Bech walks, his shoes click clicking over flags, cobbles and concrete. Mitch hangs back, running lightly, dashing from one hidden corner to another as he moves.
Bech pauses, turns… Looks…
Mitch ducks into a doorway, freezes…
After a moment… the receding sound of shoes.
Quickly, Mitch slips out from her bare cover…
Where is he?
*****
Most of the glass is long gone, but the rusted sockets remain, more or less, in the ruins of a basement window. Grey daylight trickles down from ground level, along with rain, flakes of rust and the occasional rat.
The building was once an abattoir. No longer. But here below ground-level, what remains of the fittings have come in useful.
Handcuffed and up-stretched, chained to an ancient meat hook, Frank screams as he sees it coming, the sound swallowe
