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Francis Bacon

 
 
 
 
 
Tác giả: Val McDermid
Thể loại: Trinh Thám
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Language: English
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Cập nhật: 2014-12-27 15:25:49 +0700
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Chapter 15~16
hapter 15
Ziggy had never been so scared. He stumbled to his feet and backed away. But Brian was upon him, his hand grabbing at the lapel of the sheepskin. Brian threw him against the wall, knocking the breath from him. Donny and Kenny stood uncertain as the other man hastily zipped himself up and took to his heels. "Brian, you want us to go after the other one?" Kenny said.
"No, this is perfect. You know who this creepy little fairy is?"
"Naw," Donny said. "Who is he?"
"He's only one of those bastards that killed Rosie." His hands bunched into fists, his eyes daring Ziggy to make an attempt at escape.
"We didn't kill Rosie," Ziggy said, unable to keep the tremor of fear out of his voice. "I'm the one who tried to save her."
"Aye, after you'd raped and stabbed her first. Were you trying to prove to your mates that you were a real man and not a poof?" Brian shouted. "Well, son, it's confession time. You're going to tell me the truth about what happened to my sister."
"I'm telling you the truth. We never harmed a hair on her head."
"I don't believe you. And I'm going to make you tell the truth. I know the very thing." Without taking his eyes off Ziggy, he said, "Kenny, away down the harbor and get me a rope. A good long length, mind."
Ziggy had no idea what lay ahead, but he knew it wasn't going to be pleasant. The only chance he had was to talk his way out. "This isn't a good idea," he said. "I didn't kill your sister. And I know the cops have already warned you to leave us alone. Don't think I'm not going to report this."
Brian laughed. "You think I'm stupid? You're going to go to the police and say, 'Please, sir, I was sucking some cunt's cock and Brian Duff came along and gave me a slap?' You must think I came up the Forth on a biscuit. You're not going to tell anybody about this. Because then they'd all know you're an arse bandit."
"I don't care," Ziggy said. And at this point, it seemed a fate less terrible than whatever an uncurbed Brian Duff might mete out. "I'll take my chances. Do you really want another load of grief dumped on your mother's doorstep?"
As soon as the words were out, Ziggy knew he'd miscalculated. Brian's face closed down. He raised his hand and slapped Ziggy so hard he heard the vertebrae in his neck crack. "Don't you mention my mother, cocksucker. She never knew grief before you bastards killed my sister." He slapped him again. "Admit it. You know you're going to have to pay sooner or later."
"I'm not admitting something I didn't do," Ziggy choked out. He could taste blood; the inside of his cheek had torn on the sharp edge of a tooth.
Brian pulled his hand back and gut-punched him with all his considerable strength. Ziggy folded, staggering. Hot vomit cascaded to the ground, splashing his feet. Gasping for breath, he felt the rough stone at his back, the only thing that was holding him upright.
"Tell me," Brian hissed.
Ziggy closed his eyes. "Nothing to tell," he squeezed out.
By the time Kenny returned, he'd taken a few more blows. He didn't know it was possible to feel this much pain without passing out. Blood covered his chin from a split lip, and his kidneys were sending sharp stabs of agony through his body.
"What kept you?" Brian demanded. He yanked Ziggy's hands in front of him. "Tie one end round his wrists," he ordered Kenny.
"What are you going to do to me?" Ziggy asked through swollen lips.
Brian grinned. "Make you talk, cocksucker."
When Kenny had finished, Brian took the rope. He wound a loop round Ziggy's waist, tying it tightly. Now his hands were held firm against his body. Brian yanked on the rope. "Come on, we've got business to attend to." Ziggy dug his heels in, but Donny grabbed the rope with Brian and yanked so hard they nearly pulled him off his feet. "Kenny, check it's all clear."
Kenny ran ahead to the archway. He looked up The Scores. There was no sign of life. It was too cold to be out walking for pleasure, and still too early for the last-minute dog walkers. "Nobody around, Bri," he called softly.
