WARNING: There is a brief mention of animal manure in this part. It’s not used in explicit detail, so I think is unlikely to upset anyone, but if even a small mention is likely to upset you, this is your warning.
Hello and welcome to scenes 32 to 36 of Pancake Day 2. You might look at the number of scenes and realise this must be an important part, and you’d be right, as it’s where we finally meet the main protagonist, and set up the final showdown between her and Princess Porcelain.
I also find myself in an unusual position, in that a lot of stuff I was going to bring up I’ve already covered in the comments to the last scene, after someone brought up the similarities between Porcelain and the Batman villainess Harlequin. Now this wasn’t something I deliberately set out to do. I wasn’t that aware of the character, having never seen the cartoon or comics before, and only having once watched a play through of one of the computer games. They don’t dress dissimilarly, but the red and black colour scheme isn’t that unusual with people going for a rock or gothic look.
Some also pointed out some similarities in the personalities, at least in the Batman cartoon, and in Porcelain’s early character before I developed it a little more, where both have psychotic child like tendencies, which is what convinced me to purchase a second hand copy of the DVD, to find out a little more.
One thing I did pick up on was her anti-villain like tendencies, where you view her as a villain, and I didn’t root for her over Batman, but there were still times I found myself rooting for her, and I could see myself rooting for her in a clash with another villain. That’s definitely a position I’d like for Porcelain, and I think I’ve gone along the right lines by introducing some sympathetic aspects to her character, even if you wouldn’t always condone her actions.
This I think will be important here as you meet the main villainess, and we see Porcelain enacting out some of her more sadistic ideas, but at the same time you can sympathise with her, and could easily see her as the lesser of two evils.
The camera cuts to a shot looking down a long corridor of an old building. The occasional picture hangs on the wall, and a large glass cabinet can be seen about halfway down. Painted wooden doors can be seen at regular intervals. The main focus though is the lady walking sternly down it, with a self determined, angry look on her face. She wears a grey business like top and skirt, a pair of authoritative black boots, and her hair in a bun. She looks to be in her mid forties, and is a large individual, not in an unhealthy way, but in the way of someone with an intimidating presence about them, thanks to her bulk and above average height. She looks up as we hear someone rapidly approaching.
Jack: Mrs Turnbull. Mrs Turnbull.
Mrs Turnbull: Stop running boy! This isn’t a playground.
Jack: Helen. She’s here. We’ve got to make sure everyone’s safe.
Mrs Turnbull: What are you talking about?
Jack: You remember Helen Mathews, she left here and went after all those girls in Southbrook. Well now she’s come back and is going after everyone here. She’s already got Victoria and Christine.
Mrs Turnbull: Don’t be so silly boy!
Jack: It’s true. They’re down in the abandoned part of the cellar. We’ve got to get help.
Mrs Turnbull: So that’s where everyone’s been hiding. Well if they think they can just hide from me down there they’ve got another thing coming.
Jack: But Helen’s down there.
Mrs Turnbull: That’s enough silliness. I’m sure this is all part of some immature joke, and quite frankly I’ve had enough. First we’re all brought back from the school holidays early with no explanation, not even Gretel’s about to tell me what’s going on. Then someone steals everyone’s mobile phones, then people think they can now just wander off without telling me. Well I’ve had enough, I’m going to put a stop to this immediately.
Jack: But …
Mrs Turnbull: No buts boy. Now get up to your room, and stay there until I say you can come out, or I’ll ………
Jack: Or you’ll what? I notice you’ve not got your usual sidekicks to help you push people about. I’d love to see how tough you really are without them. Go on. Take the first shot. Then I can say anything I do was in self defence.
Mrs Turnbull: GET OUT OF MY SIGHT NOW YOU INCOLENT CHILD!
With a smug confident look on his face Jack slowly strides away. The camera focuses on Mrs Turnbull as she exhales deeply. Suddenly we hear the sound of glass breaking.
Mrs Turnbull: Who was that? Whoever it was come out now.
Nothing happens. Angrily Mrs Turnbull steps up to the door where the sound came from and throws the door open. The camera cuts to a shot of the classroom, looking in from the door. Suddenly a chair stacked on top of one of the tables falls off it.
Mrs Turnbull: Ha! I’ve got you. Time to reinstill a bit of discipline around here.
