In the Lion's Den

Cold and Well

Simon had been prepared for most everything, but not that.

He didn't even want to think about why Caldwell might want him to remove his clothes.

The bewilderment must have shown on Simon's face, as Caldwell elaborated, amused: "Wash up. I'm not having you stinking of that hole if you're to be kept in my room."

That was a relief, although the situation still was very tense and perfectly awkward.

"And do it quietly."

Simon turned again to face the water pump, then took off first the stained undershirt and next the dress pants that had once been his favourite.

Now, if he ever got out of this mess, even if someone would mend and thoroughly clean them for him, he'd never use them again.

He moved demonstratively slowly without any sudden movements that could make Caldwell think he was trying to fight or escape.

Do your best to stay alive, for me, will you?

Her voice echoed in his head.

He couldn't take any unnecessary risk, he had to wait for the right moment to take the very necessary risk.

But that moment was not now.

There was a bar of cheap soap and a towel lying next to the pump.

The cold water on his skin was a shock, but Simon knew the discomfort would only last a few seconds before his body would readjust.

Despite the circumstances, it felt good to finally get rid of the grime and dirt of five days in that accursed cellar.

And along with his body, his mind started to feel much lighter and clearer as well.

The gag was left, insulting his senses.

Could he risk pushing Caldwell's boundaries a little?

He decided to try, slowly raising his hands to where the stinking cloth was knotted on the back of his head, then paused, waiting for Caldwell's reaction.

"Go on. A loud word and I'll kill you."

Simon nodded, then opened the knot, threw the cloth to the ground, then pumped more water to rinse his mouth, wash his face and, finally, drink his fill of clear, cold water.

He dried himself thoroughly, then wrapped the towel around his hips and turned around to face Caldwell.

The man was leaning on a wall with a bored face, toying with his revolver.

It was that same wall Tommy and Simon had sat on twenty-two years earlier, when Simon had first mustered the courage to tell Tommy how his grandfather treated him, and that he wanted to go away as soon as he was big enough.

It was on that same wall they had made escape plans on.

His first escape had started from here.

That was a beacon of hope.

Simon took it as a sign to take the provocation a little further.

"What about a shave, you interrupted my last one, did you not?" he asked quietly.

"And give you a sharp blade at your free disposal? What else would you like, a sword, a revolver, a rifle?"

Against better judgement, Simon had to chuckle.

"What is so funny?"

"Nothing."

"You'll shave for the wedding. Now move."