The Drake Detective Agency - Case Seven - Part 2

The White Tiger Mother Affair - Part 2



Molly and Caroline, blissfully unaware of what was taking place back on the other side of the wall, skirted their way around the outside of the Central Museum, heading for the back of the building, and the most likely point of entry for someone to break in. They paused every few seconds, because by now every little sound and every shadow seemed alive with a possible threat. Molly had to admit to herself that she never felt quite as alive as she did at times like this. As they reached the corner of the building, the two girls quickly crossed the access driveway, and pressed themselves up against the brick wall. Molly, who was in the lead, cautiously peered around the corner to see if she could spot any sign that someone else was about. She ducked back quickly, and leaned in close to Caroline.
“There’s an open door... it’s only open a tiny amount, but it’s definitely open...” she whispered to her friend softly.
Caroline nodded, and the two girls slipped around the corner as silently as possible, the damp grass muffling their footsteps perfectly. As Molly had spotted, there was indeed an open door. There was no light showing, but a crack of blackness around it showed where it had been left ever so slightly ajar. Caroline glanced upward, and took hold of Molly’s arm, pointing upward. They could see the white plastic covering of a burglar alarm mounted on the wall. The indicator light was dead.
“Someone must have cracked the system!” Hissed Caroline breathlessly, and Molly nodded in response, and bit her lip.

The truth was that she was suddenly having doubts. If someone was indeed breaking in, why would they want her to be on the scene? She had a reputation for foiling crimes. No one had met her at the museum, and no explanation had been given as to why she should be there. And if someone wanted to foil a theft at the museum, why call her, and not the police? And why would anyone assume that they needed to kidnap and threaten her mother to get her to do something that was almost second nature by now? She was trying to think it all through, to see through the overwhelming desire to do anything to save her mum, when Caroline, assuming that Molly had frozen, took the lead, and headed for the open door.
Molly almost called out to her, called her back, almost decided to try and get back to the car and discuss this with her other friends, but they had come this far already. To turn back now might bring horrible consequences for her family. So she steeled herself, and followed Caroline to the door, which seemed to beckon them both, inviting both adventure and disaster.

Caroline pushed the door open carefully with the sleeve of her coat, careful not to leave fingerprints. The well oiled hinges swung the door open easily and silently, and the two girls peered into the darkness, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the almost total blackness inside.
The door led into a corridor, empty of doorways, which led further into the building. The teenage adventuresses quietly slipped inside, and pulled the door closed behind them, leaving it slightly ajar, as whomever had passed this way before them had done.
“Should we use the torches?” Caroline whispered, as the darkness seemed to grow thick around them, but Molly shook her head, and pointed. Up ahead of them, further in the building, there were the faint traces of light. Probably just the lights of the museum’s display cabinets, but there seemed to be just enough light in there to be able to see by. Molly took the lead once more, and they tiptoed silently along the corridor, pausing at the end to sneak a look around the corner.
The museum had that thick, slightly musty smell that all museums seemed to have, as if it was a scent that they deliberately pumped through the air conditioning. The girls realised that the corridor opened into the section of the museum that was dedicated to the Victorian period. On one side of them, behind the inevitable red velvet rope, was a life-size diorama of a Victorian sitting room, full of polished wood and antique furniture, coloured in rich reds and golds, with mannequins of a family and a servant, the family seemingly gathered around the mother at a piano, whilst the servant waited, holding a tea tray with eternal patience. Paintings and blown up canvas prints of old photographs of the town hung on the walls, and an illuminated glass display case opposite held smaller artefacts, including police uniforms and equipment, an antique shotgun, a bird’s egg collection, children’s toys of the time. Normally, it was a part of the museum that would be regarded by the girls as pretty dull, but in the shadows and silence, the whole place seemed thick with possible danger. Someone could be lurking around any corner, or in any pool of darkness at the edge of the room, and Molly suppressed a little shiver of fear and excitement. They started forward, and then stopped dead. They suddenly realised how well the grass had hidden their footsteps, but this place seemed built to echo, and Molly’s boots made her feel like a herd of elephants. She motioned Caroline to stop, and knelt down, unzipping her boots, and slipping them off, before carefully shrugging off her backpack, opening it, and putting her boots inside. Caroline was making barely any noise in her sneakers, but understood the need for stealth, so she waited until Molly was ready. The polished floor felt slightly slippery under Molly’s socks, and she would have to be careful not to slide on the floor too much; a fall in here would probably echo around the whole building.

