The Rome Prophecy

88

They’ve left a dented steel bucket in the corner of the cell for her to use as a toilet.

But Louisa can’t.

Her body is desperate for relief, but her brain is screaming no.

She stands and stretches.

Paces.

Leans against the cold and rusty iron bars, then shakes them until the noise echoes down distant tunnels.

But nothing takes her mind off the bucket and her bladder.

Thank God she’s only drunk a little water, and not the vast amounts of coffee she usually does.

She stares at the bucket.

They’ve not even left a bowl of water or any soap to wash her hands with.

Suddenly the severity of her situation crushes her.

An unexpected cry leaps from her mouth. Once out, it seems to drag several uncontrollable sobs behind it.

She’s shaken by her surprising outbreak of emotion.

She tells herself she’s a strong woman, a professional, used to fighting her way through things. She hasn’t cried for years and shouldn’t be sobbing her heart out now.

She palms away the tears and studies the streaks they’ve made on her dusty hands.

She has to pull herself together.

Make the best of the situation she’s in.

Mustn’t let anyone see that she’s frightened to death.

She doesn’t so much walk to the bucket as charge at it.

It’s not going to beat her.

They’re not going to beat her.

She grinds it into the dust, unbuckles her belt, slips down her two-hundred-euro trousers, squats and pees.

Job done.

She re-dresses, moves to the front of the cell and shakes the bars again. ‘Hey! Hey! In here! Someone! Hey!’

She carries on shouting and shaking until the purple-cloaked man reappears.

She reads his face.

He looks irritated that he’s been summoned by the noise she made. He’s human, that’s all. Nothing special. Beatable.

‘I’ve finished thinking,’ she says.

‘Good.’

‘I need a phone.’

His eyes say not a chance.

‘I need a phone so I can call work. I usually check in with my boss and my team when I’m not there. I confirm appointments and discuss cases. It already looks strange that I’ve not called for so long.’

He gives it some thought. ‘It makes sense. Wait and I will come back to you.’

Louisa watches him turn and walk away. She can’t believe he just told her to wait. Like she has a choice. Wait is not a word she’s ever liked, but in her current circumstance it’s been elevated to the top of the things she most hates and fears.

But wait she does.

Half an hour later, he reappears. With him are two more men, but their cloaks are scarlet.

Louisa steps away from the bars as Purple Cloak unlocks them. The others enter and Louisa has to do a double-take. Their faces are startlingly feminine, but their hands and feet are distinctly man-sized. Without talking, they grab her wrists and click on a pair of steel handcuffs.

‘Ow!’ Louisa looks down at the metal gnawing her wrist bones. ‘They’re hurting.’

‘You’ll get used to it,’ says Purple Cloak.

One of his henchmen – or hench women; Louisa’s now not sure – disappears behind her. She’s about to turn around when the other one jerks her by the wrists.

The stab of pain distracts her.

A black hood is pulled over her head.

A stretch of thin rope is looped around her neck and pulled tight.

Purple Cloak speaks. ‘Don’t scream. Don’t panic. You’ll only make things worse for yourself.’

Louisa struggles.

He holds her shoulders. ‘Listen! Nothing bad is going to happen. We can’t get any reception down here, so we’re taking you to a place where you can make your call.’

The reassurance doesn’t work.

Louisa is panicking. Panicking like she’s never panicked before.

The shock of the hood has triggered her claustrophobia.

She feels like giant balls of cotton wool are being stuffed down her throat.

She tells herself to stay calm, breathe through her nose.

Her chest aches.

Her heart is racing.

Thin streams of air trickle into her heaving lungs.

Her shoulder bumps against something.

They’re moving her.

‘Come on,’ says someone. ‘Let’s get her out of the womb.’

Womb?

She must have misheard. They must have said room.

Hands grip her elbows and tow her along.

She feels sick and dizzy.

There are other voices now. Women shouting to her, or maybe it’s children.

Louisa starts to hyperventilate. She needs to stop. Stand still. See light and space. Calm down.

But they won’t let her.

Her knees buckle.

She gasps for air.

Blackness is just a breath away.