She flinched as Anita gently released her hand from the countertop.

"Come, my dear. I have let them a warm bath. Some clothes from my younger days are for you on the chest of drawers ready. Although they are not very modern, but clean and ..." Anita looked at Sam's gray and torn prison garb , "... less noticeable."

Sam stood indecisively in front of the tub filled with warm water and fragrant foam. How long was her last bath? She could not remember it.

Sam hastily got rid of her dirty clothes and let slip carefully into the bubble bath. Comfortable warmth bathed her body. Sam leaned back, closing his eyes and trying to relax her muscles. But as soon as she closed her eyelids, she saw pictures flashing like flashes of lightning from the depths of her mind. Miguel's brother in the chair, in a pool of his own blood, Lapuent's body between the bars, the naked Li, swinging on the floor, Brutu's terrified face as she shot him in the chest.

Sam grabbed the lime-green piece of soap from the edge of the bathtub and began to work her skin more and more firmly. Only when her skin was flushed with the scouring motion did she clap her hands over her face and begin to cry bitterly.

Sam tore the leather folder off her pedestal and tucked it under her arm. How much time had passed since she'd woken up to the chair in Summersby's basement? Five or six hours, maybe more? Sam had lost all sense of time. The hours in those awful rooms seemed like an eternity.

Sam hurried through the purple curtain, past the ghastly tub with its pitiful contents, and squeezed past the ruined doorway into the room where she had awakened.

The floor in front of the cupboards was littered with the things Sam had flung out of the cupboards and drawers. She pressed the black folder against her chest. She would not put that thing out of her hand so fast. After all, this could be their ticket from Summersby's captivity. Sam's eyes slid over the confusion. No ax, no hatchet. Logically, otherwise she would not have had to work the door frame with the skull opener. But he was unable to work anywhere near the door.

Sam's eyes fell on the IV pole that she had used to punch her way out. He had once served her well and a better alternative was not in sight.

Before Sam reached for the stand, she searched for the scalpel-like blade next to the plastic table. She put it in the back pocket of her jeans. This instrument also had a decisive part in improving Sam's starting position. And though the blade was already dull, Sam wanted her with her. In the case of the cases, and for the high probability that her old friend Fate may have given this insignificant piece of metal a bigger role, which Sam is currently locked up with. She had no good reason, Sam let her instinct guide her.

With folder, scalpel and IV pole she squeezed through the gap again. Next to the tub she laid her prey on the floor. With one foot Sam stood on the black folder. Do not lose contact, she was too important to her.

With both hands, Sam grabbed the thick, black cable that hung from the ceiling and pulled at it with all its might. The cable stopped. Sam cursed and lifted his foot from the folder for a moment to hang on the cable with all her weight. The stupid thing still did not give way. Sam lowered his feet to the floor and pushed off vigorously.

As in physical education, she pulled herself up the cable until she stood with her feet on the black plastic box with the buttons. The cable swung lazily back and forth. Sam jumped from above against the plastic case. With a loud crack the plastic broke in half and spread on the floor. Sam jumped down.

Good, she thought grimly. Should Summersby see how he got safely to the cargo at the bottom of the tub.

Sam grabbed the folder and stand and hurried through the purple curtain. She stood between the dead boys and girls and took a deep breath. Here she was awaiting the hardest part of her preparations to give Summersby a fitting reception.

Sam pressed her forehead against the cool window of the private machine. It was black in the night outside and Sam looked at her indistinct reflection. Despite the blurry nature of her makeshift mirror and the delicate mist her breath conjured on the glass, Sam saw her ashen face color and the deep rings under her eyes.