Dido stayed the night with John and left in time to get the first Central Line train into Liverpool St. She travelled as far as Stratford, where she followed John’s hints and changed onto the first of three busses that would take her to Moorgate or a spot between the Tube station and bus terminus at Finsbury Circus.

Her early departure allowed her to avoid giving John an answer to the series of questions that he'd asked her over dinner the previous evening. John’s words about covering her tracks had struck a chord with her. Even though it was a PITA, she knew that it was the right thing to do. That wasn’t the only thing on her mind.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to give him an answer about her future. She’d made up her mind by the time she had finished doing the washing up. She’d gone to bed mulling over her initial decision and used some of the arguments that John had used against her to try to pull it apart. She had failed. That didn’t mean that she would tell John immediately. Dido wanted to do some more research of her own, before telling John. She was going to use some of his words against him but in a nice way. He’d often say to her, ‘Think before you act, or you may have to repent from here to eternity’. It had taken her a while to understand what he meant by those words, but when she did, she took them to heart.

The mere fact that someone was thinking about her future beyond getting even with ‘him’ was not lost on Dido. It was a new experience for her and not one that she was comfortable with at the moment.

Dido spent the following week alternating between Moorgate and the nearby Finsbury Circus. The latter was the terminus of several bus routes. On the days when the weather was too cold to stay outside for long periods, Dido sought the sanctuary of Islington Public Library. That was when she did her research into Criminology and the entrance requirements. Getting three top-grade A-levels scared the life out of her. That was way outside her comfort zone. Then, the little matter of the cost of the courses added to her level of disbelief. There was no way that she could even begin to cover the cost of a degree with the proceeds of her dipping alone.

A third day of rain forced her to abandon her usual spot on the pavement. The lure of the warm and dry library had been her refuge in the past. It was once more, but this time, she had a different purpose for her visit.

Dido sat in the library, trying to think about John. There was no way that she was going to accept his charity without at least some argument or pushback. Despite his help with her cause, she was not going to become dependent on anyone, let alone a man. Then she thought about conversations that she overheard while sitting on the cold pavements. A plan began to form in her mind. It was still very early days, but it was something that was not for John to know about because it was probably slightly illegal.

While Dido was held prisoner, she had no option other than to depend on 'him' and his son for everything for so long to survive that there was no way in hell that she was going to repeat that ever again. John had made it clear that Dido was not his type, but he was a man, and men were the enemy. It had been men who had robbed her of a life. John would have to earn her full trust. At that moment, he provided a useful ‘safe space’ for her and someone to talk to. While she trusted him not to want sexual favours from her, she was unsure about his long-term plans for her other than his suggestion about studying criminology.

In a coffee shop near City University, she found a discarded undergraduate student guide which talked in more detail about the cost of a degree. The figures began to add up. Accommodation, food, clothing and transport were just the bad icing on the top of a rancid cake. Dido knew very well how much a good day dipping for cash brought in. People were not carrying the same amount of cash they had when she first went dipping on Southend pier. Since Dido had resumed ‘dipping’, she had resisted selling credit and debit card details up to now. It looked like she would have to ‘dip’ into that. Thanks to some street gossip with other ‘dippers’, she knew of a device that could sniff out credit card details without needing to gain access to the card. That looked like a way to obtain the numbers. She had heard of something called the ‘Dark Web’ from another panhandler and that there were markets where the numbers could be sold. That was not something that could be researched in a Public Library. Dido returned to the city with a few dozen more questions that needed answers.

The arrival of the weekend had not resulted in her seeing her target. She didn’t go back to John’s home because she wanted to tell him more than her outline agreement to his plan for her future. She would add a few ‘buts’ to that agreement when she did see him again.

'The Future' was something that she had never thought possible during her years of captivity. 'He' and his son had gone out of their way to ensure that she never knew what day it was, let alone the time of the year. The ever-changing length of daylight that had come through a very dirty window high above her head had been her only clue about what time of year it was, apart from the middle of winter when the limited heating in the cellar failed to keep it warm. ‘He’ only turned it up when ‘guests’ were expected.

Since meeting John, she had come to understand that keeping a captive ignorant of the world was SOP for people like ‘him’. It made the captive even more dependent on the will of the captor than that of a prisoner in jail. Do it long enough, and something called 'Stockholm Syndrome' could kick in, and the prisoner becomes a captor. Dido had been given free rein to use John’s library of law and policing books. It had been hard going at first, but things had gradually gotten easier over the summer.

Her reading age was improving, but it was just one of the mountains she would have to climb. Since she had been panhandling, weekends were her time to think about the way forward.

