She had severed his carotid artery.

He took a step backwards, a disbelieving expression on his face. He clamped a hand to the side of his neck in a vain attempt to stem the flow. Bright red blood now squirted between his fingers.

‘Leonard!’ gasped Amber, rushing to his side.

She pulled his hand away to get a look at the wound and a gout of blood jetted across her face. She recoiled in shock.

‘That’s coming out at five litres a minute,’ said Bailey.

Using the mangle for support, she pushed herself upright from her sitting position to her feet, gritting her teeth against the excruciating pain from her knee.

Leonard tried to lift his knife hand, but with his life force pumping so rapidly out of him he was unable to. The knife fell from his limp grip and clattered to the floor. He staggered backwards and sat down sharply against the dryer.

Amber stood there aghast, her face dripping with his blood.

‘Leonard!’

The jets of blood were weaker now, as his heart slowed down, pumping feebly over the surface of the dryer, getting smaller and smaller until they lapsed into nothing more than a faint trickle.

Leonard’s eyes glazed over and his head fell to one side.

Amber screeched a feral cry of torment. She spun around to face Bailey.

Bailey brandished the razor blade before her.

‘Want to try that little trick with the gas spray again?’ she growled.

Amber hissed at her. Even with her damaged knee, Bailey knew she could take her.

Amber looked down at her dead brother, then she glanced over her shoulder at the far end of the laundry. Bailey realised what she was planning and lunged for her.

But Amber was too fast. She bolted for the well. Bailey threw herself into pursuit, but her injured leg prevented her from catching up. She half-limped, half-ran, every step an agony, gasping and cursing to herself.

Amber wrenched open the lid of the washing machine which concealed the well. She climbed inside and disappeared completely from view, the lid clanging shut on top of her.

Bailey arrived a few moments later, panting hard. Pocketing the razor blade, she pulled open the lid and peered inside. The bottom of the washing machine drum had been modified to be opened from beneath, like a trapdoor. And it now hung open, revealing a mouldy brickwork shaft into the side of which were set ancient rusted rungs. The shaft disappeared down into darkness – a black maw that smelled of soil and dampness.

She listened. Silence.

Then, she climbed into the washing machine and began her descent. She gripped the rusty rungs, making her way stiffly downwards, impeded by her injured knee.

Soon, darkness had enveloped her completely. She wondered how long it would take to reach the bottom. She wondered if when she got there she would encounter Amber waiting to attack her, but she had no choice. For one thing, she was determined to apprehend Amber, and for another, she needed to escape from this place in one piece.