When Evil Calls

By C E Marshall

A whole class of boys disappear without trace from their school. Another set of boys apparently witness what happened but are physically prevented from describing what they saw for some months.
This latter group of boys separate to follow their own careers, marry and raise children, but are eventually all brought together again in an engineering capacity – despite earlier interests. Working together they devise new alloys and electronic communication devices. They build a model of machine they believe will travel through space – at the same time secretly building the parts for a full size machine.
The model is tested in front of witnesses and performs perfectly but disappears from all monitoring systems for most of the test flight.
While testing the new communication device a message is received from their old school friends who vanished those years ago. It takes some convincing of others that these boys (men now|) are still alive but permission is given for the full size machine to be built.
Whole families are smuggled aboard the machine which, rather than going for a test flight, heads for the planet where their old friends are waiting.
On arrival they find that all the people there have to be underground at night and in well lit places; any person, or animal, left outside at night is found dead the next day.
They explore the planet, make friends with unknown animals, but are caught outside at night. A call for help is answered and they all survive, but now have a mission to destroy the darkness.
They return to Earth to pick up people versed in ancient magics and return to Paxlene where, after adventures the darkness is defeated.
An attempt is made to return the special people to Earth but fails as the Earth is about to be hit by a giant Asteroid. They are able to cocoon parts of the Earth and shield them from the catastrophe, but it all happens too quickly for anyone to be returned home.
They try return to Paxlene, now free of evil, where they plan to help to build new societies out in the open, but something takes over their controls.


The story continues with ‘Wormhole’ , and will conclude with a third tale which has a working title of “Restitution”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Nov 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781984591388

C E Marshall

Chris Marshall was born in London in 1947. Educated first at Kilburn Grammar School from 1958 to 1965 and then gained a BSC from St Andrews University in 1969..Employed first by Brooke Bond Liebig and then by Charing Cross Hospital Medical School where he obtained a PhD for research into gastric hormones, again from St Andrews University in 1979. It was immediately after gaining the PhD that the germ of the idea for a book took hold and the first version of Starstruck was completed in 1980 / 1981. Not finding a publisher it was put away for 25 years, until the manuscript was suddenly rediscovered in 2015. Extensively rewritten as technology had advanced so much (no mobile phone in original version) and now twice the original length it has now been published. Starstruck did not end the story, however and this book continues the adventures of those characters and introduces some new ones, all of which spawned a third book to follow this one, Wormhole. Married, and with two children from his first marriage, he has four grandchildren and also two step children, five step grandchildren and a step great grandson. Shortly after gaining the PhD Chris’ career took a sharp turn into computer programming which covered many computer languages, some of which have now gone out of use. Working for Charing Cross Hospital, then Vamp Health, the Royal London Dental Institute and finally for CeLSIUS (Centre for Longitudinal Studies and User Support) first at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine and finally at University College London. Chris enjoys reading, singing (was forty five years with the Royal Choral Society but now singing locally), gardening, and, when opportunity arises, travelling.

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Copyright © 2019 by C E Marshall.

ISBN:       Softcover             978-1-9845-9139-5

                 eBook                   978-1-9845-9138-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/19/2019

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1     Taken

Chapter 2     Disclosure

Chapter 3     Reunion

Chapter 4     Out of this World

Chapter 5     Preparation

Chapter 6     The Journey

Chapter 7     Arrival

Chapter 8     Paxlene

Chapter 9     Vorpatim

Chapter 10   The Task

Chapter 11   Ancient Wisdom

Chapter 12   Return to Paxlene

Chapter 13   Fear and Solution

About the Author

Wormhole

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

M y thanks go to all who have been with me during the marathon of creating this book:

First to my wife, Kathleen, for her patience in letting me continue to develop this book while so many things remain to do around the house.

To my daughter, Jayne Mullane, for painstakingly going through the manuscript and correcting the many typos and making suggestions to improve the script and the way it reads.

The meditation on pages 85–87 is one I use regularly for peaceful relaxation. However, all the instructions for preparation and close down afterwards must be followed.

The events and characters in this book are imaginary and not meant to refer to any person, living or deceased.

I also thank the editors of Xiblis for their painstaking efforts in further improving the text.