Because she decided not to visit John for the weekend, Dido ventured onto the concourse of Liverpool St Station during the evening rush hour on Friday night. Twenty minutes of 'dipping' provided her with enough cash to stay in a cheap hotel in Bayswater and for some clean clothes from a fast fashion outlet at the western end of Oxford Street.

After a nice meal, a good night’s sleep and a long hot shower, Dido went into the city on Saturday and acted just like any other tourist. She walked along the south bank from Waterloo to Tower Bridge. As it was a fine day, there were a lot of people about. For some reason, she felt safe in the crowds. She marvelled at the skill of the skateboarders and the myriad of street performers, especially the mime artists.

As she approached Tate Modern, she found a group of street performers on their unicycles strutting their stuff outside. The audience was very appreciative of their skills. Dido admired the talent on show. She even took a few photos of the action on the phone that John had given her before continuing on her walk in the general direction of Tower Bridge.

Feeling a lot better, she went for an early meal at Borough Market before heading back to her hotel. Being able to act like a real person every so often was beginning to become an addictive habit. A habit that cost money that she didn’t have most of the time.

On Sunday, Dido continued posing as a tourist. She started at Speakers Corner. While a few of the speakers were interesting, it was hard to resist the odd ‘dip’. She resisted partly because of the six officers from the Royal Parks Police who were keeping the onlookers safe from people like her. She allowed herself to smile when they nabbed a small girl who could not have been more than 7 or 8 years old. Her facial features indicated that she came from either Romania or Bulgaria. Then, Dido spotted the girl’s handler in the crowd, looking very angry. The girl had not palmed off any wallets since she began watching.

For a moment, Dido thought about having a quiet word with one of the Parks Police Officers. It was only a moment. Then she moved away before temptation got the better of her, although Dido had seen the handler around the western end of Oxford Street, between Selfridges and Marble Arch, in recent weeks. After a shake of her head, she watched three of the officers take the young girl away. Her handler looked like he wanted to kill someone. The look on his face told Dido what to do.

Because of that look, and on her way out of the park, she did something that was totally out of character for her: she gave an officer a very good description of the handler.

“Consider it a free tip from someone trying to stop a young girl from a life of crime. As he is a handler, there may be more like her operating in the Regent Street area. She might be a victim of Child Trafficking.”

The officer tried hard to get a name from her, but Dido just shook her head and walked away. If they described her to any of the Met Officers who patrolled Oxford Street, they’d know who it was; otherwise, she was just another concerned citizen.

After an hour of window shopping and fighting the tourists who seemed to be ambling around even more aimlessly than usual and fighting the urge to dip a few pockets, she gave up and after grabbing a coffee from a café on Marylebone High Street, she walked north towards Regents Park and London Zoo. Dido vaguely remembered being taken to a wildlife park in Essex by her parents the summer before… before it happened.

Wandering around the Zoo brought out Dido’s inner child. It had been suppressed for far too long. For a while, she felt happy and contented. It didn’t last very long.

As soon as she saw the Mountain Gorilla’s enclosure, it was as if she was back in her cell. The thick steel bars on the den door brought it all back to her. Her emotions got the better of her, and she began to cry and shake with fear as it all came back to her with a vengeance.

The act of showing any emotion had been physically beaten out of her early on in her captivity. She’d been expected to dress like a doll to please her visitors and remain passive even if the clients hurt her. When she failed to show enough pleasure in servicing her visitors, 'he' would punish her by not feeding her for up to a week. The injections of her 'vitamins' did continue. Without food, they would make her ill.

Dido fled from the Zoo and found a seat on the towpath of the nearby 'Regents Canal' where she cried her eyes out even though they were screwed shut. Slowly, the shaking stopped, and she opened her eyes.

Dido sat there just gazing into space with watery eyes for more than an hour. The memories of her years behind bars had all come back to her at once when she saw the bars on the inner den of the Gorillas. For only the second time since her escape from ‘him’ had she felt like this… alone in the world.

The lure of her safe space at John’s home eventually dragged her off the bench and back to her hotel. After checking out, she took the tube from Lancaster Gate station to Epping. When the train reached the surface at Stratford, she sent a text to John.

“Need help. At Stratford, but coming to Epping.”

John replied.
“I’ll be there.”

True to his word, John was waiting for her at the station. His gold-coloured Cortina was easy to spot amongst a sea of predominantly grey, white and black cars.

Dido got in and put on her seatbelt. John looked like he was going to say something, but the way she stared straight ahead made him stop. Instead, he drove her to his house in silence all the time, wondering if she had found him by literally bumping into her on a bus or something.

John let Dido sort herself out in her own time once they had arrived at his home. All he said was,
“When you feel like talking, you know where I’ll be.”

Dido responded with a small nod of her head.

