Like some bad pub joke, three Yanks and two Australians headed up the cobbled path to the gate.

“Is it open?” Fenny asked. Brad grabbed hold of one of the railings and gave it a shake. The gate rattled.

“It’s padlocked, you fuckwit,” Paul scorned, stating the obvious.

“I know, I was proving a point,” Brad replied lamely.

“Well, there goes that plan, back to the sightseeing,” Fenny perked, hoping she was right.

“It’s not that high,” Gina announced.

“If one of us went over, they could search for a way for the rest of us to get in,” Greg agreed.

Everyone looked at everyone else, eventually Paul piped up. “Fine,” he sighed uncrossing his arms. “Brad, give me a boost.”

Brad stood, back to the gate and his fingers entwined. Paul placed one foot in Brad’s hands and grabbed the railings with his hands.

“Ready.” He nodded.

“Ready,” Brad replied and hoisted Paul up as far as he could. Paul moved his feet quickly onto Brad’s shoulders (much to Brad’s surprise), got hold of the top railings, and hauled himself over. Gina cringed as he hit the ground and let out a yelp.

“Jesus, fucking, Christ,” he grumbled as he hobbled in a circle.

“You okay?” Gina peeped.

“Yeah,” he nodded, before looking out across the vast yard. “I’ll be back,” he announced and crouched down as he jogged out of sight.

“So, saying we actually get in there, then what do we do?” Greg asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Brad.

“Knock on the door?” Brad shrugged.

“Darling, I hardly think some knife-wielding psychos are going to be pleased we’ve let ourselves into their secure mansion’s grounds, do you?” Fenny said poignantly.

“Well if they’re anything like the psychos we’ve previously encountered…” Gina mumbled, letting her voice trail off.

“I hope we don’t get hurt,” Fenny groaned and leaned against Brad.

“I don’t know, I could go for another bullet wound, even things up,” Brad mused.

“That’s not funny,” Fenny scowled.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Brad cooed insincerely as he pulled her into a hug.

Paul found himself following a wall through the gardens, not quite sure where he was going or what he was looking for. He stopped to get his bearings and noticed what appeared to be a shed in the thick of some trees. He looked over his shoulder before bounding through the undergrowth, trying so hard to be serious and not admit he was actually enjoying himself. The closer he got to the shed, the more rotten and abandoned it looked. Still, he figured it was worth a shot. He reached out and tested the door. It creaked open and he scurried inside and began frantically scouring the contents for something useful. He found a rusty toolbox and began rummaging through it. “Screwdriver, no, hammer, good for hitting Brad, but no, pliers, maybe.” He closed the toolbox again and then saw what he wanted behind an old mirror – bolt cutters.

“What’s taking McDermott so long?” Greg grumbled.

“He’s probably been caught in a bear trap,” Brad mused.

“They don’t have bears in Scotland,” Fenny pointed out.

“Monkey trap,” Brad shrugged.

“They’ll use his skin to make a rug for in front of the fire,” Greg chided.

“Don’t be horrible,” Gina gasped and slapped Greg’s arm.

Greg and Brad both started sniggering and Fenny rolled her eyes.

“Paul,” Gina squeaked as she noticed him approaching.

“Oh, no McDermott rug,” Greg sighed.

“Well?” Brad asked impatiently as Paul sidled up to the gate, hands behind his back. Paul smiled wickedly and produced the boltcutters.

“Where the fuck did you find them?” Brad gasped.

“That’s not important, what is important is I break this lock,” Paul perked. “Stand back.”

Brad, Fenny, Gina and Greg took a step back as Paul latched the boltcutters around the lock. He used all the strength he had to snap the lock.

“You’ve done this before,” Fenny mused as Brad pushed the gate open and they wandered in.

“Maybe I have,” Paul smiled and closed the gate behind them. “I don’t think there’s anyone home,” he added.

“So we can go back to sightseeing?” Fenny said hopefully.

“We’re not going sightseeing,” Brad exclaimed as they headed toward the mansion.

“So, how are we getting in?” Gina queried.

“There’s gotta be a back door, right?” Brad enthused.

“Why am I having déjà vu?” Greg said to no one in particular.

They found the less glamorous back door and Brad boldly marched up to it. He fumbled with the handle.

“Locked,” he huffed.

“Try this,” Paul chirped and handed Brad a screwdriver, Brad looked at him bewildered.

“I don’t want to know where you keep the hammer,” he chided as he turned back to the door and unscrewed the lock. It fell out into his hand and he pushed the door open. He placed the lock just inside so he wouldn’t forget to replace it on the way out. Everyone tiptoed into the dingy back entrance and looked at the copious hallways before them.