Keeping to the edge of the room as much as possible, the two girls crept quietly along, throwing suspicious glances at the mannequins; in the darkness, they seemed all too lifelike for comfort. But nothing happened to alarm them as they passed the tableaux, and they carefully made their way out of the room, finding themselves facing the large central hall of the museum. Dimly illuminated signs pointed to different display areas, and near the front entrance to the hall was a small gift stand. Opposite it were the empty tables and stacked chairs of the museum’s cafe, and starting at the opposite wall was a large double width staircase, leading upstairs. A big banner hung over the stairs, proclaiming that the Brockhurst collection could be found on the upper floor, and it seemed like a natural place to start looking. Molly and Caroline crossed the central hall, both of them looking up at the open gallery that ran around the first floor, overlooking the hall, which was dominated by an ornate black carriage with model horses. They began to climb the stairs, staying close to each other.
They were so preoccupied with looking up ahead of them that they failed to notice the slight waver of a shadow as it passed through the Victorian display room behind them. A pair of suspicious eyes watched as they ascended, waiting until the two girls were out of sight before following.

Outside the museum, meanwhile, six girls sat crammed into Monique, quietly and urgently discussing what was going on. And it was immediately plain to both sets of girls that they had more in common than a simple addiction to solving crimes and mysteries.
“So they both got the same letter, by the sounds of it,” said Rachel, leaning forward in the back seat. “Our friend Sara got in from college, and found an envelope. There was a photo too, of her mum, and it really looked like she’d been kidnapped.”
Alex nodded solemnly. “Yes. We all saw Molly’s letter and it sounds pretty identical. There was a photo too. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to get us all here, one way or another...”
“Bunch of cowardly buggers...” muttered Harriet, echoed immediately in that sentiment by Gina. “Yeah, what kind of scumbag does something like that to force people into this kind of situation?”
“Well, we were betting on a guy called Mr White...” said Abigail, who was squashed in between Harriet and Jemma. “He’s a really nasty, cowardly, sadistic crook, and Sara has got in his way more than once!”
Alex shook her head slowly. “We haven’t heard of him here. Unless he’s branching out, we haven’t had the pleasure...”
“That makes you pretty lucky!” Abigail replied. “He has captured all of us at one point or another, and we’ve been pretty lucky to get away in one piece...”
Jemma nodded, knowing exactly what Abigail meant. “We’ve had some close scrapes too... but most of the crooks we’ve come across have been pretty ordinary...”
“What about that guy Molly told us about? The one that kidnapped her and her mother a while back? He left them in a building that was about to be demolished! They were found just in time!” Said Gina, looking from Jemma to Alex. “She said he was really mean, had a sort of scarecrow mask on. She said that his whole crew were dressed like something out of a weird horror movie...”
“Hmmmm.... That sort of sounds like Mr White... But he wears a suit, and a hat, and a plain white face mask...” murmured Rachel thoughtfully.
“You know what? Sod our instructions!” Said Harriet emphatically, thumping the back of the driver’s seat. “Our friends could be walking into a really dangerous trap, and we can’t just sit here and wait it out! I say we go in there... There’s nine of us in total. Even if there’s a fight, we can’t all be captured if we stick together and look out for each other!”
Rachel bit her lip. She hated the thought of Sara walking into another trap, and she was sure that these local girls felt the same way about their friend. But she also had experience of what could go wrong when they had failed to follow instructions. And given the nature of some of the crooks that they had dealt with in the past, that could lead to a lot of trouble. She could see that the girl in the driving seat, Alex, looked like she had her doubts too. But Abigail was nodding in agreement with Harriet, and the other two girls, who seemed just as headstrong as the redhead, were inclined to join in with this course of action.
Alex met Rachel’s gaze for a moment, and then shrugged. “Okay... But if we go in, we go in with a plan. If we just rush in there, our friends could be in even more trouble, and let’s not forget that their mothers are in even more danger than that right now!”
There was a muttering of agreement at this. The safety of Molly, Sara, and their mothers was top priority.
“Okay...so let’s plan!” Said Jemma, and the girls leaned in toward each other, muttering and whispering in a conspiracy of loyalty to their friends...