CHAPTER 1

Taken

W here on earth was I? My head hurt like hell. I felt as if I hadn’t slept for a week, and my vision was blurry. I couldn’t make out whether I was indoors or out. I should have been indoors, but the air felt fresh and outdoorsy. There seemed to be hundreds of people around me, all talking at once. But the last I remembered, there had been hardly anyone around. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. I must have been overcome by the formalin fumes from the dogfish I’d been dissecting. That was it! I’d been overcome and dragged outside. No other explanation would fit.

My vision cleared, and I stared around me, bewildered at finding myself in the school playground. It seemed the whole school was lined up for fire drill—but I hadn’t heard any alarm. I’d have known that for sure; the alarm bell was just outside our room and damned loud!

For the first time I became aware that both my arms were being held, and a voice was urgently asking me again and again, Chris, are you all right? What happened? I was being supported on each side by a friend from other classes of the sixth form, and both of them seemed terribly worried. The penetrating, frightened questions came again: Are you all right? What happened? I stared at them blankly. These were the last people I would expect to panic, and they were close to that state. As my eyes opened, they relaxed their grip a little and called out to someone at the edge of my vision, It’s OK, sir. They’re coming out of it.

Out of it? Out of what? What has happened? I wondered. The last I remembered, I’d been sitting at my laboratory bench, breathing the sharp smell of formalin, exchanging jokes with my classmates, and wondering where the tenth cranial nerve of my dogfish had got to. Now I was clearly being expected to say something dramatic, but all I could do was shakily answer, Yes, I’m all right. At this my friends relaxed their grip even more, and looks of relief spread over their faces.

I tried to stand but found I still needed their help. Thanks. Wh-what happened? Why are we out here? I asked, looking around uncomprehendingly. Around me I saw eight classmates being similarly supported by other members of the sixth. The eight were in a similar state of bewilderment. A short way off, senior members of staff were conferring urgently with the head and deputy-head boys, while around us, six hundred pairs of eyes stared fixedly. As my brain slowly took in the full scene, an irregularity in the surrounding ranks caught my attention. Funny, there’s a class missing, I thought. But before I could analyse the anomaly properly, the senior staff with the head and deputy-head boys turned and walked briskly towards us, and other thoughts were driven from my mind.

They stopped in front of us. The headmaster, a short man whose head was permanently tilted to one side, the result of a car accident many years ago, drew himself up to his full height and glared at us. We trembled; we were in trouble. The headmaster was a remote person, carrying a veiled but powerful aura of authority, and we respected him in a strange, schoolboyish manner. The real problem was that I had not a clue as to what we were supposed to have done. But from the way everyone was looking at us, it was clear that they all thought we were responsible for something terrible.

Exchanging glances with my classmates only brought shrugs. It seemed that they, too, had no idea what was going on. Discipline was normally administered by lower levels. For Droopy himself—as we called the headmaster, though not to his face, of course—to get involved spelt real trouble. Very few of the boys in the school risked his wrath, and even the brave ones rarely did so more than once.

Meanwhile, the dizziness had fully left me, and I was now standing unsupported. Kevin, who had been supporting me, spoke briefly to the head boy, who in turn spoke to Droopy. As Droopy turned back to face us, his expression lost its grimness. The sun flashed momentarily on his bald scalp, and for a moment he, also, looked confused. Then, as an expectant hush fell over the gathered schoolboys, he spoke to us firmly, but with far more gentleness than we had anticipated. I’m surprised at you boys, I thought you had more sense. Why didn’t you evacuate the school when you heard the alarm?

Not what we were expecting. There was more to this than simply ignoring an alarm bell—which I couldn’t remember ringing. We looked at each other in confusion and turned back to Droopy several times. We said nothing until Droopy snapped, Well? I’m waiting!

A final glance at each other, silent agreement, and not knowing what else to say, as our classmates nodded agreement Stewart and I both muttered, Didn’t hear it, sir. This was true.

I looked at my watch; it was much later than I’d thought. There seemed to be about thirty minutes of which I could remember nothing. Nor, apparently, could my classmates.

