I start to force down his meal, though I don’t want it. It’s better than watching them zap him again. But Crewes sees that my crumble is gone before my chicken and gives me two demerits.
Worth it.
After that, I slide my tray into the trolley for washing up and head back to the common room where I sit and doodle, wondering if I’ll be able to get out of here before I actually go nuts. It’s going to be a close one…
Shade
‘Aye, that's the place,' Douglas murmurs, his binoculars trained on the manor house I can see in the distance on the hill.
I shift in the passenger seat in the man's nondescript silver Corsa, circa 1998. The weather is cold and damp and it's raining again, not pouring, just an annoying drizzle. The sky is overcast and it’s windy as hell. I feel like I haven’t seen the sun in months. The landscape is green and yet the desolation that permeates this place is acute.
At the pub we’re staying at, the wind whistles through the eves all the time. Plus, Mav and I are pretty sure it’s haunted as fuck. Weird noises. Creaks. I swear I heard a kid laugh in my room last night.
Blake thinks we’re full of shit.
I glance back at him. Even his love of the UK seems to be waning slightly in the face of its relentless bad weather, the darkness, and the fact that he can't get a good Wi-Fi signal at the pub. That last one is probably the real reason. He hates feeling disconnected.
Mav, silent and stoic as he has been since we got here, just keeps going on runs. He hasn't spoken much since we arrived, except to mutter about the haunted pub and complain about the fact that, while it's nowhere near as cold here as it is in Connecticut, he's constantly shivering.
Douglas chuckled when he overheard, telling him that it's the damp.
‘Gets into your bones,' he said.
He hands me the binoculars.
'You see there?' he says, gesturing at the house.
'Where am I looking?' I ask.
'Beyond the car park. The main doors.’
‘They look old,' I say.
'Aye. Sixteenth century, thick as a witch's cunt.’
I give him a look, not sure what that means.
‘But it’s sealed shut anyway. The smaller one in the middle. You see it? That’s on the button in reception. Always locked unless they buzz you in.'
He wrenches the binoculars to the left and I scowl. 'The fence there, you see it?'
'Yeah,' I grind out. ‘What about it?’
Blake taps my shoulder and I hand him the binoculars. He takes them, training them in the same direction.
'That's the boundary. There's not much security other than the cameras on the main gate. The ones in the building…,' he shrugs. ‘Well, systems have needed updating for years. Most of them don't work, butthe good doctorprefers to spend the money on his research.'
Douglas rolls his eyes.
'There are orderlies. Always there. Three shifts a day. They aren't security guards, but don't let the uniforms fool you. A couple of them can pack a wallop, and they're stronger than they look. Crewes in particular. He’s a real cunt and I know he done a long stint at Her Majesty’s pleasure.'
‘What does that mean?’ I ask.
‘Jail, sonny,’ Douglas says with a fake American accent. ‘Don’t know the details, but it was at least two years, so he must’ve done something very naughty indeed.’
'Noted,' I say, squinting. 'So, what’s the best way to get in?'
Douglas snorts. 'It ain't the Bank of England, lad. It won't be difficult to get in. The trick will be getting out and away before thecops get ya,' he says, again in his fake American accent. ‘They’ll be called as soon as she’s missed.'