The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull from the waste up as she marches into the classroom. She takes several strides in, then all of a sudden she’s hit in the face with a white chlorafoam pie. The camera slips out of focus as Mrs Turnbull gasps, and then falls to the ground, then the camera fades to black.
The camera cuts to what appears to be someone’s office or study. It is richly decorated with an oak desk, and several ornate chairs on either side. As the camera scans around the walls we see several heavy looking bookcases with leather bound books, several large oil paintings, and a collection of smaller frames housing various black and white group photos. As the camera continues round we see another bookcase, this one containing a number of academic texts and a number of well used paperback novels. Next to that is a cushioned bench, under a number of shelves where a collection of Victorian looking dolls is being displayed. The camera settles on an unusual part of the wall, where a large painting has swung out like a door, revealing a stairwell behind it. Running down the stairwell, through the door and out of site in to the office is a bright steel chain. Before we can investigate any more we’re interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps on the stairs. A familiar face climbs up in to view.
Porcelain: Hello Mrs Turnbull. It’s playtime.
The camera cuts to a shot showing the middle of the office. We see the chain ends in the centre, where it’s securely bolted to the ground. Standing there is Mrs Turnbull, who now has a heavy looking steel shackle padlocked to her ankle. The other half of the shackle is a heavy steel loop that passes around the chain, meaning she can walk along the chain but not away from it. At the sight of Porcelain she angrily launches forward. Porcelain simply steps to the side out of her reach.
Mrs Turnbull: What do you think your doing back here Mrs Mathews?
The camera cuts to Porcelain, who is now sitting on the bench. She’s taken one of the dolls off the shelf and is carefully examining it.
Porcelain: Now, now, Mrs Turnbull. You were always so strict about addressing people by the proper term. I’m sure you can extend the same courtesy to others.
Mrs Turnbull: You’ve got some nerve coming back here. All the trouble you used to cause, all that money you stole, not to mention the damage you caused to this schools reputation. You have no right to be proud of yourself HELEN.
The camera cuts to a smiling Porcelain, who is deliberately ignoring Mrs Turnbull. She’s taken a hairbrush off the shelf and is brushing the dolls hair.
Porcelain: It’s your own time you’re wasting.
Mrs Turnbull: Fine. Princess Porcelain. Is that going to put an end to this silly business?
Porcelain: Well it’s a start. By the way given the amount of horse shit already found here I don’t think what I’ve done is going to hurt this places reputation much.
Mrs Turnbull: How would you know? You spent more time in my office than you ever did doing anything constructive.
Porcelain: Ah, yes. So many memories. So many verbal berating’s, punishments, and even a few beatings. Is that really how you treat someone entrusted in your care?
Mrs Turnbull: Well someone had …….
Porcelain: Don’t bother. I’m tired of hearing excuses. You know there’s a lot of hate in this world. Homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia to name but a few. People justify their actions with religion, nationalism or just by blaming the people they’re hating. Ultimately though they just feel secure in their own narrow, closed view of the world, and don’t want anyone to challenge it. That’s why instead of embracing new views, or even just ignoring them they respond with distrust and hatred towards them. That’s why you and all those other girls here hated me. I was a challenge to your own narrow views, something you felt you had to suppress and extinguish.
Mrs Turnbull: You have a very high view of yourself Princess Porcelain.
Porcelain: Not really. Ultimately we’re all just cogs in a big machine. In my case a cog you thought you could all mould in to shape and oppress. Well I’m sure sometimes that works, but sometimes the oppressed fight back. That’s when you get fighting. That’s when you get wars. That’s when good people become monsters. Well today I’ve given you another very narrow path to walk down, and your going to face the consequences of not straying from it.
Mrs Turnbull: No!
Mrs Turnbull: No! I won’t dignify your silly little games like that. I’d rather just stand here and take the consequences. At least then I’ll still have my dignity.
Porcelain: (sigh) I thought you’d need some extra motivation.
The camera cuts to an overview of the study. The lights dim and an image is suddenly projected from an unseen source onto one of the bookcases. The camera cuts to the image and it’s a film showing images from Porcelains previous games. We see Jasmine covered in chocolate moose, Clara and Amy covered in treacle, Athena dripping with custard and Christine and Victoria in a pool of cottage cheese.