Hauling on the rope, Brian and Donny set off. "Faster," Brian said to Donny. They trotted up The Scores, Ziggy desperately trying to keep his balance while also tugging at his hands to see if he could free himself. What the hell were they going to do to him? It was high tide. Surely they weren't going to lower him into the sea? People died in the North Sea in a matter of minutes. Whatever they had planned, he knew instinctively it was going to be worse than anything he could imagine.
The ground fell away under his feet without warning and Ziggy tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over, crashing into Brian and Donny's legs. A storm of swearing, then hands on his body, pulling him roughly to his feet, shoving him face first into a wall. Ziggy slowly orientated himself. They were standing on the path that ran alongside the wall that surrounded the castle. This wasn't a medieval rampart, just a modern barrier to deter vandals and lovers. Were they going to take him inside and hang him from the battlements?
"What are we doing here?" Donny asked uneasily. He wasn't sure he had the stomach for whatever Brian had planned.
"Kenny, over the wall," Brian said.
Accustomed to Brian's leadership, Kenny did as he was told, scrambling up the six feet and disappearing over the other side. "I'm throwing the rope over, Kenny," Brian shouted. "Grab a hold of it."
He turned to Donny. "We're going to have to hoist him over. Like tossing the caber, only two-handed."
"You'll break my neck," Ziggy protested.
"Not if you're careful. We'll give you a leg up. You can turn yourself around when you get to the top and drop down."
"I can't do that."
Brian shrugged. "It's your choice. You can go head first or feet first, but you're going. Unless, that is, you're ready to tell me the truth?"
"I've told you the truth," Ziggy yelled. "You've got to believe me."
Brian shook his head. "I'll know the truth when I hear it. You right, Donny?"
Ziggy tried to make a break for it, but they were on him. They whirled him round to face the wall then, taking a leg each, they heaved Ziggy precariously aloft. He didn't dare struggle; he knew how fragile the spinal cord's protection was at the base of the skull and he didn't want to end up paraplegic. He ended up bent over the wall like a sack of potatoes. Slowly, with infinite caution, he worked his way round till he had one leg on either side of the wall. Then, even more slowly, he inched round till the other leg was on top of the wall. His scraped knuckles seared fresh pain up his arms. "Come on, cocksucker," Brian shouted impatiently.
He launched himself at the wall and within seconds, he was alongside Ziggy's foot. He shoved it roughly to the side, throwing him off balance. Ziggy's bladder gave up its contents as he fell backward through the air, alarm pumping his adrenaline levels even higher. He landed heavily on his feet, knees and ankles collapsing under the strain. He lay huddled on the ground, tears of shame and pain stinging his eyes. Brian jumped down beside him. "Nice one, Kenny," he said, taking the rope back.
Donny's face appeared over the top of the wall. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he demanded.
"And spoil the surprise? No way." Brian jerked on the rope. "Come on, cocksucker. Let's go for a walk."
They clambered up the grassy slope toward the low stub of the ruined castle's east wall. Ziggy stumbled and fell a few times, but there were always hands at the ready to haul him upright. They crossed the wall and they were in the courtyard. The moon slid out from behind a cloud, bathing them in an eerie radiance. "Me and my brother used to love coming here when we were kids," Brian said as he slowed to a stroll. "It was the church that built this castle. Not a king. Did you know that, cocksucker?"
Ziggy shook his head. "I've never been here before."
"You should have. It's great. The mine and the countermine. Two of the greatest siege works anywhere in the world." They were heading toward the north range, the Kitchen Tower to the right of them and the Sea Tower to the left. "It was some place, this. It was a residence, it was a fortress." He turned to face Ziggy, walking backward. "And it was a prison."
"Why are you telling me this?" Ziggy said.
"Because it's interesting. They murdered a cardinal here too. They killed him, then they hung his naked body from the castle walls. I bet you never thought of that, did you, cocksucker?"
"I didn't kill your sister," Ziggy repeated.
By now, they were at the entrance to the Sea Tower. "There are two vaulted chambers in the lower story here," Brian said conversationally, leading the way inside. "The eastern one contains something almost as interesting as the mine and countermine. Do you know what that is?"
Ziggy stood mute. But Kenny answered the question for him. "You're not going to put him down the Bottle Dungeon?"
