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And then he turned to the body on the bed, reached down with an extravagant flourish of his right hand, traced a line along Nick's stomach and . . .

Louise blinked. She had to be seeing things. Pendennis pushed down with his hand and . . . it looked like it penetrated Nick's stomach. She couldn't see his wrist. All she could see was an arm pushing down hard on Nick's stomach; Pendennis growling and Nick struggling

"I . . . I think I've found it," said Pendennis.

"You've found nothing," hissed Nick, his voice compressed and strained.

"I think I have," said Peter, digging deeper, twisting his arm, contorting his face. Then stopping . . . and slowly turning his head to look down at what he'd found.

"Oh," he said. "Is this yours?"

Louise screamed. She couldn't stop herself. Pendennis was pulling and pulling—something . . . something bloody and vile and over two feet long from the pit of Nick's stomach. It dangled from Peter's upraised hand like a string of sausages. He waved it in front of Nick's face; laughing, triumphant.

"Some chicken liver, don't you think?"

Nick retched, the two warders cheered and Peter held his trophy aloft, the rich red blood running down his right forearm.

It's a trick, recited Louise to herself. I don't know how he did it but it was only a trick. And tricks can only hurt if you let them.

Pendennis stared in her direction and waggled his trophy. She ignored him. She was not going to break down and she was not going to be intimidated. She set her face. And waited.

"Your turn, Lulu. I expect you're looking forward to it. It always feels good when Peter takes the pain away."

Louise waited. This time she'd play submissive right up to the moment the little shit's groin came within range.

Pendennis advanced waving his trophy, his eyes burning with triumph. "Feeling peckish, are we?"

Louise looked down, watching Peter's feet, drawing imaginary lines on the floor: kicking range, kneeing range—come on you little shit, come as close as you dare.

"Don't be afraid, Lulu. Peter's not going to hurt you. There . . ." He tossed away his trophy. "Nasty mess has gone away."

Louise kept staring at the floor, waiting. He took another step forward, reached out and touched her chin with a finger and tried to lift her face to his.

It was time.

She raised her face slowly and smiled, bringing her right knee up at the same time, giving it everything she had, catching Pendennis squarely between the legs. He reeled backwards, doubling up. She leaned back and lashed out with her legs, trying to connect with his face but missing as her captor lifted her off her feet and swung her back towards the wall.

She fell against it—hard. Pain exploded across her side as a punch went into her kidneys. She started to go down, then her hair was yanked back. More pain, punches, kicks, slaps. Indiscriminate. Her forehead crashed against something solid; the next thing she knew she was on her knees, arms locked behind her back and looking towards the centre of the room through a veil of blood and tears.

Pendennis stood in front of her, looking down at her through eyes that weren't even misted over. What kind of man was he? He should have been picking his balls out of his rib cage.

But he had stopped smiling.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said. "Peter didn't like it."

"I did," she said, glaring at him defiantly.

"That's because you're in pain," he said, his smile returning. "Peter's here to take that pain away and make you whole again." He glanced down at her stomach. "Shall we see what's in there?"

"Why waste time?" she said. "Why not look in your pockets now and get it over with."

Peter's eyes brightened. He smiled at his two accomplices. "I think we have another unbeliever, gentlemen."

"Not for long," said Bobby.

Peter stepped back and patted himself down. "Look, Lulu, there's nothing here."

He unrolled his sleeves, shook them at her, rolled them up again. He twirled in front of her like a demented fashion model, patting himself down, rolling up his trouser legs.

"It's still a trick, Lou," said Nick. "Remember that."

Pendennis dismissed Nick's intervention with a wave of his hand. "What does he know." he said, looking directly into Louise's eyes. "He knows nothing of your pain, does he? But Peter does. Peter knows all about pain and loss . . . And your mother."

Louise started. Why was he bringing up her mother . . . 

Her mind flew back to that other occasion. He'd used her mother then—to get to her—before he tried to rip her ear off. She was not falling for that twice.

He came closer, still talking. "Such a bond between a mother and child. Even death can't break it, don't you agree?"