Porcelain: You see Mrs Turnbull I have a great friend working with me called Garry. He comes off as a little stand offish at first, but he’s a really nice guy if you make the effort to get to know him. He’s also a real whiz when it comes to computers and gadgets. Thanks to him we have some great videos of all the girls in your care being totally humiliated, that we’re going to publish online if you don’t stop us.
Mrs Turnbull: Hah! Go ahead. Do you think that makes any difference to me?
Porcelain: No, I don’t. I thought I’d give you one chance to show you care though. Luckily we’ve been based here for a while. Garry was even able to install some secret cameras in your study here.
The camera cuts back to the projection. It shows Mrs Turnbull watching as two people throw someone else down on the floor. It then shows another young girl cowering as Mrs Turnbull looms towards her. Finally it shows Mrs Turnbull holding a long cane.
Porcelain: I could have been more graphic, but some of us are sensitive about this sort of thing. I’m sure you’ll agree though it wouldn’t be good for you if we made the full uncut footage public.
Mrs Turnbull: Really? That’s your big threat. That’ll never make a difference. You forget who these kids parents are.
Porcelain: You mean the sociopaths who’ll happily ignore a giant load of horse-shit, if it means they get what they want in the end. They’ll not do anything, and even cover it up, as all that abuse gets them the end result they want. Their children complying and thinking like they do.
Mrs Turnbull: I wouldn’t put it so bluntly, but these rich and entitled folk are all the same. They look after their own and make sure nothing changes. Your threats mean nothing.
Porcelain: Oh, I’ve thought about them.
At this point Porcelain stands up from the bench. The camera briefly cuts to a close up of the shelf as Porcelain puts the doll she was playing with back on it. We see it has a red and black dress, black hair, and is positioned behind a little name plate that says Ruby Porcelain. The camera then cuts back to Porcelain as she steps into the middle of the room.
Porcelain: I think you’ll find if there is something that will make them sit up and take notice it’s cold hard cash. Well thanks to Gary’s hacking skills we’ve had a good look at this places finances, and there’s a lot to tell. Plenty of questionable expensive amongst all the staff. Cars, designer clothes, even luxury holidays, all charged as expenses. Of course I doubt all the big donators care about that, or would be the slightest bit surprised. There’s obviously a lot of nudges and winks where people fund this sort of thing to ensure preferential treatment, and even desired grades for their kids. Of course I now feel a lot less guilty about my own theft from the fundraising efforts here.
Mrs Turnbull: You never felt guilty about that for one second in the first place.
Porcelain: I’ll admit you’ve got me there. If I were you though I’d be more worried about another discovery we made. How a certain someone has been skimming a large amount of money from all the donations over the last number of years, and has put a large amount in a personal bank account in Bermuda. By now there’s about five million in there. That’s very, very naughty. I’m sure if someone was to publish the incriminating documents online, someone would be in a lots and lots of trouble.
The camera cuts to the projection, which now shows a number of computer screenshots showing online banking screens, and scans of several letters and documents.
Mrs Turnbull: I don’t know what your talking about.
Porcelain: Oh Mrs Turnbull. For someone who wanted to hold on to their dignity your making a right fool of yourself. I’m hardly going to make something like this up. Why dance around it.
Mrs Turnbull: Well after everything I’ve done, and put up with for this place over the years I deserve it. Everything I’ve taken from the parents and pupils.
Porcelain: Hate breeds hate Mrs Turnbull. If you mistreat others you can’t then blame them for the way they act towards you. Anyway, if you hated it here so much you could have just gone to another school, although I doubt you would have had the free reign or the perks you so enjoyed here. Don’t worry though. I’m not going to publish everything strait away. I’m going to give you a fair chance to stop me.
The camera cuts to the projection again. The image changes to a film of an hourglass as sand starts to run down it.
Porcelain: To stop me though you need to do something Mrs Turnbull. Something you should have done a long time ago. Something that would have saved yourself and many others from my anger, from my wrath. Something that could have stopped the whole chain of events that ends so magnificently today.
The camera cuts to an extreme close up of Porcelain’s lips as she says the last words.
Porcelain: Play with me!
