“Trevor,” I whispered.

“He was the one who took you?”

“He works for Bellamy,” my father said, his head bowing. “He always did.”

Charles tightened his grip on my father’s arm.

“We are almost out, Arthur,” Charles said. “Just a little further.”

We reached the heavy metal door marked *Laundry Room*.

Charles swiped the plastic keycard against the reader.

The small light blinked green, and the lock clicked open.

We pushed into the dark room.

The smell of damp linen and laundry soap was thick in the air.

Row after row of giant, silent washing machines lined the walls.

At the far end, a grey steel door sat beneath a glowing red exit sign.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the corridor we had just left.

It sounded like a heavy door being forced open.

“They are in the hall,” Charles whispered.

We hurried through the rows of washing machines.

Charles swiped the card at the exit door and shoved it open.

A freezing blast of winter wind hit us in the face.

Snowflakes swirled into the dark room.