“Which way do we go?” Paul asked.

“I think it’ll be quicker if we all split up,” Brad replied.

“What?” Fenny gasped.

“We’ve all got cell phones, right?” Brad declared and everyone nodded. “We can call once my bag is found.”

“Great idea, but there’s no cell site in miles,” Gina breathed.

“Fine, half and hour and we meet back in the courtyard,” Brad sighed. “Yes?”

Everyone nodded and split up, Brad headed down one passageway, Gina down another and Paul down the third. Fenny headed for a flight of stairs and Greg decided to search the immediate area.

Brad soon found what was obviously the servants’ quarters, which gave way to an illustrious, marbled room. He suspected it might have been a ballroom of some kind. He hurried across it and gently opened one of the doors. It opened into what appeared to be a study of some kind. Brad glanced around at the mounted animal heads, polished leather chair and fading photos. He padded over to the mahogany desk and began rifling through the drawers. They seemed to be littered with bank statements and broken pens. Brad opened the final drawer and found a box of cigars and took one out, sat back in the chair and did his best Monty Python accent.

“Hello I’m Lord Beethoven the 29th and this is my mansion. As you can see, I like to kill things and have them stuffed and mounted. Yes, mounted…” He gave a pompous throaty chuckle, then gagged as the door started to open. He stuffed the cigar back into the draw and let out a yelp as he closed it on his fingers.

“Fuckshitbum,” he cursed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Sherwood?” Paul mused, sauntering into the room.

“Christ, McDermott, I thought you were a psycho…” Brad gasped.

“Well…”

“You are,” Brad nodded. “Find anything?”

“Only a dead rat and a personal sense of wellbeing,” Paul jeered.

Brad rolled his eyes. “Shall we try the next room?”

Paul fell into a pompous accent. “I think we shall, Lord Beethoven the 29th.”

Brad narrowed his eyes, then giggled as they headed out of the room and into the next one. It turned out to be a small sitting room. They split up and poked around, finding nothing much of interest.

“Oh dueling swards,” Paul gasped as he looked at the two swords in sheaths above the fireplace. He reached up and pulled one out. “I always fancied being a swashbuckler.”

Brad wandered over and grabbed the other; he grinned and placed a hand on his hip. “On guard.”

Paul giggled and did the same; they were pretty hopeless, but like two boys with plastic He-Man swords, Brad and Paul bounded around the room acting out scenes from their favorite pirate movies.

Gina found herself confronted by a heavy looking wooden door. She was slightly fearful of opening it but eventually decided she had nothing to lose. As she stretched out to open the handle she felt a hand on her shoulder and froze.

“Not scared, are we?” Greg mused.

Gina relaxed. “Bastard,” she scorned. “You find anything?”

“Only you,” Greg smiled.

“You sweet talker you,” Gina chided and stepped back. “Wanna explore what’s beyond that door with me?”

“Sure, what’s the worst that can happen? Oh hey, I know. We could get killed,” Greg sarced.

“Have we been killed previously? No, I don’t think so,” Gina said matter-of-factly.

“I think I’d be pretty pissed if we had,” Greg mocked as he took it upon himself to open the door. They were greeted by an eerie darkness. Gina took the liberty to hold onto Greg’s arm. He tried to hide a secretly pleased smile, even though he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect. He whipped out his lighter as they headed down the stairs.

“This must be the basement,” Gina breathed.

“Well I doubt it’s the master bedroom,” Greg whispered as they stepped off the bottom of the stairs and were greeted by a paved, medieval looking basement. Water could be heard dripping from somewhere and the smell of what they hoped was damp was overwhelming. Greg noticed a small kerosene lamp on a solitary bench against the wall closest to them and wandered over to investigate. It was half-full and lit instantly. Once illuminated, the basement looked less frightening and appeared to be mostly storage. Boxes piled up against one corner, an old bicycle and a grotty mattress were some of the items that filled the space.

“Let’s get out of here, it’s way too creepy,” Gina announced.

“For once I agree,” Greg nodded and they turned back to the stairs.

Greg put one foot on the first stair and they heard a distant click. “That was the lock, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” Gina peeped and held onto Greg’s arm again.

“Déjà vu is overrated,” Greg sighed and carried the lamp back to the bench.

