With heavy legs Laila climbed step by step.

The black leather wallet held her tightly against her chest like a shield.

The tension dropped from her and deep exhaustion overcame her.

The pig was dead.

Laila's bladder squeezed painfully.

First on the toilet and then a bucket of cool water.

Her tongue stuck dry on the palate.

Laila had a terrible taste in his mouth.

The stairs ended in the middle of a large room.

In addition to washing machine and dryer was an ironing station with flowered cover.

Summersby's laundry room.

Curious, she looked at the underwear carefully fastened to the clothesline.

She smiled wearily.

White fine rib - how fitting.

After the laundry room followed a long hallway.

Laila opened one door after the other.

At the second she was lucky.

The guest toilet.

Laila turned on the light in the windowless room.

Everything was clean.

Laila relieved himself with a soulful expression.

When she washed her hands at the sink, she saw her face in the mirror.

The hair hung down in dull strands.

Dark circles lay under her eyes.

The skin was spotted red.

Laila greedily drank water from the tap and washed his face.

Better.

Without haste, she continued her tour.

It amazed her that a monster like Summersby had such good taste.

The spacious wooden house was decorated with friendly, warm tones.

In the cosy professional kitchen, Laila tore open a packet of biscuits and stuffed them hungrily into his mouth.

With the cookie box in hand, she continued her exploration.

The kitchen was integrated into the living area.

It was followed by a bright, huge dining table with 10 chairs.

Laila frowned.

She could hardly imagine that Summersby entertained friends here.

How could such a monster have friends? Laila put another biscuit in his mouth.

Maybe he put the groomed children here and served them tea and biscuits.

Disgusted, Laila looked at the pack in her hands.

She threw her on the table and continued to look around.

A cosy fireplace was the central eye-catcher in the living area.

A huge, blue wing chair with dark red checked pattern stood in front of it.

The sitting area in front of the huge plasma TV, which seemed to float on the wall, was a horseshoe-shaped seating area made of dark green velour.

Laila sank down onto the seat, sighing, and stretched out her aching limbs.

Just a quick nap.

But she was unable to relax.

Annoyed, she got up and opened more doors.

Had not Summersby talked about taking a relaxing bath? Maybe a bath would help her too.

Relax and then sleep a few hours.

Laila saw a wooden box standing on a dresser.

A humid ear.

Nicotine.

She opened the lid and frowned in disappointment.

Cigars.

Laila grabbed one and also inserted matches and cigar pincers.

Better than nothing.

It hit her hot.

The black wallet.

Laila thought feverishly.

Where did you last have it? Laila hurried to the kitchen.

She lay on the counter where she had left her when she grabbed the packet of biscuits.

She patted the black leather.

Why should she hide the folder? She was alone in the house.

Laila checked the front door, it was locked.

No problem.

One of the numerous windows or the patio door was easy to hit.

Laila left the folder and went in search of Summersby's bathroom.

She stopped abruptly.

The events in the basement had hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

She was sure that Summersby had just bluffed, but in the unlikely event that Laila was wrong, she had to first go in search of the trapped girl.

She would inevitably come across the bathroom.

And she had time. Laila started to open more doors.

She found a broom closet with all sorts of cleaning products and vacuum cleaner.

A well filled pantry.

A guest bedroom and Summersby's spartan bedroom.

His office was tidied up.

Laila could not resist the urge and swept the neatly stacked papers on the floor.

Finally she found the bathroom.

In contrast to Summersby's Spartan bedroom, exuberant luxury reigned here.

In the middle stood a huge whirlpool surrounded by three steps.

The whole bathroom was a waste of expensive materials.

Three pillars with bottle green glass mosaic stood out harmoniously from the black Porto slate of the floor. The Jacuzzi had in addition to numerous jets also underwater lighting.

All fixtures were made of gold and shone in the glow of the halogen spotlights.

A huge shower, more reminiscent of a closet, was covered by a glass front. In the surface were tiny fish sandblasted. The huge sink had the shape of a shell.

Laila took two fluffy towels off a shelf and let hot water run into the pool.

She slowly undressed and put cigar and accessories on the wide rim of the hot tub. While the pool was full, she rummaged in the numerous glass cabinets for shampoo and body cream.

She put both next to the cigar. No ashtray. Never mind, she thought grimly.

It will be a thieving pleasure to just drop the ashes on the floor.

Laila felt childish.

