With nothing else to do, Lisa had decided she should try to rest and relax a bit to garner some energy for when Findlay returned. She would need all her strength and energy then, but not for what Findlay intended. Lisa wanted to be strong and ready to bash him viciously about the head with her weapon. He thought himself so clever. She would wipe that smug smirk off his face.

The sound of a door clicking shut reached her ears, faint and far away by her guess. It might even be upstairs. She had already noted that something about the stone walls and open area seemed to distort sound somewhat. A couple of times, she’d thought someone was moving around in the open area, only to find it empty and realize that the footsteps or movement must have been upstairs, echoing down to her somehow.

When no sound followed the soft click, Lisa forced herself to relax. He was not back yet.

A moment later a sudden high trilling laugh drifted to her through the bars. Lisa stilled in the bed again, her ears straining. It had sounded like a woman, and now she could hear footsteps, several sets of feet tapping down the wooden stairs in the open area, she guessed. Another peal of laughter and the murmur of voices, both men’s and women’s sounded, verifying that, and Lisa gripped her bed leg nervously, not sure what was happening.

Had Findlay returned, bringing more victims? She bit her lip and listened, frowning at the sudden violent sounds that erupted. Thuds, flesh hitting flesh and then gasps and a stifled female squeal of alarm and then a hushed silence.

Lisa was listening so hard for further sounds from the other room to try to sort out what was happening that she almost missed the quiet sounds at her cell door. She had just become conscious of them when the door opened with a faint squeal of rusty metal.

Lisa’s heart immediately leapt into her throat. Charles Findlay was back and coming for her. Her hand tightened on her bed leg, nails digging into the wood, but she waited, listening tensely to the soft sound of footsteps moving toward the bed. Lisa didn’t move until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Whirling then, she swung her weapon with all her might for where she expected Findlay’s head to be.

The bed leg with its nasty nails was already swinging up when she recognized Robert. Crying out with alarm she tried to stop her blow, but the best she could do was change the angle enough that she didn’t plant the leg with its nails in his eye as she’d intended. Instead it glanced off the side of his head, making him leap back with a pained shout.

“Robert,” she gasped, dropping the makeshift weapon and leaping off the bed to hurry to him as he dropped to his knees. “Oh God, I’m sorry! I thought you were Findlay. Are you all right?”