John could see that she had been crying and that it would not take much to start them off again. His late partner had days like this when her emotions, coupled with the hormones that she took, simply got on top of her. He knew not to force the issue but to be there when they needed him. Dido was very much the same.

More than two hours later, Dido came into his kitchen. She had washed her face and even put on a little makeup.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice hardly above a whisper.

“I didn’t do much.”

“You did… just by being here and giving me a place to stay.”

“Ready for something to eat? We can talk while we eat… if you are up to it, that is?”

“I’d love something to eat.”

“Good,” said John, smiling.
“I made some French Onion Soup yesterday. I was going to freeze some of it, but there is more than enough for us. I also made some bread.”

“You will make a great wife someday,” joked Dido.

“Too late for that. It keeps me busy and away from the Golf Course and the bores of the clubhouse bar.”

Dido didn’t have much clue about golf. All she did know was that many men who were retired seemed to spend all their time on the course. It was a good place to nick things from their cars. That was why she had obtained the ‘slim jim’ device that she was trying to use when they met for the first time.

“That would be great. Thanks.”

“How can I help you?” asked John after he’d dished up the food.

“I was ok until earlier. I went to the zoo and… saw the bars on the gorilla’s cage. The one they use to separate them when the female is in heat.”

“Did everything nasty that had happened to you all come back with a vengeance?”

She nodded.

“I think… I think that you may be suffering from PTSD.”

“What is that?”

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Lots of former military get it. The same applies to anyone who witnesses a tragedy or has spent a long time in a traumatic situation”

“So, it is normal then?”

John shook his head.

“No, it isn’t. I think that you should see someone. They can help you get through these incidents.”

“Not a cure, then?”

Again, he shook his head.
“There isn’t a real cure for PTSD, but getting revenge for what he and his buddies did to you will certainly help. For most, it is more of a question of being able to manage the PTSD, its early signs and how to manage while you are experiencing an event.”

Dido looked sad.
“It isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault,” said John, trying to reassure her.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she began to eat the soup. John knew that this was not a slight on him but her way of not wanting to say anything else for the time being.

“Who is this person you want me to see?” asked Dido more than twenty minutes later.

“Doctor Nichole White. She treats a lot of people with PTSD.”

“Can you trust her?”

“Why?”

“Because… in case you had forgotten, I’m not eighteen. If I go and see a doctor, don’t they have a legal duty to turn me into Social Services?”

John smiled. Dido was starting to think for herself again.

“Nicole will not turn you over to the authorities. She is not like that.”

Dido sat silently again for several minutes.
“Ok. I’ll see her. Can you set it up?”

“I will. All it will take is one phone call. She knows a little about you. When I gave her a heads-up, she told me not to press you about it and to wait for you to seek help. That you have just done.”

“Like a junkie then?”

“Very similar. They have to want to kick the habit. That is the first step on the road to recovery. You needed to want help. You asked me for help. I have not done very much.”

Dido looked at John and managed a small smile. Then, she did something very much out of character for her. She stood up, came around to his side of the table, and hugged him. This was the first time that they had really touched since the episode of the first video recording. Then, it was he who had initiated contact. This time, it was Dido who trusted him.

To John, this was a huge step forward in her willingness to trust him.

For Dido, this was the moment when she decided that John was looking out for her in a good way and was not the enemy. She could trust him. It wasn’t an easy decision, but to her, the way that he’d talked to her as an adult and an equal was the deciding factor.

Dido saw Dr White a few days later. She had come to John’s house for the first meeting just to keep the distractions down to a minimum. John disappeared to see a mechanic friend of his, apparently to talk about a new cylinder head for the Cortina. Dido guessed that it was just an excuse to let the Doctor feel no pressure from him.

Dido was understandably nervous at the prospect of baring all to a stranger. After thinking about it for a bit, it was really no different to what she had done on that day with John when her bravado got the better of her.

Nicole began by introducing herself and then stating what she knew about Dido. This was an attempt to put Dido at ease.

In return, Dido tried to talk, but what came out of her mouth was almost gibberish. Dido was struggling to bring some sense to her problems, but Nicole was not John.

Nicole tried another way through her defences.

“John told me that you had an episode while you were at the Zoo?”

Dido looked down at the table but did return a slight nod of the head.

“He said that the sight of the bars on the Gorilla enclosure was the cause?”

“Suddenly, I was back in the cell where he kept me for years.”
“Dido began to cry.

Nicole was very patient. That was her job… to listen.

Dido sat talking with Nicole for almost four hours. Both of them were tired at the end, so it was good when John turned up with a Chinese takeaway for lunch.

During the meal, Nicole outlined the plan that she and Dido had agreed on. John would be playing a small yet essential part in the treatment of Dido's PTSD.