The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull. We hear Porcelain leave by the studies door, and lock it behind her. Mrs Turnbull pulls on the shackle around her ankle but it won’t come loose. With a shout of rage she picks up a chair and throws it violently across the room, before stepping forward to find out what’s in store for her.
The camera cuts to a staircase in a darkly lit cellar. As the camera looks up it a haunting rendition of an old schoolyard song is heard playing:
It continues to play as Mrs Turnbull, still attached to the chain comes into view. Once at the bottom of the stairs she stops to look around. The camera cuts to where the chain is leading. It is a large tall plastic box, it’s about four foot wide and a little over twelve foot long, but lengthways it’s separated into three sections by large plastic dividers, the only gap in which is a small one at the bottom which the chain runs through. The camera cuts quickly to Mrs Turnbull’s face as she looks up, then it cuts to what she’s looking at. Above each of the three sections is a large plastic tank, each containing an ominous looking load. The first contains a dark brown, lumpy gravy, the second is full of baked beans, the third contains thick yellow custard.
Mrs Turnbull: This better be worth it. Damn right that money belongs to me.
She gets no answer, other than the continuation of the haunting melody, that continues to play in the background. Mrs Turnbull stops to look around, and tries the shackle again. With a loud sigh of annoyance she steps forward into the first section. As she does another plastic panel slides in behind her, containing her in the four foot square box, then a wooden toilet handle dangling from a toilet chain drops down and dangles in the centre of the box. The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull inside the box as with a look of contempt she pulls the chain. A deluge of thick brown gravy comes cascading down, falling from numerous points in the ceiling. Mrs Turnbull stands statue like with defiance as it pours over her head, and continues to fall down, soaking into her cloths. Only as the deluge subsides to a trickle does Mrs Turnbull move, wiping her face with her hands. At this point the panel to the second chamber opens, the floor already covered in a puddle of gravy that seeped under the door of the first chamber. Mrs Turnbull steps into the second chamber, and the panel slides closed behind her, and another wooden handle drops down. As Mrs Turnbull reaches for the handle the camera cuts to a shot looking strait up at the top of the chamber. It consists of a large wooden hatch, split down the middle. After several seconds the hatch swings open, and a large number of baked beans fall down towards the camera. The camera then cuts to Mrs Turnbull as the large number of beans falls on her, instantly covering her in the orange tomato sauce and leaving a large number of beans clinging to her hair and clothes. This time the sheer impact of all the beans falling at once is enough to get a reaction from Mrs Turnbull. She opens her mouth in shock, and a look of anger comes across her face as she wipes her hair, and tries to readjust her clothes. The camera cuts to a shot of the panel to the third chamber, as it slides open and reveals Mrs Turnbull behind it. She angrily stomps through, kicking the beans in frustration. As the panel to the second chamber closes behind her she reaches over and tries to slide the final panel open, using just brute strength, but there is no way for her to get a strong grip on the smooth surface. As she glances up the camera cuts to the tank above the chamber, showing a close up of the surface of the dark yellow custard. Suddenly there’s a bubbling on the surface and a funnel shaped hole appears in the centre of the custard as it starts to drain away. The camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull, who this time has raised her hands to try to protect herself from the custard now pouring down, but all this is really doing is spreading the custard out over a wider area, and it stops her ducking her head down as low, meaning a thin layer of custard is soon seeping down her face. The custard continues to pour for about eight seconds, before slowing down to a trickle. Mrs Turnbull lets out a shiver as she wipes off as much as she can. The final panel slides open, and Mrs Turnbull angrily stomps forward six paces before coming to a halt. As she does the music playing fades to silent.
Mrs Turnbull: Now what on earth was the point of that? All that did was waste a load of food for nothing. What did making me do all that really achieve?
A familiar voice is heard in response.
Porcelain: Hello Mrs Turnbull. Did you enjoy your little play session?
Mrs Turnbull: What sort of silly question is …..
Porcelain: By the way, this is a pre-recorded message, so what you say matters even less than usual.
Mrs Turnbull: Oh ha-ha! Well is that it? Are we …….
Porcelain: If your listening to this you should have just had your school dinners, courtesy of my gunge tanks. Well I’ve got some good news. You get extra desert. Just continue to follow the chain until you find the entrance to the right chamber.
Mrs Turnbull: What? After all that I still don’t get out of these shackles.