Fenny had been wary of everything. Every noise made her jump and look for places to hide. She felt slightly more comfortable in the upper surroundings of the mansion, though, and couldn’t help but stop to look at the painting and décor. She became complacent the more she walked the halls, and by the time she’d passed the same painting of an old women three times, she decided to search some rooms. Fenny decided on the one at the end of the hall and gently turned the handle. It looked like an office, and the modern computer ruined any Edwardian beauty it might have had. She peered over the desk and noticed that it was all quite unkempt. She decided the only way to find the bag was to think like the person who had taken it.

“If I were a viscous psycho, where would I put a bag I assumed contained thousands of pounds?” Fenny stood bewildered a moment and then returned to the Scooby Doo cartoon philosophy and scurried to the nearest painting and gently pushed it aside. She almost fell over when there, before her, was a wall safe. “Bingo,” she breathed. Fenny stepped forward to have a go at cracking the code on the lock when the door flew open. She turned around, mouth open, as a man who must have been in his 40s – stocky with dark hair – glared at her. This was Donald McIver and he looked mightily pissed off.

“Who the fuck are you?” he scowled in a crisp English accent. “Guys, get in here,” he added. Two well-built men with gun holsters stalked into the room. “I asked who the fuck you were?” Don snapped.

“Lost,” Fenny peeped.

Don marched over and grabbed her by the wrist; Fenny let out a squeal. “How’d you get in?” he growled.

“The door,” Fenny winced as Don edged closer to her, his free hand grabbing her chin.

“You’re a yank.”

Fenny nodded.

“I’ve never fucked a yank.”

Fenny’s eyes went wide and she did the only thing she could think of and brought her knee up to his groin. Don doubled over and let out a yelp. “GET THE FUCKING BITCH,” he screamed as his heavies grabbed for Fenny. One grabbed her around the neck, his other arm around her body. Fenny screamed as loudly as she could, hoping, praying someone would hear.

“…Back, back you rapscallion,” Paul chided as he leapt onto the coffee table.

“You’ll never defeat me, ruffian,” Brad declared.

“Shut up,” Paul ordered suddenly. Brad stopped and they listened.

“Screaming,” Brad gasped.

“It’s Fenny,” Paul added, dropping the duelling sword like a hot potato.

“Fucking hell,” Brad breathed as they both dashed from the room. They slowed as they approached where the screaming was coming from, edging closer to the room. Paul and Brad peered around the edge of the door. Fenny was being held by a monolith of a man, while another man was yelling at her, demanding answers.

“What do we do?” Brad mouthed.

Paul thought for a moment, peering at the bolt cutters still in his hand. He looked back into the room, as the man’s face was millimeters from Fenny’s. She was petrified and trying not to burst into tears. Brad tugged on Paul’s sleeve and Paul looked at him. “What?” he mouthed.

“I think we should…” Brad was cut off by the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Brad and Paul looked around and saw the man rubbing his hand and Fenny looking at the floor. Paul gripped the bolt cutters tightly and moved from where he was, Brad watched in amazement as Paul raced into the room.

“What the fuck?” gasped Don.

“Paul,” Fenny breathed as he raised the bolt cutters and whacked the heavy who was holding her in the head. His grip loosened and Fenny moved away as he crashed to the ground, blood oozing from his head.

“Please tell me I haven’t killed him,” Paul muttered and turned to Don, who grinned evilly as Paul felt the barrel of a gun pressed into his back.

Paul and Fenny locked eyes and she prayed he did nothing else stupid.

“Thought we’d be a hero, did we?” Don scorned.

“It’s always been a fantasy of mine,” Paul chided.

Don’s face fell into a sneer and he marched over to Paul. Paul raised an eyebrow. “I will have you so severely beaten, that if they find your corpse, they’ll never ID you.”

“Your testosterone level is invading my personal area,” Paul declared.

Don looked at the heavy who was behind Paul and nodded. Fenny watched as the heavy lifted his gun and pistol-whipped Paul, who crumpled to the ground. Fenny felt her stomach lurch and reluctantly looked back at Don who advanced on her again.

Brad felt himself panicking. There was nothing he could do. Fenny was in danger, Paul was hurt, and he felt useless. He needed to find Greg and Gina before anyone else did. He took off back down the hall before anything else could happen.

“Well, this is fun,” Gina sighed as she and Greg sat on the bottom step of the basement stairs together.

“Yeah, this is exactly how I planned my vacation, getting locked in a confined space with you,” Greg teased.

“Again,” Gina chided.

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing, though.”

“What? You mean there’s an upside to possible death by rising damp?” she laughed.

“I get to spend some time with you,” he said sincerely.

Gina caught his eye for a moment. “Oh yeah, I’m great company.”

“You are, I’ve missed it. Your company, not that I haven’t missed….”