Brian grinned. "Well done, Kenny. Go to the top of the class." He reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette lighter. "Donny, give me your paper."
Donny produced a copy of the Evening Telegraph from his inside pocket. Brian rolled it tightly and lit one end of it as he walked into the eastern chamber. By the flare of the makeshift torch, Ziggy could see a hole in the floor covered with a heavy iron grille. "They cut a hole in the rock. It's in the shape of a bottle. And it's a long way down."
Donny and Kenny looked at each other. This was growing a bit too serious for their taste. "Hang on, Brian," Donny protested.
"What? You're the ones that said poofters don't count. Come on, give me a hand." He tied the end of Ziggy's rope to the grille. "It'll take the three of us to get this off."
They gripped the grille, hunkering down to the task. They grunted and strained. For a long, happy minute Ziggy thought they weren't going to be able to raise it. But eventually, with a harsh grating of metal on stone, it shifted. They moved it to one side and turned as one to Ziggy.
"You got anything to say to me?" Brian Duff demanded.
"I didn't kill your sister," Ziggy said, desperate now. "Do you really think you can get away with dropping me down a fucking dungeon and leaving me to die?"
"The castle's open at the weekends in the winter. That's only a couple of days away. You willnae die. Well, probably not, anyway." He dug Donny in the ribs and laughed. "OK, boys, bombs away."
They rushed Ziggy in a group and manhandled him toward the narrow opening. He kicked out furiously, twisting in their grasp. But three to one, six hands to none, he never had a chance. In seconds, he was sitting on the edge of the circular hole, his legs dangling into space. "Don't do this," he said. "Please, don't do this. They'll send you to jail for a very long time for this. Don't do it. Please." He sniffed, trying not to give way to the panicked tears that choked his throat. "I'm begging you."
"Just tell me the truth," Brian said. "It's your last chance."
"I never," Ziggy sobbed. "I never."
Brian kicked the small of his back, sending him hurtling down for a few feet, his shoulders bouncing painfully against the stone walls of the narrow funnel. Then he jerked to a halt, the rope biting cruelly into his stomach. Brian's laughter echoed around him. "Did you think we were going to drop you all the way?"
"Please," Ziggy sobbed. "I never killed her. I don't know who killed her. Please?
Now he was moving again, the rope lowering him in short spurts. He thought it would cut him in half. He could hear the heavy breathing of the men above him, the occasional curse as the rope burned a careless hand. Every foot took him further into darkness, the faint flickers from above fading in the dank, freezing air.
It seemed to go on forever. Eventually, he felt a difference in the quality of the air around him and he stopped bumping the sides. The bottle was widening from the neck. They were really going to do it. They were really going to abandon him here. "No," he shouted at the top of his lungs. "No."
His toes scraped solid ground and blessedly took the strain off the rope biting into his gut. The rope above him slackened. A dissonant, disembodied voice echoed from above. "Last chance, cocksucker. Confess and we'll pull you out."
It would have been so easy. But it would have been a lie that would lead him into impossible places. Even to save himself, Ziggy couldn't name himself a murderer. "You're wrong," he shouted from the bottom of his battered lungs.
The rope landed on his head, its whipping coils surprisingly heavy. He heard a last jeering laugh, then silence. Total, overwhelming silence. The glimmer of light from the top of the shaft died. He was immured in blackness. No matter how hard he strained his eyes, he could see nothing at all. He had been cast into outer darkness.
Ziggy edged sideways. There was no way of telling how far he was from the walls, and he didn't want to walk his tender face into solid rock. He remembered reading about blind white crabs that had evolved in an underground cave. Somewhere in the Canary Islands, he thought. Generations of darkness had made eyes redundant. That was what he had become, a blind white crab sidewinding in impenetrability.
The wall came sooner than he expected. He turned and let his fingertips feel the grainy sandstone. He was struggling to keep his panic at bay, concentrating on his physical environment. He couldn't let himself speculate on how long he would be here. He'd go mad, fall to pieces, dash his brains out on the stone if he thought about the possibilities. Surely they wouldn't leave him to die? Brian Duff might, but he didn't think his friends would take that chance.
