Chapter 35: I've got to Get Out of This Place

The clock struck ten. I could hardly believe that I’d managed to trick the guard outside my room and knock him out, nor that the piece of paper I had noticed sticking out of his chest pocket was a detailed schematic of the mansion’s security set-up, nor that I’d been able to duck behind the door at the last minute when Harrison Ford and his assistant Demeter had suddenly appeared, striding purposefully towards what my new map called the Conference Room, to speak to David and Victoria Beckham. I couldn’t believe my luck that all these demon leaders were distracted by the inquest into the deaths of Matt Damon and R Kelly on this particular night, or that for some reason dogs have always liked me (usually very annoying when they won’t leave me alone), which meant that the vicious huge animal that ran up to me with its teeth bared seemed to suddenly rolled over on its back and let me tickle its tummy. The dog then become my own personal guardian, and when the other two guards appeared, it silently leapt on them and I presume killed them, but I’m not sure because I was running away by that point and all I know is that they didn’t chase me. The dog was sitting contently on my feet now. I was in the alcove next to the front portico, looking out at the gravel driveway and wondering how I was ever going to get out past all the alarms, bright lights and guards. Or what the hell I was going to do then.

The demons had been keeping me drugged until the Master arrived, tomorrow morning they said. He would persuade me to open the Gates of Hell, which had to be bad. So bad, in fact, that the angels, such as Johnny Depp, had wanted to kill me, and they had only kept me alive because the Teacher persuaded them. But now the Teacher had been captured, and she was going to be tortured to death by Victoria Beckham. If I managed to escape, and the Angels found me, they would probably decide it was too dangerous to let me live. My only hope was somehow to free the Teacher. I looked longingly at the drive, then back at my map, and specifically at the square marked, ‘Torture Chamber / Secret Execution Room.’ That’s where I had to go. I took a deep breath, stood up, and almost instantly had to press myself back against the wall as two faceless figures in black walked past the alcove and stopped five feet away from me. I felt the dog tense, and I put a restraining hand on his neck.

‘I can’t believe the Angels infiltrated our headquarters,’ said one of these new people.

‘It’s incredible, yes. It makes you wonder how bad our security is in other respects. I almost want to check up on the Chosen One.’

‘Don’t worry about her. I’m sure she’s being guarded brilliantly. We would at least make sure of that!’

‘Yeah, of course we would,’ said the other, and they laughed. ‘Anyway, that was some really crappy torturing from Victoria Beckham.’

‘Wasn’t it? She’s totally lost her touch. She used to be amazing, but that angel died after only half an hour, and she never told us anything.’

‘Harrison Ford and David Beckham were annoyed with Victoria for that, weren’t they?’

‘They were massively annoyed. Still, the infiltrator is dead now.’

‘She is completely dead. No one could possibly have survived what Victoria did to her.

‘Do you want to go and find some tea?’

‘Yeah, actually, a cup of tea would totally hit the spot.’ They wandered off. I looked down and found my hand was clutching a heavy fold of the guard dog’s neck, and my knuckles were white. The dog was looking up at me with an expression of hurt enquiry. I let his neck go, and scratched him apologetically. I’d never had any hope since I got to the mansion, and then I hadn’t even had that, and now those levels of hopelessness were a blissful memory. All I could think to do was run. I didn’t know where I would run to, or why, or how far I could get, but the only alternative was not to run. I edged again to the window, and looked across the wide bright gravel to the tree-lined dark, measuring the time I’d take to cross it, and wondering how full I would be of bullets by the time I was halfway.

I was still wondering when a car appeared. It was a plain brown car of a not very exciting design. As it approached, several pairs of footsteps approached from inside the house, obviously warned. Maybe, I thought, while they’re focused on the front door, I could find an opportunity to exit from somewhere a bit down the side. I was just about to creep out and along the corridor when something made me stop. I thought, for some reason, that it might help me to know who was in the car. I do not know why I thought this, since every time I had learnt another thing since this whole story began, that new thing was awful. The car doors opened, and my heart instantly sang. Then my head got a grip of my heart as it made several realisations, and the heart sank, sank, sank full fathom five. One of the people was a tall, haggard man who’d had a five o’clock shadow when it was five o’clock. The other, fresh and golden, was my old friend Rollo Price.

Rollo Price, the policeman who had reappeared in my life last week when David Tennant decapitated my husband; who had pretended to be nice to me so I would tell him why David Tennant did it; whose photograph was in the evil Master’s private safe; who was here, smiling. Rollo couldn’t possibly see me, but he seemed to look straight at my window and my dog’s hackles rose, he bared his fangs, and he nudged me urgently. The dog sensed danger, and I had learnt to trust him. Rollo was at the door. Hardly knowing how I could possibly evade the demons, I ran the other way.