I tug at the loop but the trapdoor is heavier than I expected. I heave, using all my body weight. When it finally lifts, I’m so surprised that I fall backwards. The trapdoor crashes back down loudly. I stay where I am, sprawled on the rooftop, staring at it. Someone must have heard that. Several moments pass, however, and no one appears. Perhaps I’ve gotten away with it.
I stand up, dust myself off and try again – albeit more carefully this time. It’s a struggle but I manage to re-open the damn thing and then I’m staring down into a fluorescent-strip-lit corridor. Crouching down, I listen. When I hear nothing more than the incessant buzzing from the lights, I duck my head into the space and check again. Finally satisfied that the coast is clear, I lower myself carefully inside.
The second my feet touch the carpeted hallway, there’s a creaking noise. I frown, just as the trapdoor miraculously closes itself. Now that it’s shut, there’s no evidence of it whatsoever; I’m staring at a normal, smoothly plastered ceiling. That’s good in that any wandering Department worker bees will have no reason to think their defences have been breached, but it leaves me without a clear escape route.
I move forward on tiptoe. There are lots of doors and empty offices but not much else going on. At the far end there’s a staircase so I make a beeline for it, moving as slowly and quietly as I can. If my incursion into this stronghold wasn’t so serious, I’d be enjoying myself. Ninja Zoe!
I get down to the next floor without incident. Unlike the one above, however, it isn’t silent here. There’s the unmistakable clatter of typewriter keys, loud and old-fashioned. I peer down the corridor and don’t see anyone so I guess they must be inside more offices. What a dream reality needs typewriters for, I have no idea.
The next floor down is more dangerous. I’m halfway down the flight of stairs when I hear voices, and they’re not far away. I can’t make out what they’re saying but they make me freeze, half crouched. I wait and wait and wait but whoever they are, they’re not in any hurry to move along. Eventually, anxious to move on, I sneak down the remaining steps.
There’s a small cluster of people near the stairwell although, in my favour, they’re all looking away from me. The last thing I want is for any of them to catch me in their peripheral vision and turn in my direction – and if I speed up to move past them, that’s what’ll happen. Equally, if I go slowly, one of them might look over. My only course of action is to walk down at a normal speed. Hopefully, they’ll be too engrossed in their conversation to notice me.
I keep my eyes down and my gait even but my heart is in my throat as I reach the end of the stairs. I glance quickly over their heads and see offices stretching beyond them – certainly not anywhere to keep potentially lethal mares – so I keep going down. I’m waiting for someone to yell and for a clatter of footsteps behind me but there’s nothing. There are only two more floors – although admittedly the further down I go, the more dangerous it gets.
The next landing reveals more damned offices – how many does this place need? Surely people wouldn’t come here in their dreams just to work. I start on the next set of stairs, still trying to work it out, when I hear footsteps heading up towards me.
I panic and dash into the corridor on my left. There’s nowhere to hide – not without opening doors. The only option is to sprint down to the far end of the corridor and hope that whoever is approaching has poor eyesight and isn’t heading there. But before I can lift a foot, I hear a whistled tune: ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain’.
I freeze, abandoning all thoughts of running or hiding. I don’t consciously plan it but I find myself slowly turning to face the music. I even place my hands on my hips. I bloody knew Dr Miller was involved in all this somehow.
I don’t wait for him to notice me; he’s no doubt a damn sight stronger than I am. Despite my predicament, however, there’s a burning anger licking through my veins at the way he tried to manipulate me. He’s supposed to adhere to the Hippocratic oath but he’s been plotting to send me to the dogs. Bearing that in mind, the moment the top of his head appears, I launch myself at him.
He flies backwards with a surprised grunt as I grab his lapels with one hand and clamp his mouth with the other. Straddling his chest, I glare at him. He not only looks shocked, he also flinches – which is enormously satisfying.
‘No wonder you were so keen to make an unscheduled home visit,’ I hiss. ‘What was in that second batch of pills? Were you trying to poison me?’ Alarmed, he shakes his head. I don’t loosen my grip ‘You told the Mayor who I was.’
This time he makes no attempt to deny my words. His eyes plead with me. I can feel his body underneath me; this is someone who works out. He could escape in a heartbeat if he wanted to but he’s not even struggling; he’s just gazing at me imploringly.
‘I’m going to take my hand from your mouth.’ I shift my weight, lifting one leg so that my knee is just by his groin. ‘If you try anything, you can say goodbye to those two-point-four children.’
Miller nods and I slowly remove my hand.