Molly and Caroline reached the top of the stairs, and the open gallery landing that ran around the entire upstairs of the central hall. There was a stone balustrade, with pillars every ten feet along its length, and alcoves set in the walls opposite them. Paintings and blown up photos hung on the walls, and a large, flat display case held the excavated remains of the mosaic floor of a Roman villa. Two doors were set in the middle of the sides of the gallery, and another sign for the Brockhurst Collection pointed to the right. Molly led the way as they took the right hand side of the gallery, sticking close to the wall, and creeping in and out of the shadowy alcoves.
Suddenly, Molly froze, and gestured to Caroline to do the same. Caroline strained to hear, and finally noticed what Molly had obviously heard before her: The sounds of quiet, stealthy footsteps, approaching from the doorway that led to the collection.
The two girls pressed into the alcove nearest the door, and tensed. It seemed certain that whoever was coming would pass their way, and they needed to be ready if they had to act fast. Hardly daring to breathe, they listened as the soft, hesitant footsteps came nearer and nearer in the darkness.

Suddenly, they realised that a dark, shadowy figure was passing the alcove. Acting on instinct, the two friends sprang forward to tackle to intruder. Molly aimed high, wrapping one arm tightly around the figure’s upper body, and clamping a hand tightly over its mouth. Caroline, for her part, dove low, wrapping her arms around both legs, and pressing all of her weight against them. The figure uttered a muffled, high pitched squeak of shock and fear, and then toppled over, propelled to the floor by the force of the sudden assault. Molly and Caroline allowed themselves to go with the figure, and quickly scrambled to straddle the struggling, panicking intruder. Caroline was soon pinning the stranger’s legs down, and Molly straddled the body of the struggling unknown, her hand still clamped hard over a mouth that suddenly struck her as a little too soft and stubble-free to be a man. With her free hand, she fumbled for her torch, grabbed it, turned it on, and shone it down on their catch. She was somewhat surprised by the result.
The captured stranger was a girl, around their own age, her eyes wide with shock, and her straight, brunette hair fanned out on the floor around her head. She was wearing a red hoodie. She blinked and squinted up at them, dazzled by the light as she struggled against their combined weight to no avail.
Molly had a sudden feeling that something was very wrong here; this girl certainly didn’t strike her as some sort of ruthless criminal. She switched off the torch, leaned in close to the girl, and whispered softly in her ear.
“Don’t move... I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth, and you mustn’t scream, or make a sound. Nod if you understand me...”
There was a nod. A slightly impatient nod. Satisfied, Molly carefully raised her hand from the girls’ lips.
There was an awkward pause, and then Molly leaned in again. “Who are you?”
“My name is Sara...” came the hushed reply. “And you’re really squashing me right now...”
“What are you doing here?” Molly whispered back, a little more fiercely than before.
“I’m trying to save my mum...”
Molly stared down at the face below her for a second, and then she reacted quickly, sliding off of the girl, but keeping hold of her tightly, allowing her to sit up. Caroline stayed straddling the girls’ legs, just in case she got any bright ideas about making a run for it.
“What do you mean, saving your mum?” Molly demanded, wanting to believe the girl, but unsure if this was all part of some nasty, cunning little trap.
The girl reached into the pocket of her hoodie, and fished out a plain envelope. She pulled out a letter, and a photograph. Molly felt her heart leap into her mouth, as she took the both, and stared at them. Same style of letter, apart from the address of the museum, indicating that this Sara girl wasn’t local. But in every other respect, the letter was identical to hers. And the photograph was a close match too; a woman, obviously this girls’ mother, bound, gagged, and unconscious or sleeping.
“Okay Caroline...get off her, and let’s help her up.” Molly whispered over her shoulder, before turning back to look at the girl.
“Sara, is it? You and I seem to be having exactly the same problem...”

