her, casting silver beams on her uneaten microwave burger. The pain in her head had lessened. It was still present, but was more of an irritation than a life-limiting agony.
The pain before must have been how Rhys felt in the shepherd’s hut.
Her heart quaked at the thought of Rhys. The back of her eyes burned. God, she missed him so much it hurt. Their conversation in the arcade played over in her mind. Why hadn’t she just said yes there and then? Yes, I want a future with you.
She leant back against the wall, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion and pain.
For the first time, Penny looked around at the room she’d been imprisoned in.
Cardboard boxes were piled in the corner opposite her.
The walls were laid out with a network of trunking, depositing plug sockets at regular intervals.
A large whiteboard hung on the wall next to the door, the remnants of a chart in its corner.
She was being kept in a disused office, handcuffed and chained to the radiator.
It was the first time she’d been alert enough to consider her situation—and instantly terror spread through her every pore. Why hadn’t they taken her to Chomsky yet? And when they did, what was he going to do to her?
Her brain didn’t help. It conjured possibilities in her mind, each more horrific and painful than the last.
As the room darkened with the setting of the sun, Penny finally opened the microwave burger. It wasn’t something she would have ever purchased for herself, but it was at least better than going hungry—and dying on an empty stomach.
Even if she wasn’t entirely sure what animal the meat was supposed to have come from.
Despite its dubious origin, the food breathed some life back into her.
Before she lost the light entirely, Penny climbed to her feet, holding the heavy chain hanging from her handcuffs to avoid putting weight on her injured elbow.
Dirt covered the windows like a film, but there was just enough light to make out a stack of metal storage containers outside.
And was that a river flowing beside them?
Penny’s stomach dropped, the shitty burger in danger of making a reappearance.
She knew exactly where she was—not where it was on a map, but what Chomsky used it for.
She knew because she’d seen it in the video. The video that had landed her in all of this mess in the first place. This was where Chomsky and Bielak had murdered that poor man and dumped his body in the river.
It also explained why they hadn’t brought Penny to Chomsky…because he was coming to her.
But when?
Penny stepped away from the window, her heart pounding in her ears. The Thames was going to be her watery grave. Was their last victim kept in this room, too, like a farm animal waiting to be slaughtered?
I need to get out of here.
She examined the heavy chain connecting her to the radiator.
The lock on it was just as robust, with the U-shaped shackle as thick as her pinkie.
Next, she examined the radiator itself, testing for any give where it connected to the wall.
Her hopes burned to a crisp when she found it was immovable, even when pulling with all of her strength.
Well, all of her strength on one side. Her other still radiated screaming agony whenever she moved her elbow. Even moving her fingers triggered enough pain to take her breath away.
Penny searched for the weakest link.
The radiator was solid. There was no moving that. The heavy chain even more so. The robust lock didn’t seem like something an amateur would be able to pick, which left…
The handcuffs.
She hadn’t been wearing hair clips when Bielak had grabbed her, sod’s law, but then she was in a discarded office. The perfect place to find a lost paperclip.
Did she know how to pick a lock? No, but she had to try something.
Penny ran her functional hand over the carpet, concentrating on the seam between the skirting board and the flooring.
A paperclip or two must have ended up down here.
She scooted along on her arse, unable to crawl on her hands and knees as she would have preferred.
The heavy chain allowed her a good four feet of range in either direction, and Penny covered every inch thrice over with a fine-tooth comb, searching for a chance to escape from her imprisonment.
At the end of her third pass-over, she admitted defeat. The only things she found were crumbs and tiny bits of paper.
Supporting her elbow with her other hand, Penny slouched against the wall. Her eyes found the cardboard boxes piled up in the corner, a good seven feet out of the range of her chain.
There had to be a paperclip in there.
Suddenly, she sat up straight. It was out of range of her chain, but it might not be out of range of her body.
Enthused, Penny scooted forwards on her rear until the chain was pulled taut.