Didn’t hear it! he barked. That bell would wake the dead. I heard it, and I’m deaf, as you well know. He paused for breath. Now, give me more credit than that. None of us had been in trouble more than once before, and even those incidents had been years ago, so Droopy was clearly making a big effort to be as sympathetic as the situation allowed. As the headmaster continued, I suddenly noticed the blue lights outside and firemen walking towards us. The alarm bell outside your laboratory was still ringing when your friends brought you out. But that wasn’t where you were found. So one more time: What did you do, and what happened?

I knew it was really important to give a satisfactory answer, but all I could do was whisper, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t seem to be able to remember anything from the time I was dissecting to the time I woke here. I don’t remember hearing the alarm or leaving the lab. I can only think I was overcome by the formalin.

Droopy glared at me. I don’t see how that is possible, under the circumstances. But very well; I’ll see you later. And you others, have you anything to say? One by one my friends shook their heads. If you won’t answer that question, perhaps you’ll answer this one. And please think before you refuse. If you don’t answer properly, you will find yourselves in serious trouble with the police and heaven knows who else. Droopy’s voice took on a new pitch, one I associated with panic. That was strange, because we were the ones in trouble, weren’t we? I won’t beat about the bush further, Droopy hurried on. The whole of form 3B and their teacher are missing. You were found standing like statues in their empty classroom. Now, what happened to them? Where are they?

At that moment, even the traffic outside and the aircraft overhead on their approach to Heathrow seemed to stop. There was an air of hushed expectancy all around us. But we could make no response except to stare blankly in sheer shock at his words. In exasperation, the head threw up his hands and turned away to give instructions to the staff.

Standing like statues in a room that wasn’t our own? Really? That room wasn’t far from our lab, but we’d had no reason to go there. We weren’t even prefects, who might have gone to quieten down the other students. I tried hard to remember. I had been deeply involved with my dogfish. Then there had been this hum. As my memory reached for what had happened next, I screamed at the flash of light that came into my brain. Blinded, I raised a hand to my forehead and staggered to my knees, momentarily weak. Strong hands held me, and the feeling passed.

Droopy came back into focus. He had turned away and hadn’t noticed my near collapse. He was now giving orders for all the students to return to normal work. We made as if to move, but he turned to us. Not so fast, boys, he said. We must get to the bottom of this. You may return to your laboratory. Make sure that everything is in a state in which it may safely be left, and then— He smiled briefly, a nervous, unsure smile quite atypical of the very positive attitude he usually displayed. I want to see you all in my office; let us say in fifteen minutes. And I warn you, I won’t be alone.

We assured our friends that we had recovered from our experience, and we returned in a subdued manner to our laboratory. We cleaned our dissecting instruments in silence and returned our dogfish to their preserving tank of formalin. At five minutes before our interview with Droopy, we gathered in a group by the door. Well, I said as we stood around, leaning limply on the laboratory benches, eyes staring vacantly at nothing. "What did happen?"

I’ve no idea, said Adrian, brushing his fair hair from his eyes. Has anyone? His glance took in all the others. With one accord, they all shook their heads. No idea at all, said Henry. None of us have.

Hell’s bells, I exclaimed. If we can’t offer Droopy at least a reasonable explanation, he’ll murder us. Let’s all try again to remember. Once more silence fell on the room. Looks of intense concentration crossed all faces as we began to recall the last moments before our apparent blackout. Suddenly, there was a repeat of that fierce flash of light in my brain, followed instantly by a searing pain. I clasped a hand to my forehead and, staggering, caught a bench for support, unaware that my friends were enduring similar agonies. It was then that the head boy looked in to tell us that Droopy was ready for us. He took one look and left without saying a word; we did not notice his intrusion.

Never again! I gasped as the pain left me, and I shook my head in an effort to clear my thoughts. I don’t remember what happened—and suddenly I don’t want to remember!

Likewise! spluttered Stewart, a short, stocky boy with long black hair. The others also agreed that they would never willingly try to remember again.

There was silence for a few moments before Adrian said, I suppose we’d better go and see Droopy. Two minutes later we were ushered before our headmaster. Behind his desk he had now regained his poise and all his authority. He surveyed us for a moment before barking, Perhaps now that you haven’t such a large audience, you’ll tell me exactly what happened! It wasn’t a question, it was an order. But I thought of the pain.

I took the initiative of being spokesman. I’m sorry, sir, we don’t remember what happened, and we have vowed not to try again to recall those events.

And why not? snapped Droopy.