Down on the ground floor of the museum, a dark figure crouched underneath the ornate carriage in the central hall, looking up at the open gallery. As Molly and Caroline helped Sara to her feet, they became visible over the balustrade. The unseen stalker frowned, and pulled back the hood of the coat they were clad in. A nose, slightly freckled, wrinkled in distaste.
“That’s just typical, Phillips... can’t even avoid being caught by another bunch of amateurs...” Vicky Masterson muttered to herself.
She had figured out that something was wrong earlier that day. She had seen Sara, looking pale, worried, and on the verge of panic, and had decided to follow her, sensing that something must be going on. She had overheard the phone calls that Sara had made to her friends, and a little research on her laptop had done the rest. She knew that Sara was deeply upset by something to do with this museum, and that she was coming here that night. If she really needed help, Vicky would be there. But mostly, if there was a case to be solved in this museum, Vicky planned to be the one to do it. After all, someone had to be professional about the matter, and Sara Philips was obviously too distressed to be professional about it. So Vicky had followed Sara and her friends, had watched from a safe distance, and then, when she realised that Sara had actually gone into the museum, closely followed by these other girls, Vicky had decided that enough was enough, and that someone had to keep an eye on them, if only for their own safety. They were all obviously incompetent.
Now, as the three girls up above her walked into the area of the museum that contained the Brockhurst Collection, Vicky left her hiding place, and stole quietly to the foot of the stairs.

And up above Vicky... up above Molly, Caroline and Sara... in fact, up near the ceiling of the central hall, someone else was watching. Eyes in night-vision goggles observed intently. A ragged shape, barely discernible as a human figure crouched spiderlike against the top of one of the pillars in the shadows that they mimicked almost perfectly.
“What’s going on in there, Wraith? I’d like to be kept abreast of events...”
A Ghostlike, sibilant whisper replied, subvocalised into the microphone headset that the figure was wearing.
“The girls have just met up. They are heading into the target area. There is someone following them. Another girl, about the same age. My guess is that she’s another snooper...”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Remove her from play at the first opportunity. And the target?”
“The Target is proceeding on schedule. They are in the target area, and they are proceeding to take the stone. Everything is proceeding as you expected.”

Back in their unmarked van, Kreep flipped up the microphone, and turned back to Ogre, who was watching the occupants of the car.
“Anything occurring?”
“It looks like they are getting ready to move out. There is some activity going on in there, but the car is so crammed full that I can’t exactly make out what they are doing...” rumbled his Major Domo without looking away from his vigil.
Kreep nodded, and looked over his shoulder. “Get ready, gentlemen. We are about to make our first move. Too many cooks will spoil this broth, so we are going to thin out their numbers.” Kreep flipped the microphone back down, and spoke into it. “Banshee? Bring the truck around.”
Ogre tapped Kreep on the arm. “They’re moving...”