“Greg, I have the strange feeling this is going somewhere neither of us want it to,” she mumbled as she got to her feet.

“Sorry,” he breathed as he stood. “I thought I was over you. Looks like all the counselling in the world can’t help me being a fuck up.”

“You’re not a fuck up,” she soothed.

“Then why can’t I get you out of my head?” he asked, “You know what my counsellor said to me? She said, ‘Greg, what made you decide to pursue a relationship with Gina?’ and I, without hesitation, replied, ‘She’s beautiful, intelligent, completely mad, she challenges me, she’s wild in bed, we’re soul mates, man.’ You know what she did? She ended the session.”

Gina burst into giggles. “Oh dear, you fucked the therapist up.”

“You know, they don’t teach you what do when you’re inadvertently trapped in a basement with your former lover, who you can’t get out of your head, and would fuck without question on a grotty old mattress on the corner.”

“How romantic,” she mused.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed. “Actually, I probably did,” he added.

“I don’t know what to say,” she shrugged.

“Good,” he said, smiling coyly as he stepped toward her. He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her too him. She didn’t even try to resist as he planted a soft kiss on her lips, letting it linger for a few seconds.

“We should go scream for help,” Gina managed to say.

“Yeah,” Greg agreed and followed her up the stairs.

“What are we going to do?” asked the conscious heavy, jerking Don away from Fenny, much to her relief.

“Get the bag and get out of here, if they know we’re here, god knows who else does,” Don replied.

“What about the girl and her friend?” scowled the heavy.

“We’ll take them too,” Don ordered and grabbed Fenny by the arm. He dragged her to the safe and she questioned how stupid he was, letting her read his code, before grabbing the bag. The heavy helped his friend to his feet and slung Paul over his shoulder as they marched out of the room.

Brad had raced around the entire house and not a sign of Greg and Gina. He was panicking even more. He found himself back in the servant quarters ready to crack, when he heard yelling from the end of one of the hallways. He raced down and fumbled with the lock. The door swung open and Gina and Greg tumbled out.

“Thank Christ for that,” Gina gasped.

“I’ll say,” Greg agreed as they avoided eye contact.

“Guys,” Brad swallowed.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, his voice concerned.

“Fen got caught,” Brad replied.

“Is she ok?” Greg gasped.

“I hope so,” he mumbled.

“Where’s Paul?” Gina piped up.

“He tried to help Fen, beat one of the heavies with the bolt cutters,” Brad replied. “He got pistol-whipped and was unconscious when I left.”

Gina looked at the floor, her arms wrapped around herself. Greg put his arm around her. “He’ll be all right, as will Fen.”

“What do we do?” Gina asked looking at the two men; they looked back at her blankly.

Fenny found herself in the horribly familiar situation of being slung into the back of a black van with Paul. As Don and his heavies piled into the front, she could feel their weight shift and then the engine roared into life. She shuffled on her butt over to Paul, who was on his back, his head lolled towards her and his body lifeless.

“Paul,” Fenny whispered as she squeezed his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes flickering open. “What happened?”

“Pistol whipped.”

“Christ, now I know how Genie felt,” he breathed and propped himself up on one elbow and felt the back of his head. He pulled his hand away and was greeted by the sight of blood. “Shit.”

“What?” Fenny breathed.

“I’m bleeding.”

“Let’s have a look, have you got your lighter?”

“No, I leant it to Greg,” he cussed.

“I’ll use my cell phone,” she breathed as Paul lay his head in her lap and she used the faint light from her lit up phone to survey the damage. “You have too much hair.”

“I know,” Paul mused.

“I don’t think it’s too bad, still I wish I had a bandage.”

“Improvise,” Paul suggested.

Fenny pulled off the shirt that was wrapped around her waist, and grabbed Brad’s bag, which their not so smart kidnappers had chucked in the back with them. She hunted out Brad’s key ring and one very handy pocketknife. She sliced a strip off her shirt and wrapped it around Paul’s head.

“There we go, Rambo,” she laughed.

Paul laughed and then grimaced and put his head back in Fenny’s lap. “Don’t let me pass out again,” he ordered.

“Or try and take on 3 guys who are ten times your size,” she added.

“I should have hit the fucker who slapped you,” he scowled.

“Yes, you should have,” she agreed.

“Would have been easier if Sherwood wasn’t such a wimp.”

“Brad was there?” she gasped.

“Yep,” Paul replied.

Fenny wasn’t sure how she felt about this news. Here was Paul, beaten for her sake, again, and Brad had stood by and watched. So much doing anything for the one you love.