Ziggy turned his back to the wall and slowly slid down till he was sitting on the chill floor. He ached all over. He didn't think anything was broken, but he knew now that you didn't have to have fractures to suffer the sort of pain that demanded serious analgesia.
He knew he couldn't afford just to sit there and do nothing. His body was going to stiffen, his joints cramp if he didn't keep moving. He'd die of exposure in these temperatures if he couldn't keep his circulation going, and he wasn't about to give those barbaric bastards the satisfaction. He had to get his hands free. Ziggy bent his head as low as possible, wincing at the pain from his bruised ribs and spine. If he pulled his hands up to the limit of the rope, he could just get his teeth on the knotted end.
As silent tears of pain and self-pity dripped down his nose, Ziggy began the most crucial battle of his life.
Chapter 16
Alex was surprised to find the house empty when he arrived home. Ziggy hadn't said anything about going out and Alex presumed he'd planned an evening working. Maybe he'd gone round to see one of his fellow medics. Maybe Mondo had come back and they'd gone for a drink together. Not that he was worried. Just because he'd been rousted by Cavendish and his crew was no reason to believe anything bad had happened to Ziggy.
Alex made himself a cup of coffee and a pile of toast. He sat at the kitchen table, his notes from the lecture in front of him. He'd always struggled to hold the Venetian painters distinct in his head, but tonight's slideshow had clarified certain elements he wanted to be sure he'd grasped. He was scribbling in the margin when Weird bounced in, full of earnest bonhomie. "Wow, what a night I've had," he enthused. "Lloyd did an absolutely inspirational Bible study on the Letter to the Ephesians. It's awesome how much he draws out from the text."
"I'm glad you had a good time," Alex said absently. Weird's entrances were as repetitive as they were dramatic ever since he'd started hanging out with the Christians. Alex had long since stopped paying attention.
"Where's Zig? He working?"
"He's out. Don't know where. If you're putting the kettle on, I'll have another coffee."
The kettle had barely boiled when they heard the front door open. To their surprise, it was Mondo who walked in, not Ziggy. "Hello, stranger," Alex said. "She throw you out?"
"She's got an essay crisis," Mondo said, reaching for a mug and tipping coffee into it. "If I hang around, she'll only keep me awake moaning about it. So I thought I'd grace you guys with my presence. Where's Ziggy?"
"I don't know. Am I my brother's keeper?"
"Genesis chapter four, verse nine," Weird said smugly.
"For fuck's sake, Weird," Mondo said. "Are you not over it yet?"
"You don't get over Jesus, Mondo. I don't expect someone as shallow as you to understand that. False gods, that's what you're worshiping."
Mondo grinned. "Maybe. But she gives great head."
Alex groaned. "I can't take anymore. I'm going to bed." He left them to their sparring, luxuriating in the peace of a room of his own again. Nobody had been sent to replace Cavendish and Greenhalgh, so he'd moved into what had been Cavendish's bedroom. He paused on the threshold, glancing into the music room. He couldn't remember the last time they'd sat down and played together. Until this term, hardly a day had gone by when they hadn't sat down and jammed for half an hour or more. But that had disappeared too, along with the closeness.
Maybe that was what happened anyway when you grew up. But Alex suspected it had more to do with what Rosie Duff's death had taught them about themselves and each other. It hadn't been a very edifying journey so far. Mondo had retreated into selfishness and sex; Weird had disappeared to a distant planet where even the language was incomprehensible. Only Ziggy had stayed his intimate. And even he seemed to have taken to disappearing without a trace. And underneath it all, a dissonant counterpoint to everyday life, suspicion and uncertainty gnawed away. Mondo had been the one to utter the poisonous words, but Alex had already been providing an ample feast for the worm in the bud.
Part of Alex hoped that things would settle down and return to normal. But the other part of him knew that some things, once broken, can never be restored. Thinking of restoration summoned Lynn to his mind, making him smile. He was going home on the weekend. They were going to Edinburgh to see a film. Heaven Can Wait, with Julie Christie and Warren Beatty. Romantic comedy seemed like a good place to start. It was an unspoken understanding between them that they wouldn't go out in Kirkcaldy. Too many wagging tongues quick to judgment.