The six girls clambered out of Monique, readying themselves for the unknown. Taking one more look around the quiet street, they began heading across to the forecourt of the DIY store once more. They would scale the wall, helping each other over, and then find a way into the museum. If they stuck together, they would work to locate their friends in the safety of numbers.
As they walked into the forecourt, they suddenly heard the sound of a car approaching.
“Quick! Into the alley!” gasped Rachel, and the small group ran into cover, ducking down behind the recycling bins. Peering out, they watched a police patrol car drive past slowly. They waited until the sound of the car disappeared up the road.
“That’s the increased security, is it?” Snorted Gina, as she stood up. The rest of the girls followed suit, and Harriet and Alex began pushing two of the recycling bins up against the museum wall once more.
“Okay,” said Harriet. “Alex and I will go first. That way, we can help anyone who is having problems.”
The others nodded, and Jemma, Alex and Gina shouldered their packs.
Abigail suddenly turned her head, frowning. “Did anyone hear that?”
“Hear what?” asked Jemma, tightening the straps on her Hello Kitty backpack.
“I could have sworn...” Abigail began.
And then, like an explosion of unpleasantness, the five figures rounded the corner into the alleyway with lightning speed. The six girls cried out, unable to contain their shock and alarm, and scattered; Alex and Harriet leapt for the wall, hoping to scale it without the aid of the bins. Gina and Rachel, nearest the mouth of the alleyway, tried to break for freedom, and Abigail and Jemma turned and ran down the alleyway, even though they immediately saw that it was a dead end – a short section of brick wall, as high as the one surrounding the museum, blocked the alleyway off.
Troll thundered through the recycle bins, knocking them aside, panting like a Saint Bernard on a marathon run as he homes in on the two fleeing girls down the alleyway. Barghest, his dreadlocks whipping around his head like a nest of snakes, sidestepped neatly, and caught Rachel around the waist, his other hand coming around to clamp a dampened cloth firmly over the raven-haired girl’s nose and mouth, and as he did so, The lanky and manic Jabberwock snatched up Gina, the two of them stumbling and reeling in the uncoordinated struggle. Harriet, who had almost managed to pull herself up onto the wall, was suddenly knocked off by a leaping figure, the breath being driven from her with a rush, winding her as she landed on her back. She struggled fiercely, despite her surprise and discomfort, looking up into a pair of glowing green lenses as Morlock leaned in over her, cloth in hand. Alex barely had time to register that Harriet was gone when her legs were grabbed. She looked down, saw a broad grinning face with a goatee beard looking back at her, and then was pulled free of the wall, the stocky, bearlike Bandersnatch lifting the girl with ease despite her resistance.
The uneven struggle lasted for a minute or so, but despite their best efforts and brave struggle, one by one the girls fell silent as the drug-infused cloths did their work.
Troll returned with Abigail and Jemma, a girl tucked neatly under each of his massive arms. Both girls were still very much awake, and were struggling furiously, despite the overwhelming strength of the salivating brute that held them captive.
Barghest looked up as he carefully shouldered Rachel’s’ inert body, and frowned at the giant.
“Where’s your chloro-pad, you big dummy?” he demanded.
“Probably ate it or something!” snickered Jabberwock, keeping Gina pressed tightly against the museum wall, holding the cloth in place to make sure that the girl wasn’t faking being unconscious.
Troll glared at Barghest, and growled throatily. “Got two pretties...” he said, as if that were all the explanation necessary.
Barghest sighed, lay Rachel down on top of a disordered recycle bin, and proceeded to use his own cloth pad to silence Jemma and Abigail in turn, Trolls’ vicelike grip on the two girls rendering it almost impossible for either to cry out for help, assuming that there was anyone in the vicinity to hear them.
A plain white truck pulled into the forecourt as the five henchmen emerged from the alleyway with their sleeping prizes. The driver’s door opened, and Banshee, the tall, shapely redhead who had played a big part in capturing Molly and her mother in the past, slipped out of the truck, walking around to open the back doors. Then she turned, and smiled at the approaching freakshow of assorted villainy.
“So boys... what little toys did you bring for me this time?”

Vicky Masterson reached the top of the stairs, and slipped around the first pillar into the open gallery. There was no sight or sound of Sara Philips, or the two unknown girls. Vicky assumed that the three of them were heading into the area that contained the Brockhurst Collection, and the fabled White Tiger of Siam. She was content to let them lead the way for now; she had no doubt that (as usual) Philips would run afoul of whoever was planning to steal the diamond, as would the other two amateurs. And then she, Vicky Masterson, ace teenage detective, would step in to save the day. Rescue the incompetents, and foil the robbery. All in a days’ work, she thought to herself.
She passed through the doorway into the side hall, which contained the first elements of the Collection. Relics of Brigadier-General Brockhurst’s earlier career. Artefacts from Egypt and North Africa, among which, given pride of place in the centre of the hallway, was a glass case containing a decorated Egyptian Sarcophagus. Temporary display boards were situated to the left and right, each bearing documents, photographs, sketches, and other paraphernalia of the explorer’s career. But Vicky had better things to do than study the collection. She needed to keep pace with the other girls, without being seen until the moment was right. Peering around the corner of one of the display stands, Vicky could see the three girls up ahead. They had stopped at an arched and open doorway, and were pressed against the wall, sneaking a look around it, and then ducking back. Obviously, they had seen something ahead in the darkness that had brought them to a halt.

Vicky debated joining them there and then, but decided against it. If she surprised them, as no doubt she would, they might make a noise and give the game away. No, she decided, timing was everything here. She would help them when they needed it, and when they weren’t in a situation that could spoil everything. Vicky was looking forward to the expression on Sara’s face when she finally decided to put in an appearance. She was enjoying that idea a lot.

In fact, she was enjoying it so much that she failed to notice the figure that descended behind her, a ragged shape of strips of velvet and gauze, a mobile shadow in the darkness. Wraith made no sound at all. On feet that were bound in velvet, the shadow was totally silent...
Vicky was suddenly engulfed, her face wrapped in a press of soft, muffling black fabric, pressed tightly over her face. Before she could even register what was happening, there was a sudden, sharp pricking sensation at the base of her neck. She tried to struggle, panicked and disorientated, but whatever had seized her had her well and truly locked up, her arms and legs immobilised in some kind of martial arts hold, and her body bent backward and off-balance. Her head was spinning, and even if she could have seen anything, she already realised that her vision was darkening. She finally crumpled with a sigh that was completely muted by the velvet pressed over her face.
Wraith looked down at the drugged girl, and then looked around for somewhere to store her for the time being. And then, Wraith looked at the sarcophagus, and the hidden face broke into a wicked smile...

