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a car door opening...
    ...another SSCCCCCCRRREEEEAAAAMM from her then...
    ...hand over her face ― strong tobacco is what it smelt of ― she would never forget the smell, she would never stop hating that smell...
    ...pain...
    ...so much it overloaded her senses....
    ...it was in her head and she was losing sight of the world... images blurred... she was being placed on something soft... she heard a door shut, it echoed back and forth before consciousness left her and all sound and sight were gone.
    When she came around, her feet and hands were tied down to a DIY torture rack. Her head was held in place by a metal bar which she felt every time she had to swallow. For a large part of her time in Ludivicio Street, she would remain in this position. She was there five days. Jack DeGrisse had a thing for torturing girls. He enjoyed burning her with cigarettes, or heated pokers on her arms, legs and stomach. But he really enjoyed puncturing skin with knives. It was his raison d’être . DeGrisse had casually told her that she would die on day five and, after a while, Juliet had accepted fate’s roll of the dice. What she didn’t know was that in the background, in the world that Juliet had known before she’d known pain and bleeding on the rack, things were happening. The police would later find four bodies buried in the house in Ludivico Street. They were all subsequently identified, missing girls from much further afield. With Juliet, Jack DeGrisse had gone too close to home. He’d seen a potential victim and simply couldn’t resist. Juliet’s mother Rachel, frantic with worry, was knocking on every door in the neighbourhood, driving around the whole area for any sign of her daughter.
    No one knows how she found out where Juliet was; perhaps she found some clue, knocked on a door and found someone who had seen something they’d forgotten to tell the police? Either way, she found something. She was running to DeGrisse’s house when she called the police ― just gave them an address and told them that’s where her daughter was. When she got to the house, DeGrisse was in the basement where he kept Juliet, burning her arms with a heated knife. With strength Juliet would not have credited her with, Rachel Spiers managed to take the door off its hinges. DeGrisse heard nothing. His sadism in the basement was always played out to the loud tune of classical music ― Beethoven and Bach were background music for the screams and the pleas of mercy.
    DeGrisse, eventually alerted to a presence, turned around and saw Rachel Spiers.
    “DON’T−YOU−HURT−MY−BABY!”
    Jack DeGrisse flinched at each screamed word ― as if they were accompanied by arrows.
    Rachel Spiers charged at him. She must have seen the knife in his hand, but an animal’s maternal instinct won against the instinct for self-survival. 
    DeGrisse recovered his poise quickly and at the point that her hands were almost on him, he struck out with the knife; it entered her abdomen with a sickening noise.
    Rachel Spiers recoiled; her eyes became wide and wild as she felt at the crimson stains and contemplated her condition. She stumbled and fell backwards, holding her punctured body.
    DeGrisse stared at her for several compassionless moments as she squirmed on the ground and then, deciding she was no longer a threat, he turned his back to her. It was a fatal error. Minutes from death herself, Rachel Spiers managed to stand, pick herself a weapon from the array of polished torture implements that were kept in the basement, and struck the side of Jack’s neck with a wild swing of her arm. He staggered and, with her last remaining strength, she managed to pull him to the ground – screaming out from the pain of her own wounds. Rachel Spiers had a stranglehold of him; she struck again, then again, then again. She stopped only when her physical body was too exhausted to carry on.
    Juliet, too emotional to enter the new condition she had discovered, was still tied