He thought he'd tell Ziggy, though. He'd been going to tell him tonight. But, like heaven, that could wait. It wasn't as if either of them was going anywhere.
Ziggy would have given all he possessed to be anywhere else. It seemed like hours since he'd been dumped in the dungeon. He was chilled to the bone. The damp patch where he'd pissed himself felt icy, his prick and balls shriveled to infant size. And still he hadn't managed to untie his hands. Cramp had shot through his arms and legs in spasms, making him cry out with the excruciating pain of it. But at last, he thought he could feel the knot starting to give.
He gripped his aching jaw over the nylon rope once more and jiggled his head this way and that. Yes, there was definitely more movement. Either that or he was so desperate he was hallucinating progress. A tug to the left, then a jerk backward. He repeated the motion several times. When the rope end finally curled free and whipped against his face, Ziggy burst into tears.
Once that first turn was undone, the rest came away easily. All at once, his hands were free. Numb, but free. His fingers felt as swollen and cold as supermarket sausages. He thrust them inside his jacket, into his armpits. Axillae, he thought, remembering that cold was an enemy of thought, slowing the brain down. "Think anatomy," he said out loud, recalling the giggles he'd shared with a fellow student when reading how to rearticulate a dislocated shoulder. "Place a stockinged foot in the axilla," the text had said. "Cross-dressing for doctors," his friend had said. "I must remember to put a black silk stocking in my bag in case I come across a dislocation."
That was how to stay alive, he thought. Memory and movement. Now he had his arms for balance, he could move around. He could jog on the spot. A minute jogging, two minutes resting. Which would be fine if he could see his watch, he thought stupidly. For once, he wished he smoked. Then he'd have matches, a lighter. Something to breach this appalling blank darkness. "Sensory deprivation," he said. "Break the silence. Talk to yourself. Sing."
Pins and needles in his hands made him twitch. He took his hands out and shook them vigorously from the wrists. He massaged them clumsily against each other, and gradually the feeling came back. He touched the wall, glad of the sedimentary roughness of the sandstone. He'd begun to worry about permanent damage because of the circulatory cut-off. His fingers were still swollen and stiff, but at least he could feel them again.
He pushed himself to his feet and began to lift his feet in a gentle jog. He'd let his pulse-rate rise, then stop till it returned to normal. He thought about all the afternoons he'd spent hating PE. Sadistic gym teachers and endless circuit training, cross country and rugby. Movement and memory.
He was going to make it out alive. Wasn't he?
Morning came, and there was no Ziggy in the kitchen. Concerned now, Alex stuck his head round Ziggy's door. No Ziggy. It was hard to tell whether his bed had been slept in, since Alex doubted he'd made it since the beginning of term. He returned to the kitchen, where Mondo was tucking into a vast bowl of Coco Pops. "I'm worried about Ziggy. I don't think he came back last night."
"You're such an old woman, Gilly. Did you ever consider he might have got laid?"
"I think he might have mentioned the possibility."
Mondo snorted. "Not Ziggy. If he didn't want you to know, you'd never find out. He's not transparent, like you and me."
"Mondo, how long have we been sharing a house?"
"Three and a half years," Mondo said, casting his eyes to the ceiling.
"And how many nights has Ziggy stayed out?"
"I don't know, Gilly. In case you hadn't noticed, I tend to be away from base quite a lot myself. Unlike you, I have a life outside these four walls."
"I'm not exactly a monk, Mondo. But as far as I'm aware, Ziggy has never stayed out all night. And it worries me because it's not that long since Weird had the crap beaten out of him by the Duff brothers. And yesterday I got into a ruck with Cavendish and his Tory cronies. What if he got into a fight? What if he's in the hospital?"
"And what if he got laid? Listen to yourself, Gilly, you sound like my mother."
"Up yours, Mondo." Alex grabbed his jacket from the hall and made for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to phone Maclennan. If he tells me I sound like his mother, then I'll shut up, OK?" Alex slammed the door on the way out. He had another fear he hadn't mentioned to Mondo. What if Ziggy had gone out cruising for sex and been arrested? That was the nightmare scenario.