Back at the truck, Banshee was hard at work. She had ordered Kreeps other henchmen back to the van once they had deposited the six drugged and helpless girls in the back of the truck. She didn’t want them gawping, making childish comments, getting in the way, or getting their grubby paws over her new toys.
She had worked relatively quickly, as she needed the girls secured before they could come round from the effects of their enforced sleep. Now, she only had Rachel left to deal with.
The fallen heroine lay on her back, breathing lightly, her long black hair spread out around her on the floor of the van. Banshee crouched next to her, and gently stroked a finger across her cheek.
“Aren’t you a precious thing?” She whispered, smiling down at the girl. And then she set to work.
Rachel was quickly prepared, stripped down to her underwear, and rolled onto her stomach. Banshee pulled her arms behind her, and secured them tightly with a self adhesive tape, mummifying Rachel’s wrists and hands with her palms pressed together. She repeated the action with the sleeping girl’s ankles and feet, before tugging up the waistband of her black tights in a show of modesty. A soft sponge ball was crammed into the girl’s mouth, and more of the tape was used to seal it in place, wound around her head under her hair. Finally, a sleepmask was placed over her eyes to blindfold her.
Banshee sat back for a moment to admire the girl, and then pulled a black silken bag around from behind her. Starting at Rachel’s feet, she slipped the girl into it, the material stretching around the helpless girl like a cocoon, engulfing her up to her neck. Banshee made sure that the elasticised neck of the bag sat comfortably at the base of her neck, and then picked Rachel up in her arms, carrying her to the side of the truck.
The bag had two leather straps, placed at the sleeping occupant’s shoulders, and attached to each was a metal ring. Welded hooks lined the length of the truck’s interior, spaced equally to accept one of the rings. With a bit of an effort, Banshee raised Rachel up until the rings fitted over the hooks, and then let her down gently, and stepped back, as if admiring a newly hung portrait in a gallery.
Six bags. Six helpless and sleeping girls, suspended a little off the floor, cocooned in black silk, with only their blindfolded and gagged faces visible over the tops of the bags. Banshee smiled at a job well done, and then tidied up the rolls of used tape, and the neatly folded piles of discarded clothing, shoes, boots, sneakers and backpacks. Then she exited the back of the truck, and closed the door behind her. Kreep had left her exact instructions of what to do next...

Molly, Sara and Caroline were observing the main room of the Brockhurst Collection from their vantage point at the doorway. The room was large, and filled with glass display cabinets, each one containing a myriad of artefacts, large and small. More display boards stood around the room.
But it wasn’t any of this that had the three girls’ attention. No siree. They were watching, with a mixture of trepidation and outrage, the three figures, two men and a woman, dressed like some kind of secret agent or ninja, who were clustered around a free-standing display unit on a pedestal. And illuminated from below, gleaming like a star in the darkness, was the White Tiger of Siam. The three thieves, for there could be no doubt of their intentions, were checking all around the display unit, obviously checking for alarm systems that might be triggered if the case was disturbed. One of them had unslung a small pouch bag from his side, and was working on something with a screwdriver, whilst another was standing by with a pair of small wirecutters in his hand. The woman, meanwhile, was checking around with some kind of electrical device, seemingly scanning for something.
Molly looked at Caroline and Sara, their faces as pale and taut with excitement as she felt hers must be. They had to do something fast. They could call the police... but would that help them find out where Molly and Sara’s mothers were? But obviously, for some reason, they had all been summoned here to foil this theft. There could be no doubt. But who? And why?
In all of the tense excitement and the attempts at staying unseen and unheard, they had completely forgotten the fact that they had neglected to call their friends, and tell them what was going on.
Mere yards behind them, Wraith was attending to an unconscious Vicky Masterson, the one person they might have been able to count on inside the building had they known she was even there. And outside, their only means of backup was slowly beginning to stir, only to find themselves unable to do anything but wriggle blindly, and make muffled, gagged noises.
The three girls were on their own... and they didn’t even know it yet.