Because it hurts too much, I replied.

You mean because what you saw is too horrible to contemplate? Droopy’s voice softened slightly.

No, sir, because of physical pain. Every time we try to remember, it becomes as if—if— I struggled for words.

As if someone were hitting our heads with a hammer, Ian finished for me.

You really expect me to believe— began the headmaster, but he was interrupted by the head boy, who had remained in our presence.

Excuse me, sir, but I think they are telling the truth. When I looked in on them just before bringing them to you, they were all in a state of near collapse, holding their heads as if in severe pain. They seemed back to normal by the time I brought them to you. The silence was deafening. Sorry, sir; I didn’t mean to interfere. finished our friend lamely.

Droopy’s expression showed incredulity, but his manner became more sympathetic, and he leaned forward across his desk, gazing intently at each one of us in turn. In a more subdued tone, he went on, What Simon here has just said does tie in with my observations of you and with what several of your contemporaries have told me. But you do realise, don’t you, that twenty-eight boys and their teacher—the whole of form 3B—have vanished, and that you were found in their classroom?

We gulped and exchanged nervous looks before Charles, acting as spokesman replied, Yes, sir. We noticed they were missing.

And you have nothing to say about the incident?

No, sir, we whispered in reply, lowering our heads to avoid meeting his eyes. The silent atmosphere that followed was electric in the extreme.

Droopy stared at us, waiting for one of us to change his mind, but there was nothing any one of us could say. After what seemed an age, but was, in fact, less than two minutes, Droopy sighed, stood up and began pacing the room behind his desk. We waited patiently. At last he spoke. Look, he began, because I know you, and despite the incredulity of your story, I am inclined to believe you. We inwardly breathed sighs of relief. Droopy stopped pacing the room and stood leaning on his desk. But, he continued, and his voice rose several tones in pitch, we have here a situation which many people, including without a doubt the press, are going to class as mass murder.

Instantly I said with conviction, They’re not dead, sir. My friends saying almost the same words simultaneously.

Droopy’s head snapped up in surprise, a reflex action to our unexpected statement. Then where are they? he demanded.

But that was it. We’d had one moment of vivid insight and an uplifting of our spirits, and then it was gone. We hung our heads and whispered, Don’t know, sir.

For a moment Droopy looked as though he were going to challenge that statement, but then he turned away and began pacing the room again. At last he stopped. I’m trying to make it easy for you boys. Once you leave this room. I shall have to report the incident. Unless you tell me what you saw, your next few weeks, if not months, are going to be a living hell. I don’t know for certain what will happen, but as I see it the following are most likely: You will be bullied by the police, psychiatrists, and the Lord knows who else. You will certainly also be pilloried by the press, and heaven only knows what the side effects of that will be. He resumed his pacing, running his glance over all of us. Eventually he stopped, turned away from us, and stared out of the window. Have you nothing to say? he appealed.

We’ve said all we can, sir, I replied softly.

Very well. Droopy turned back to us resignedly. Get back to your class. You will be confined to that room until further notice. If you want to leave for any reason, any reason at all, you will have to be escorted. Even to the toilets. If any of you were to disappear before the authorities get here, you’d be locked up immediately once you were found—and you would be found. Understand? Good! Now don’t ever say I didn’t warn you or give you a chance to explain.

No, sir. Thank you, sir, we said one by one as we turned to leave the room, thankful that the interview was over.

We trooped morosely back to our lab, where we drew our stools around one bench so that we could sit together, each hoping one of the others would have something positive to say. A senior teacher, Mr Seymour, came and sat with us, and through the glass we could see prefects stationed outside the doors. This is not looking good, I said. I just don’t know what to do. My voice cracked. I was on the verge of tears, but I would not give in to them in front of my classmates.

I’m totally lost, said Ian. I have no memory at all of the incident.

No one has, said Barry. We’re screwed!

Barely an hour later, the nightmare Droopy had warned us about began. The door to the lab was thrust open and the prefects outside dismissed, as Droopy swept in with a smart-suited man following him. Trailing them were a male and female police constable bearing notebooks and a recording device. The suited man was introduced as Detective Inspector Weston and his sidekicks simply as Martin and Liza. Two benches were pushed together, and we sat across from Droopy and the three coppers. We smiled to ourselves as they all perched precariously on the lab stools and laid out their tools in front of them. Before they could start, the far door to the lab opened, and another copper came in. Sorry, sir, he said to the inspector. Forensics are here, and they want to know where to go and what they are looking for. Mr. Mason wants to interview the boys who found this bunch and brought them out of the school.