He walked across to the phone booths in the admin building and dialed the police station. To his surprise, he was put straight through to Maclennan. "It's Alex Gilbey, Inspector," he said. "I know this is probably going to sound like a right waste of your time, but I'm worried about Ziggy Malkiewicz. He didn't come home last night, which he's never done before?
"And after what happened to Mr. Mackie, you felt a bit uneasy?" Maclennan finished.
"That's right."
"Are you at Fife Park now?"
"Aye."
"Stay put. I'm coming over."
Alex didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned that the detective had taken him seriously. He trudged back to the house and told Mondo to expect a visit from the police.
"He'll really thank you for that when he walks in with that just-fucked look on his face," Mondo said.
By the time Maclennan arrived, Weird had joined them. He rubbed his tender, half-healed nose and said, "I'm with Gilly on this one. If Ziggy's fallen foul of the Duff brothers, he could be in intensive care by now."
Maclennan took Alex through the events of the previous evening. "And you've no idea where he might have gone?"
Alex shook his head. "He didn't say he was going out."
Maclennan gave Alex a shrewd look. "Does he go in for cottaging, do you know?"
"What's cottaging?" Weird asked.
Mondo ignored him and glared at Maclennan. "What are you saying? You calling my pal a queer?"
Weird looked even more baffled. "What's cottaging? What do you mean, queer?"
Furious, Mondo rounded on Weird. "Cottaging is what poofs do. Picking up strangers in toilets and having sex with them." He gestured with his thumb at Maclennan. "For some reason, the plod thinks Ziggy's a poof."
"Mondo, shut up," Alex said. "We'll talk about this later." The other two were taken aback by Alex's sudden access of authority, bewildered by the turn of events. Alex turned back to Maclennan. "He sometimes goes to a bar in Edinburgh. He's never said anything about here in St. Andrews. You think he's been arrested?"
"I checked the cells before I came out. He's not been through our hands." His radio crackled into life and he moved into the hall to answer it. His words drifted back into the kitchen. "The castle? You're kidding?Actually, I've got an idea who it might be. Get the Fire Brigade in. I'll see you down there."
He came back in, looking worried. "I think he might have turned up. We've had a report from one of the guides at the castle. He checks the place over every morning. He rang us to say there's somebody in the Bottle Dungeon."
"The Bottle Dungeon?" all three of them chorused.
"It's a chamber dug out of the rock under one of the towers. Shaped like a bottle. Once you're in, you can't get out. I need to go over there and see what's what. I'll have somebody let you know what's going on."
"No. We're coming too," Alex insisted. "If he's been stuck in there all night, he deserves to see a friendly face."
"Sorry, lads. No can do. If you want to make your own way over there, I'll leave word that you're to be let in. But I don't want you cluttering up a rescue operation." And he was gone.
The moment the door closed, Mondo laid into Alex. "What the hell was all that about? Shutting us up like that? Cottaging?"
Alex looked away. "Ziggy's gay," he said.
Weird looked incredulous. "No, he's not. How can he be gay? We're his best friends, we'd know."
"I know," Alex said. "He told me a couple of years ago."
"Great," Mondo said. "Thanks for sharing that with us, Gilly. So much for, 'All for one and one for all.' We weren't good enough to hear the news, huh? It's all right for you to know, but we haven't got the right to be told our so-called best mate is a poof."
Alex stared Mondo down. "Well, judging by your tolerant and relaxed reaction, I'd say Ziggy made the right judgment call."
"You must have got it wrong," Weird said stubbornly. "Ziggy's not gay. He's normal. Gays are sick. They're an abomination. Ziggy's not like that."
Suddenly, Alex had had enough. His temper flared rarely, but when it did, it was a breathtaking spectacle. His face flushed dark red and he slammed the flat of his hand against the wall. "Shut up, the pair of you. You make me ashamed to be your friend. I don't want to hear another bigoted word from either of you. Ziggy's taken care of the three of us for the best part of ten years. He's been our friend, he's always been there for us and he's never let us down. So what if he fancies men instead of women? I don't give a shit. It doesn't mean he fancies me, or you, anymore than I fancy every woman with a pair of tits. It doesn't mean I've got to watch my back in the shower, for fuck's sake. He's still the same person. I still love him like a brother. I'd still trust him with my life, and so should you. And you? he added, stabbing a finger into Weird's chest. "You call yourself a Christian? How dare you sit in judgment on a man who's worth a dozen of you and your happy-clappy nutters? You don't deserve a friend like Ziggy." He snatched up his coat. "I'm going to the castle. And I don't want to see you two there unless you've got your fucking acts together."