Porcelain: I’m guessing your now voicing some sort of objection. Well I think it’s only fair that you of all people get to sample some of my best work.
The camera cuts to a doorway in the abandoned cellar. We see a worse for wear looking Mrs Turnbull step into it and pause to take in her new location. The camera cuts to her point of view. It’s a small room, with a low ceiling. The chain Mrs Turnbull is shackled to runs close to one wall, past a heavy looking wood and iron chair, and then under a heavy looking wooden door. Of most interest though is what’s on the floor opposite the chair, just out of Mrs Turnbull’s reach. The camera cuts a number of times, showing various close ups of what’s in store. Each shot shows a frying pan, connected to a spring loaded catapult device, ready to fire. In each frying pan is a crepe style pancake, each one topped with a different messy stopping, be it maple syrup, bananas and custard, whipped cream and strawberries or chocolate sauce and sprinkles.
The camera cuts to a shot of Mrs Turnbull checking the door is locked, and then to a close up of a notice pinned on the door. It says:
“If you want to unlock this door all you have to do is sit in the chair, place your wrists in the restraints, and wait. It’s entirely up to you what you want to do, but I can think of 5 million reasons you should sit down, and you only have limited time. Princess Porcelain.”
The camera cuts back to Mrs Turnbull as she angrily tears the message off the door. She frantically paces back and forth a couple of times, before stopping at the chair. It is heavily constructed with an uncomfortable looking ornate back. On each of the heavy wooden arms is a heavy iron fixture designed to hold someone’s wrists secure. They consist of two pieces of deliberately shaped metal, currently swung out, leaving a large gap to insert a wrist in to. Mrs Turnbull comes into shot as with obvious reluctance she lowers herself on to the chair. She tries prodding the left restraint with her fingers, but nothing happens. Slowly she inserts her left wrist into the restraint. There’s a hiss as the two parts of the restraint swing inwards until they both touch. Mrs Turnbull tries pulling against it, but her left wrist is now securely pinned in place. She grimaces a little as she hesitantly places her right wrist in the right hand restraint. The right restraint closes, and the camera cuts to a shot looking out at the thirty or so frying pans, all ready to fire their messy load. Then with a whoosh one of the catapults fires, and we see a pancake whiz past at the top right of shot, then another one whizzes past to the left, then we see one topped with chocolate and strawberries coming strait towards the camera. The camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull as the same pancake hits her in the face. It sticks there for a second or two, before the pancake slowly slides down, revealing the chocolate sauce now coating some of her face, and the strawberries which are sliding down slower than the pancake. There is no respite though as Mrs Turnbull is hit by two more pancakes, one covered in whipped cream that hits the right half of her face, another covered in bananas and custard that splats into the left. Mrs Turnbull violently shakes her head in order to dislodge the pancakes, but can’t avoid a blueberry and syrup topped pancake smacking into her chest. The barrage continues for another forty seconds or so as pancakes continue to fire and hit the prone Mrs Turnbull, by the end her face and torso is completely covered in the pancakes, that slowly slide down her, revealing the various messy substances that now coat her underneath. As the pancakes slide off her face she splutters a load of mess out of her mouth before calling out.
Mrs Turnbull: Well come on then. I played your silly game. Now let me go.
There’s a further pause, before the camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull’s wrists as the shackles open again. The camera then cuts to the door as we hear it unlock, then back to Mrs Turnbull as she stands up and angrily wipes off what she can and throws much of the excess mess across the room in rage.
Mrs Turnbull: Is that it? Enough of your stupid playtime? How much more do you expect me to put up with?
Mrs Turnbull gets no answer, so she angrily continues along the chain and opens the door, revealing a set stairs going up.
The camera cuts to where it’s looking down a dark flight of stairs. To one side a familiar looking chain runs down them. The familiarity is confirmed as a worse for wear looking Mrs Turnbull climbs up in to view. As she reaches the top she pauses to take in her surroundings, the camera cuts to a long shot of Mrs Turnbull standing on a high up, long gantry, going around the wall of a large section of the abandoned cellar. The room is about twenty-five foot high, and still has a large number of wine barrels stacked on top of each other at various points. Most notable though is a crudely made giant wooden barrel adjacent to the gantry, close to where Mrs Turnbull is standing. It’s about sixteen foot high, and twelve foot across at the top. The camera pans in closer until it looks down into the barrel. The upper eleven foot is empty, the sides being made of smooth polished wood, at the bottom though is a pool of a not particularly nice looking liquid. It’s not dissimilar to Porcelain’s pancake batter, but it’s thicker and a much darker brown, and has a number of brown lumps in it where something unpleasant has been mixed in with the batter. The camera cuts back to Mrs Turnbull as another recording starts to play.