Droopy turned to Mr Seymour, who was still with us, hovering in the background. Give them everything they need, will you, Cedric? You’ll have to raid the prefects’ room for Silvester and the others.

Mr Seymour left, and with the closing of the doors the sounds of activity outside faded. The inspector turned to the man named Martin. Is that thing on? he asked, pointing at the recorder. He received a nod in reply. Very well. Interview commenced Friday, 11 February, 2005 … He looked briefly at his watch. At 11.32 a.m. His grim, icy stare passed across each of us before, for some reason—perhaps only because I was in the middle—settling on me. He drew a deep breath. So, who’s going to start? he asked.

We looked at each other and remained silent. I felt his stare and had to say something. Start what? I blurted. It was probably not the best of openings in the circumstances, as it came out as stroppy and uncooperative.

The inspector drew a deep breath, reddening slightly as his colleagues tried not to snigger. Telling me what happened in there. He gestured towards 3B’s classroom. And where they all are. What the hell do you think I want to know? What you had for breakfast? His glare now covered all of us.

We can’t tell you what happened or where they are, I said at length, because we don’t know.

What do you mean, you don’t know? he asked incredulously. You were there—you must know!

So people keep telling us, but we have no memory of being in that room, I replied, with the others nodding their agreement. One minute we were in here, dissecting dogfish, the next we remember is being supported by our friends out in the playground. Then we are virtually accused of murder. The only thing we are sure of is that they are all alive.

The inspector growled. Very convenient. You really expect me to believe that you all have collective amnesia about events that you all must have witnessed or— He paused. Arranged. How much are you getting paid for this stunt? Eh! Come on! It’s the only logical explanation. You organised it, so you must be getting something out of it.

We stared at him, horrified at the accusation. That’s ridiculous! I said. We can’t remember, and every time we try, we are hit by a blinding pain in our heads. I have a vague memory of a sort of hum. That’s all.

I don’t believe you. Try and remember again. Now.

Fine. But you’d better have an ambulance on standby, said Peter.

The inspector gave an irritated snort.

OK, OK, I said. We’ll try this together. I looked at the others, who all nodded and shut their eyes. We all gripped the bench in front of us in anticipation of what was coming. There was this strange hum, I said. "We all heard it and got up to go and see what was happening. Then—aaaagh!" I screamed, and my classmates screamed beside me. I have no idea how long the pain lasted. Seconds? Minutes? I don’t know. When I came back to myself, I was lying on the floor, with the policewoman beside me. She was wiping my face with a damp cloth and saying to the inspector that there was no way he could try that again without medical help being at hand.

The inspector himself looked quite shocked and then apologetic. I’ve never heard boys your age scream like that, he said. I don’t see how you could be putting that on, but just in case you’re that desperate, we will have to make sure. You are not to leave this room without an escort. Understood?

Yes, sir, we agreed.

Fine. Interview terminated … Again he glanced at his watch. At 11.50 a.m. You two stay here until I get back, he said to Martin and Liza. Then he got up, almost tipping over his stool. He stormed to the door and threw one final barb at his colleagues. See if you can get something out of them, and don’t lose them!

Martin just stood away from us, with a permanent frown on his face. This drew disapproving looks from Liza as she tried to chat to us. While we opened up to her about our lives and our hopes, she saw the frightened looks on our faces every time she tried to turn the conversation towards the morning’s events, and then she backed off. Thus, when the inspector returned she had to shake her head and tell him, Nothing, sir. I just couldn’t do it to them.

Somehow I didn’t think you would, replied the inspector. Now we have another problem. The media have got wind of this, and the school is besieged. I don’t want these boys being pestered, as my advice is that it could be bad for their health. He turned towards us. However, I’m afraid you can’t go home. You will be taken to a secure hospital for tests, and only once they are completed will you be allowed to go home.

How long is that going to take? asked Stewart.

Some days is the advice I’ve been given.

Days! What about our families and our schoolwork? Peter cried.