He crouched down in front of her, looking straight into her eyes.

"Now, let's see what you've got for Peter."

She braced herself. His right hand touched her abdomen, pressing against the gown. She could feel her body starting to shake and willed it to stop. She was not going to show fear. She was not going to give the little shit the satisfaction.

His hand began to wander, higher and lower. Louise gritted her teeth, refusing to look down, refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead.

A sharp pain. His hand pressed into her, digging into her stomach and pushing under her ribs. She wanted to cry out. It felt like his hand was inside her. She knew it couldn't be but her body screamed otherwise.

"Oh," said Pendennis, pursing his lips. "What's this? What have you been doing you naughty little girl?"

This too shall pass, chanted Louise, this too.

The pressure on Louise's abdomen reduced as Peter slowly withdrew his hand. But something was coming with it. She could feel it. She could hear the dreadful sucking sound from her gut.

"It's a big one, isn't it?" said Peter. "Must be at least ten pounds."

More sucking sounds, more pain, more torment. Make it all go away. Make it all go away now!

"It's coming," said Peter. "I can see its head. One more push."

I am not pushing, thought Louise. I am not pushing and I am not looking.

There was a pop, an obscene gurgle, and a cry. A baby's cry.

Louise stared straight ahead through filmy eyes. Something wriggled on the periphery of her vision. She closed her eyes. Tight shut.

"Come on Lulu, don't you want to see your baby?"

"I have no baby," she said.

Something warm and wet touched her face. She screwed her eyes tighter. She could smell it. It was dangling in front of her face.

That's when she felt the tiny fingers pulling at her eyelids, forcing her eyes to open, forcing her to take in the full horror of the situation.

It was beyond revulsion—a mockery of life—a twisted gargoyle of a creature, more caricature than living thing. And it had hold of her eyelids! Tiny misshapen arms outstretched, grasping hold of her, forcing her to look at it.

"Ugly little thing, isn't it?" said Peter. "Wouldn't like to meet the father. Would you, Tony?"

Gratuitous laughter, pain and torment. Louise started to slip down a long dark tunnel. Someone outside retched, probably Nick.

"I'll have to keep this one at the back of my collection," said Peter. "Wouldn't want to frighten the cleaners."

She passed out soon after that.

Nick was bending over her when she came to.

"It's all right, Lou," he said. "They've gone."

All right? How could anything be all right ever again?

She lay there, smeared in memories, nausea, fear and disbelief. A shaking hand slid down the front of her hospital gown, moving towards her abdomen. She had to know but couldn't bring herself to look. The memory burned like bile inside her.

"It's all right, Lou," he said. "There's nothing there."

She barely registered what he said as she pushed her fingers further, sliding through the coagulating mess, her stomach firm to the touch but she knew that any second it must give way, a few inches further and they'd disappear into a gaping, ragged wound.

"It's all right, Lou," Nick repeated. "There really is nothing there. Trust me. Look for yourself."

He took her hand and tried to force it lower. She snatched it back; withdrawing into herself, rolling over, hiding her face in her hands, curling into a protective foetal ball.

"Louise," he said, shaking her shoulder. "Look at me. He didn't even cut through the gown. It was nothing but a sick, disgusting trick."

She opened an eye and straightened slightly. He was showing her his gown, pulling it tight across his stomach. "See," he said. "Not even a tear. All he did was smear fake blood all over the place."

She reached down to her own abdomen, smoothing the gown out, exploring, pushing against her skin. She was whole. At least her body was.

"I saw it, Nick." she said, swallowing hard. "That . . . " She couldn't bring herself to say it. "That . . . thing! That was no sleight of hand. It was alive."

Nick stared at his feet. "I know . . . I saw it too."

"Oh, God, it's not still here, is it?" she said, jumping up and looking around in panic. She couldn't take it if that thing was hiding somewhere—maybe under the bed?

Nick grabbed her and pulled her to him. "It's gone, Lou. They've all gone. Pendennis, the so-called warders, everything."

She felt comforted for about a second.