The gap between her and the nearest box felt like a chasm.
Nevertheless, she shifted until she lay flat on her back.
She aimed her feet at the closest box, pointing her toes and crossing her fingers—proverbially—but it remained a foot out of reach.
With an exhausted huff, she let her head rest against the carpet.
It was probably filthy, but Penny was pretty sure she was going to die today. The Thames was going to be filthier. With a grimace, she looked up towards the window in the direction of the river.
Her eyes widened, not because she was contemplating her upcoming death but because of the realisation that her arms weren’t fully extended—and why.
Extending her arms could give her an extra foot of reach, closing the gap between her and the box, but it would also involve straightening her excruciatingly painful, broken elbow.
Fuck.
Penny didn’t give herself a moment to baulk; she simply sealed her lips together and slowly but firmly straightened her shattered elbow.
The pain hit her like a lightning bolt, whiting out her vision as a muffled cry tried to leave her. Her knees pulled up towards her body without conscious thought. Every exhale turned into a tiny whimper as Penny stretched out, inch by agonising inch.
When it was done, she lay on the ground, shivering in cold exhaustion. It was tempting to let her eyes close, but she wasn’t done.
She stretched the rest of her body out once more, pointing her heels as far as she could.
Her first pass touched nothing, but the second didn’t.
A burst of adrenaline gifted her the energy she sorely needed as she tried again, managing to catch the corner of one of the cardboard boxes.
Gradually, she turned it towards her, methodically moving it in place until it was in reach of her other foot.
Finally, it came within reach. With one foot on either side, Penny pulled it closer, scooting backwards and bringing it with her.
With pain radiating from her elbow, she sat up and opened the cardboard flaps with a rush of adrenaline.
A random assortment of items stared back at her: batteries, a cable partially tangled in a hairbrush, two computer mice with red ‘broken’ stickers on them, a stapler, a coffee-stained mug, a pair of cleaning gloves, a lapto—
Penny froze.
There was a fucking laptop in here.
She glanced over at the door. Surely they wouldn’t have locked her in the room with a motherfucking laptop. It was the same as her work laptop—given to her on loan from the same IT department, like this one would have been.
Her ears ringing with the frantic rushing of her heartbeat, she pulled the laptop out. The angle was awkward, but she barely noticed it, dropping it into her lap and flipping it over to the correct side.
The red ‘broken’ sticker stuck to its surface hit her like a physical blow to the chest.
Refusing to accept defeat, Penny opened the lid, wincing at the creaking sound coming from the lid.
It turned on, but the reason for the sticker was immediately obvious—the screen was cracked to high heaven.
Fissures flared out over the left-hand side of it, but the right side was partially visible.
Visible enough for her to recognise the login screen.
Would her work log-in work on this laptop? They were given out by the same IT department. Or would Chomsky have removed her login details already?
To Penny’s disbelief, her login worked, but the bottom right-hand corner immediately presented her with another problem; the battery was eking out its final few grains of sand.
She tried to open the browser, blindly clicking in the left-hand corner to open the ‘start’ menu before typing in the name of the browser and pressing ‘enter.’ Her first couple of tries were unsuccessful, but she got lucky on her third, clumsily navigating one-handed.
Penny moved the browser window over to the right of the screen, allowing her to easily log in to her email. Her inbox was rammed full, but she ignored it, opening a new email to Rhys before realising she didn’t know what to write.
She doubted ‘HELP’ would be, well, helpful.
She glanced down at the battery percentage. Two per cent. Fuck.
The idea hit her like a strike of lightning. She opened a new tab, going straight to Google Maps and hitting the little location icon. It opened on her location, right next to the Thames.
Penny didn’t waste time zooming out to discover exactly where. One percent. Her coordinates were in the URL, and that would have to be enough. She copied the URL and returned to her original tab, pasting it into her email to Rhys before hitting send—
The screen went black as the laptop died, reflecting an echo of her stricken eyes back at her as she wondered whether the email had time to send.