No contact, I’m afraid, but we’ll let your families know where you are and what is happening to you. Your school lessons will be brought to you.

A thought occurred to me. We’re minors, I said. You can’t do anything without our parents’ permission.

"Under normal circumstances that would be true. But these are not normal circumstances, and we have a court order placing you into official care until further notice."

So, are we under arrest? asked Adrian.

No, as we have no evidence that you have committed a crime, but your freedom is curtailed until we clear this up. Now, we have to get you away from here without letting the army of reporters outside get near you. Their questions will be very penetrating and direct, and we don’t want you doing your screaming act in front of them.

Why not? I said. It might convince them, even if it didn’t convince you.

Because, young man, it was bloody terrifying to watch, and we fear for your lives if we let it happen again in uncontrolled circumstances, OK? Now, are you going to cooperate?

We all nodded fearfully.

Good, because this is what is going to happen. We listened as he outlined the plan for us to escape. We followed him out of a back door and to a blacked-out ambulance that was parked in the rear playground. Once we were settled inside the ambulance, a side gate was quickly opened, and we sped away. We drove for more than an hour and finally we entered the gates of a very imposing building, where we were quickly escorted inside.

A dormitory had been prepared for the nine of us, and we were suddenly surrounded by staff. They handed out new clothes and ordered us to place all our own clothes in bags. Forensics wanted these for tests, in a vain hope that they might learn something. Once we had changed, we were left alone to explore our new home. Besides the dormitory, there were three bathrooms, a sitting room with a large television, a dining area, and a study room with a fairly substantial library. Oh well, we wouldn’t be bored. But I was hungry and already worried about my family. No one came near us, and we all settled down either to watch the television or to read books. There was nothing on the news that night, for which we were grateful.

So here we were, nine of us hidden away from the real world for something we had had no part in instigating. All young, fit teenagers; myself tall, just touching six foot, and lanky. Stewart, shorter and but broader built. Henry, about my height but a bit rotund. Adrian, my height but broarder in the shoulders. Ian, medium height and build with glasses. Barry, again medium height with glasses and the fairest hair of all of us. Peter, five feet ten and skinny with jet black hair. Charles, the shortest of us all at five feet four inches and a very round head, also the only red head amongst us. Paul, the grumpiest of us whose cup was always half empty. Just an ordinary bunch of kids.

All of us were hungry. We weren’t thirsty, as we had access to water, but there was nothing to make tea or coffee. We began to get angry, but just before we started to plan something drastic, the outer door to our suite was unlocked and three people appeared, pushing some trolleys. What appeared to be guards accompanied them and locked the door behind them. Here we are, then, said one of the ladies cheerfully. Food for our hungry lads. Well, it smelt good and looked good (compared to school meals), so we eyed it suspiciously for only a few moments before tucking in. Our visitors watched approvingly until we’d finished, and then they cleared up and left.

Shortly afterwards, we all began to yawn. Bastards! I said. We’ve been drugged!

Can’t fight it, said Ian drowsily, and one by one we slid to the floor.

CHAPTER 2

Disclosure

T he story broke too late for the evening papers, but the next day’s daily nationals made a meal of it, under headings such as 28 Boys and their Teacher Vanish from North London School. In all their stories we were depicted as villains who knew what had happened but were refusing to tell. We woke from our induced sleep to find we’d all been undressed, placed in nightclothes, and neatly tucked into our beds. Clean clothes were laid out by each bed, along with washing things. I don’t believe this, said Paul. I’d hoped to wake and find yesterday a bad dream. He looked round the room. I wonder when and where breakfast is served.

We’ll find out soon enough, I expect, I said, grabbing a towel and other things and heading for a bathroom. I’m getting washed and dressed so that I’m awake and ready for whatever happens today.

A little later we heard the outer door unlock, and our breakfast was wheeled into the dining area. What’s the time? I asked, looking for my watch.

No idea, replied Charles. They’ve pinched all our watches. They don’t want us to know the length of the torture they’ve got in store for us, I bet.

We’d better eat then, in case this is our last meal, Henry joked.

An amazing spread was set out for us, far more than I would ever have been offered at home. In fact, my mother would have had a fit at the sight of all the things on display that she thought unhealthy but which I loved. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, we filled our plates and ate quickly while