"Are they coming back?" she asked, looking towards the door. It was closed. Maybe they could push the beds up against it and barricade themselves in?

"I don't know," said Nick. "They left soon after you passed out."

As soon as the fun dried up, thought Louise.

"And no one's been to check on us since?" she asked, pushing him away. "Ziegler? Nurses? Anyone?"

"No," he said. "I think Pendennis must have taken control of this wing." He pointed to the door. "He locked us in. I tried to pry the door open but . . ." He shrugged. "I couldn't budge it."

She walked to the door and listened. Not a sound. What kind of prison riot was this quiet? She turned to Nick.

"Have you heard anything out there?"

"Not a thing," he said. "The only thing that makes the slightest sense is that maybe some of the prisoners overpowered the night shift in this wing, took them hostage, stole their uniforms and locked everyone else out. There have to be hostages or someone would be storming the prison right now."

It made sense. Up to a point.

"But why is it so quiet? If the prisoners are in control why aren't they rampaging up and down the corridors? Why can't I hear Pendennis torturing the occupants of the next room?"

"Maybe they've moved off into other wings? Maybe they have to keep quiet, maybe it's only a few prisoners who've got loose and they don't want to alert the guards in the other wings?"

"The entire prison is monitored, Nick. Pendennis couldn't get loose without people knowing. There are cameras everywhere."

"Not in this room."

He was right. She looked up, swung around. There wasn't a camera anywhere. Unless it was hidden?

But even if this room wasn't monitored the corridors were. She remembered seeing them, swivelling and turning—watching her—when Ziegler first brought her to Upper Heywood. They'd covered every intersection. There was no way that a prisoner could get loose and not be seen.

Unless the prisoners had total control of the site.

She couldn't believe that either. Someone would have got a message out. The police would be outside now, shouting instructions through loudspeakers, drones would be circling overhead, assault teams landing on the roof. Something would be happening. Something they could hear.

"Try and separate, Lou," said Nick. "I've tried but I'm still being blocked."

So was Louise. She lay on the bed for five minutes trying to force her mind to fly free. But all she could see was that 'thing'—her 'child'—staring at her, gurgling and tormenting her. Every time she closed her eyes it was there, waiting in the darkness.

"It's no good", she said, opening her eyes. "I can't . . . what are you doing?"

Nick was standing on the adjoining bed, fiddling with the ceiling light.

"Looking for a holographic projector," he said. "Something animated that gargoyle of Pendennis's."

"It touched me, Nick. I felt it grab my eyelids. It wasn't a projection."

"Maybe you thought you felt it. Suggestion is a powerful force."

"Not in my world it isn't. I smelt it, I heard, I saw it and I felt it. And Pendennis didn't say a word about it grabbing my eyelids, it just happened."

"Because he suggested it might. He created the idea in your head that he was all-powerful. He dangled a holographic gargoyle in front of your face and 'ordered' you to look at it. Your mind created the rest."

"My mind did not peel back my eyelids. It did."

Nick stepped down from the bed. "Nothing there. Maybe he had one of those handheld devices?"

"Which he got from where?" asked Louise. "From one of the warders he just happened to overpower tonight?"

Nick shrugged. "If you've got a better explanation I'm open to suggestions. He is a manipulator. He could have persuaded one of the warders . . ."

Louise shook her head. There were too many 'maybes' and 'could haves.' And it was far too quiet. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And then the door opened.

The door opened, slow and silent. Nick watched, frozen in anticipation. Was it Pendennis, a rescue team, someone else?

The door swung wider. He could see into the corridor. No one there. Unless they were hiding to the left of the door?

Louise bounced off the bed to join him. She started pulling at the wires dangling from the LSU behind him.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, keeping one eye on the door.

"Looking for something to fight with." She gave up on the wires and started pulling at the LSU itself, ripping at the structure, looking for anything she could throw or swing or stab with.

Nick watched the door. Why hadn't anyone come in? What were they waiting for? He crouched down beside the bed, using it as cover. Against what he didn't know but standing up he felt exposed.