Moss had barely caught her breath, when she saw the full horror of where she was. There was another, taller cage in one corner of the room, a set of stocks, and table with leather restraints. There were blood stains soaked into the concrete floor. Pornography was pinned up all over the walls: extreme images of nudity and torture. And there was a large-screen TV with rows and rows of DVDs neatly stacked up on a shelf.

Hung on pegs along the wall were whips and chains, a harness, two full-body latex suits, and at the end was a black gas mask with large glass eye holes and an elongated breathing drum; a series of white squares made it look like a face with teeth.

Moss froze when she heard footsteps outside the door. A bolt shot back in the door, and it opened.

Taro stood in the doorway, shaking and white-faced. In one hand, he held a large syringe filled with a dark blue liquid, and in the other he had a pile of black plastic sheeting. He had come to kill her in the neatest and cleanest way possible, but she had complicated things. She was sure he had wanted to poke the syringe though the bars and inject her. It made her think of a terrible film she had seen, about animals being tested on. The way they shrank away from the bars as a needle was poked through and into their skin.

‘How did you get out?’ he said. His voice was low and even.

‘You can see how I got out,’ she said. He kept his eyes on her and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with one of his feet. He took another step towards her.

‘Stay back,’ she said.

‘You shouldn’t have come here. I was going to stop. I was going to stop and just melt away… Now I have to deal with you. NOW I HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOU!’

Moss tried not to show her fear. She moved back, putting the cage, lying on its side, between them. He moved closer. She grabbed the top of the cage and tried to slide it towards him as a battering ram, but it didn’t slide smoothly on the floor, inching forward, and she lost her footing and fell forward.

Instantly he was on her, moving quickly around the cage, and grabbing her from behind. She fought and struggled, and saw him switch the grip on the syringe, so he had it in his fist with his thumb on the plunger. He held it up, preparing to bring it down on her.

She bent forward and then threw her head back. The back of her skull struck his mouth, shattering his top teeth and breaking his nose. He cried out and staggered back. Moss ran for the door, but it wouldn’t open. She yanked at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

She turned to see Taro staggering around, blood pouring from his nose. He spat out two of his teeth onto the floor, and looked up at her. His face was now crazed. She looked around for something and she saw a table by the door with a large open padlock, next to a chain. Quick as lightning, she grabbed the padlock, and using everything she had, she hurled it at him, aiming high. Time seemed to slow down and it turned in the air, once, twice, before striking him on the temple. He gave her a look of shock and surprise and then crumpled to the floor, his head hitting the concrete with a nasty crack.

Moss made for the door again. It was stiff, but she managed to turn the handle and get it open. She came out into a brightly lit hallway, and slammed the door behind her.

She could see the hallway had old-fashioned wooden panelling, and that she had exited through a secret door. When it was closed, it blended into the wall. There was an old Singer sewing machine table in the hall, covered in books, plants, plus a bowl for keys. Moss dragged it, squealing, across the stone floor, keeping her eye on the door, thinking that it would open. She pulled it across the door, hoping that it would do for now.

Then she ran for it, down the corridor and into the front of the photographic studio. It was now dark outside and the door was still locked, but she picked up one of the tripods for the photography lights, and with almost hysterical fear, hurled it through the plate glass window. The window exploded outwards. She kicked aside the glass with her foot, climbed through and ran for it, down the path and out into the street.

Her car was gone, and she didn’t have a phone. She staggered down the street, the adrenalin pumping, feeling the blood pouring from the back of her head. She tried to find a phone box, but there was nothing on the road.

Moss ran to the end of the road, where it curved around to New Cross station. The road was busy with young teenagers piling out of the station, all dressed up for a night out. The noise was deafening. She pushed her way through the crowds, and saw an old phone box next to the station. She grabbed the receiver and her first impulse was to speak to Celia. She dialled 100, for the operator, and then she asked to make a reverse-charge call.