Dido was quite downbeat after her session with Nicole. John didn’t press her except to reassure her that he would always be there for her when she had episodes in the future.

The next day, Dido seemed a lot happier with life. Now that she knew why she had reacted as she did and had some tips on how to combat a PTSD event, she was almost ready to return to her search for the man who had abused her for so long.

John took her to Epping Tube station early that afternoon. His parting words were,

“Now that you know at least one of the triggers you have to be careful of, just don’t get nicked, or you could end up in a cell again. While you might have an event, the people in the Police Station won’t know that you have PTSD and think that you are just acting up. I will get some cards printed for you that explains what you have, and I’ll add Dr White’s contact details. If you ever get picked up, be sure to give the custody officer one of the cards. They should know how to handle someone with PTSD. The job of the custody officer is solely to look after the welfare of people in custody and not to investigate crimes. Helping you prevent a PTSD event falls right into their job description.”

Dido took a few seconds to digest what he was saying.

She didn’t answer him but gave him a big hug. Then she was gone.

Dido had always been a person of few words, but since her bad experience at the Zoo, she had been even more introverted than ever when she was in the presence of people she did not trust. John was worried about this, but he had a plan in his mind that could help her be more comfortable interacting with people.

Dido returned to John’s late the following Friday evening. She briefly said hello to John before going to the apartment and bed.

John did not argue. Dido looked like shit. It was more than likely down to a lack of sleep.

She appeared for a late breakfast, looking a lot better.

“Tea?” asked John.

“Please. Two bags, please.”

“Rough week?”

Dido nodded.

“Then just relax and let me do all the chores.”

“I can’t let you do that. I have done my bit ever since I came here, and I’m not stopping now.”

“You can and will just for this weekend. I insist.”

Dido, to her credit, didn't fight John's position. She just looked weary.

After breakfast, John said,
“Last weekend, what did you do on Saturday? You never said?”

Dido managed a smile.
“Other things rather got in the way, didn’t they?”

“Well?”

“I went to the South Bank. I even visited Tate Modern. A bit weird but different. All part of your grand plan to broaden my knowledge of the world. I have to admit, I liked the National Gallery more…”

“What were the highlights? If the Tate Modern was a bit of a bust, what did you do then?”
“I wandered along the embankment back towards the London Eye. It was very enlightening.”

“Enlightening? In what way?” asked John, who seemed to be genuinely interested in her experiences.

“A real melting pot of people doing their thing and just enjoying life. Some of the tricks those skateboarders were doing were crazy. A few crashed, but they just got up and tried again.”

“There is a message there, isn’t there?”

“I suppose so.”

“What else?”

“This guy on a Unicycle. Doing leaps and spins. I think I managed to get him using the camera on my phone, just like you said.”

“Can I see them?”

“I don’t think that they are any good.”

“Ok. I promise not to criticise, but I will give you a few hints about improving your camera skills.”

“I’ll go and get the phone.”

Dido returned a few minutes later.

“I got that cable we talked about when I gave you the phone. You can connect the phone up to my TV,” said John.

“And see every blemish and cut-off head?”

“No, Dido. It just makes it easier for two of us to view them.”

Dido just handed John the phone.

“Here we are. Dido’s masterpieces volume 1”, said John, trying to get her interested in the whole thing.

John put the first picture of the performers on the screen.
“Impressive. And his head wasn’t cut off!” he remarked.

When he put the third image of the Unicycle rider up on the screen, Dido let out a yelp.

“What’s wrong?” asked John.

“It… it’s him. That’s the man,” she said with a definite tinge of panic in her voice.

John came and put his arms around Dido. It had taken months of gentle work to get her to even let him touch her. Slowly, the level of trust between them grew, and now he could hug her.

“Which one is it?” when he let her go.

“That one. The guy with the bald head and moustache.”

John went over to the screen and pointed to one of the bystanders.
“This one?”

“Yes. That is him. That is the man who kept me prisoner and… “
Then she broke down and cried…

John comforted her once again. All the time, his eyes were on the image of the man that she had identified.

John Proudfoot knew the man very well. They had crossed swords more than once over the years while he was a serving Police Officer. The task of getting redress had suddenly got several orders of magnitude harder.

“Do you know him?”

“The face seems familiar, but I can’t place it. Let me take a photo of him.”

She didn’t react other than to glare at the man with pure hatred. John could see that this was real hate. It's not some pretend feeling. If she got hold of him, he’d be lucky to escape with only his manhood shoved down his throat. That was something to work on for the future.

John took the photo feeling awful for not letting on that he knew a lot about her captor. All he could do was prepare her for the reveal, and that was not for that day nor the next. She had to be in the right mental state to take in the enormity of what he tell her about the man who had kept her captive for so long.