Slowly she got into the tub. The water burned against the sore skin of her wrists and the cuts in her hands. Slowly, Laila dipped his head under the water. She sat up, used the shampoo and left the foam in her hair.

She pruned the cigar and lit the thick Havana. With relish she pulled the smoke into her lungs. Laila coughed. That was different than smoking a cigarette. She put out the embers in her bathwater and threw away the cigar.

Then it's not possible. Laila closed her eyes and felt her muscles relax. Just do not fall asleep, she thought tiredly.

What's missing is that you end up drowning in your own bathing water. In the bathroom, the mirror fogged. Laila let herself slide a little deeper into the water.

She cuddled up to her neck in the warmth. After 20 minutes, she would certainly have reached the necessary bed weight and enjoy a few hours well-deserved sleep.

Laila thought of the terrible news she had to deliver to her clients. How should she choose her words? Deep in thought, she did not hear the handle of the bathroom door slam down with a faint click.

****************************************

Laila stumbled over the long line of parked cars with Tamara over her shoulder. Finally she saw the Porsche.

Hastily she steered Tamara into the passenger seat and strapped her down. Laila jumped behind the wheel. No key. She flipped down the visor. The key fell into her hand. "Good, old America."

Laila rammed the key into the ignition and sat back with a roaring engine and squealing tires. In the rear view mirror she saw dark figures rushing back and forth. The fire had spread from the cathedral to the outbuildings of the farm.

The Symbolia supporters were busy with the containment of the fire. Nobody paid attention to the racing Porsche. Laila gave a triumphant scream as the Porsche shot across the street and they moved faster and faster from the farm.

As Laila turned off the driveway to a farm on a public road, Tamara opened her eyes. She saw Laila and started screaming. Laila brushed her reflection in the rear view mirror and stopped with screeching tires.

Violently she pulled the metal hoop with the horns off her head and removed the yellow contact lenses from her burning pupils. Her eyes watering, she looked at Tamara.

"That's better, I'm Laila, I'll take you to your family." Tamara anxiously pressed herself against the passenger door. At least she had stopped screaming. Laila drove on.

"Please open the glove box, there's a tiny button on the top, push it and give me the phone." Tamara looked at her with wide eyes.

"Come on." Laila smiled at her.

"Then you can talk to your uncle." Tamara hesitantly opened the glove compartment and groped for the mechanism. She held out the phone to her.

Resigned, Laila looked at the dark display. The battery was empty.

"OK, it seems like you have to wait a bit longer, so find a cool music channel for us." With an empty look Tamara pushed around on the keys of the car radio. They shot through the night under the booming basses of 'Highway to hell'.

Laila exhausted reached the huge dawn gate of Anita's family property at dawn. Laila pushed the button under the intercom. She waited.

Tamara was dozing in the passenger seat. She kept his thumb pressed impatiently on the button.

It had been almost a month since she had said goodbye to Anita and Benedict. What if nobody was there anymore? Laila unbuckled and looked doubtfully at the naked Tamara and her own naked body.

That could be a problem.

They had gone through the night without being disturbed, but two naked women in a convertible during the day - they certainly would not get far. Laila got out, regretfully examining the ugly marks on the bright leather of the driver's seat. Her blood-soaked hair had left brownish marks. From the intercom sounded a tinny voice. "Yes, please?" Laila leaned down wearily to the speaker.

"Here is Laila." A loud feedback hurt Laila's ears as the voice repeated her name, bellowing. "LAILA" She could not identify if the voice belonged to Anita or Benedict. It did not matter to her, the main thing was that the person knew who she was.

"Tamara is with me." The two wings of the huge gate swung inward. Laila stiffened stiffly behind the wheel and drove slowly up the white gravel up the driveway. After a few meters she saw the huge, white villa. On the steps a small reception committee had gathered.

Laila shook Tamara awake. "We are there." With crunching tires, she stopped in front of the portal. Benedict and a man unknown to Laila - probably Tamara's father - rushed past the front of the Porsche and tore open the passenger door.

Tamara threw herself unrestrained into the man's arms, sobbing. Laila leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. She felt a strong tug in the abdomen. She was astonished to find that a dark red spot was spreading between her legs on the cream-coloured piece of leather. Laila heard the demonic laugh in her head. She bared her lips in a wicked grin.

"Just laugh, you freak, I'm losing your child right now."

Then it was dark around Laila.