This time when he slammed the door, even the windows rattled.
When Ziggy saw the faint glow of light, he thought at first he was hallucinating again. He'd been drifting in and out of a kind of delirium, and he had enough insight in his lucid moments to realize he was beginning to go into hypothermia. In spite of his best efforts to keep moving, lethargy was a hard adversary to combat. From time to time, he'd slumped to the floor, in a dwam, his mind rambling in the strangest of directions. Once, he'd thought his father was with him, having a conversation about Raith Rovers's chances of achieving promotion. Now, that was surreal.
He had no idea how long he'd been down there. But when the glimmer of light appeared, he knew what he had to do. He jumped up and down, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Help! Help! I'm down here. Help me!"
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the light became painful. Ziggy shielded his eyes from its brightness. "Hello?" echoed down the shaft and filled the chamber.
"Get me out of here," Ziggy screamed. "Please, get me out."
"I'm going for help," the disembodied voice called. "If I drop the torch, can you catch it?"
"Wait," Ziggy shouted. He didn't trust his hands. Besides, a torch would come down the shaft like a bullet. He stripped off his jacket and his sweater, folded them and placed them in the middle of the faint pool of light. "OK, do it now," he called up.
The light juddered and bounced on the walls of the passage, flashing crazy patterns against his startled retinas. It spiraled suddenly out of the shaft and then a heavy rubber torch plopped neatly onto the soft sheepskin. Tears stung Ziggy's eyes, a physiological and emotional reaction rolled into one. He grabbed the torch, holding it to his chest like a talisman. "Thank you," he sobbed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"I'll be as quick as I can," the voice said, tailing off as its owner moved away.
He could bear it now, Ziggy thought. He had light. He played the torch over the walls. The rough red sandstone was worn smooth in places, the roof and walls blackened in patches with soot and tallow. It must have felt like the anteroom to hell for the prisoners kept down here. At least he knew he was going to be freed, and soon. But for them, light must only have brought increase to their despair, a recognition of the futility of any hope of escape.
When Alex arrived at the castle, two police cars, a fire engine and an ambulance sat outside. The sight of the ambulance made his heart pound. What had happened to Ziggy? He had no difficulty gaining access; Maclennan had been true to his word. One of the firemen pointed him across the grassy courtyard to the Sea Tower, where he found a scene of calm efficiency. The fire officers had set up a portable generator to run powerful arc lights and a winch. A rope led down into the hole in the middle of the floor. Alex shivered at the sight.
"It's Ziggy, right enough. The fireman's just gone down in a sort of hoist. Like a breeches buoy, if you know what that is?" Maclennan said.
"I think so. What happened?"
Maclennan shrugged. "We don't know yet."
As he spoke, a voice trickled up from below. "Bring her up."
The fireman on the winch pressed a button and the machinery howled into action. The rope coiled on a drum, inch by tantalizing inch. It seemed to go on forever. Then Ziggy's familiar head rose into sight. He looked a mess. His face was streaked with blood and dirt. One eye was swollen and bruised, his lip split and crusted. He was blinking at the lights, but as soon as his sight cleared and he saw Alex, he managed a smile. "Hey, Gilly," he said. "Nice of you to stop by."
As his torso cleared the funnel, willing hands pulled him clear, helping him out of the canvas sling. Ziggy staggered, disorientated and exhausted. Impulsively, Alex rushed forward and took his friend in his arms. The acrid smell of sweat and urine clung to him, overlaid by the earthy smell of dirt. "You're OK," Alex said, holding him close. "You're OK now."
Ziggy hung on to him as if his life depended on it. "I was afraid I was going to die there," he whispered. "I couldn't let myself think like that, but I was so afraid I was going to die."
The Distant Echo The Distant Echo - Val McDermid The Distant Echo