Porcelain: I told you there was a lot of horse shit to be found here didn’t I.
The camera cuts to a close shot of the liquid. This time we see exactly what is floating in the batter, before cutting back to Mrs Turnbull.
Porcelain: Don’t worry, you’ll notice the chain doesn’t go anywhere near that. In fact your almost at the end. All you need to do is undo the clip and you’ll be free.
The camera cuts to a shot looking out from the gantry. On the ceiling are a number of overhead monkey bars, that lead out to over the centre of the barrel. They are all painted red, except the one in the very centre which is painted black. We see the chain reaching out as far as the black one, and see it is attached to the black monkey bar with a spring loaded clip.
Porcelain: There’s one thing I should warn you about Mrs Turnbull. Those red monkeys bars are rigged. As you move to the centre they’ll fall down behind you, meaning you won’t be able to use them to get back. It’s not an impossible jump to make though, so you should be able to get back another way. Of course if you’d rather not take the risk I won’t make you. You could just stay where you are and wait for help to arrive.
The camera cuts to Mrs Turnbull as she screams with rage. She paces angrily back and forth on the gantry, kicking and hitting anything she can see as a target of her frustration. Suddenly another voice calls out.
?????: Who’s there?
Mrs Turnbull: Who said that?
?????: Just a second.
The camera cuts to a doorway along the gantry where Mrs Turnbull is standing, barred by a door consisting of vertical and horizontal steel bars. The camera pans down to the bottom half of the door as a pair of hands grabs onto the bars, and a familiar face pulls herself up in to view.
Mrs Turnbull: Gretel! How did you end up there?
Gretel: I was doing my usual rounds, when I was hit in the face with a pie or something. I end up feeling all woozy, and next thing I know I wake up here and that Helen Mathews girl is making me play one of her crazy games. Since then I’ve been stuck in here. Someone brings some basic food and water twice a day, but they don’t even pause to talk to me.
Mrs Turnbull: Have you tried escaping?
Gretel: Well obviously, but the walls are all solid, and the door won’t give. It’s an electronic lock, so I can’t even try picking it. What about you, can’t you get me out?
Mrs Turnbull tries pulling on the bars of the door, but they hold.
Mrs Turnbull: It feels solid, and I can’t go anywhere while I’m stuck shackled to this chain.
Mrs Turnbull pauses to look around. Then we see a look of realisation on her face as she comes up with an idea.
Mrs Turnbull: Gretel. Is there anything in your cell you could use to hold on to the chain, or secure it to the door.
Gretel: There’s a couple of padlocks from the game Helen made me play.
Mrs Turnbull: Perfect. Get them while I wrap the chain around the door.
Mrs Turnbull takes up some of the slack of the chain, and wraps it around a couple of bars on the door. Gretel passes her the two padlocks, and she locks them both into the chain, securing it to the door.
Mrs Turnbull: Right. Wish me luck.
Mrs Turnbull turns around, and pauses to compose herself before reaching up to the monkey bars. At a measure pace she makes her way out over the giant barrel to the centre. The camera cuts to the pool of batter and manure as the red rungs fall down behind Mrs Turnbull and sink slowly into the pool below. The camera cuts to look down on Mrs Turnbull, now dangling above the pool. The camera then pans down until it looks at Mrs Turnbull head on. She gingerly lets go with one hand, and pulls as much slack from the chain forward as she can. She then grabs onto the rung with both hands again, taking a deep breath before reaching for the clip. After a little fiddling with it the chain drops down from the clip, but because of the extra slack it now hangs down from the shackle on her ankle. She pauses again, before very slowly bringing her ankle up, so she can keep hold of the chain as she slowly threads it through the shackle, and still has it in hand as the end passes out. She then grabs the rung with both hands, still holding on to the chain, and breaths out with a huge sigh of relief. She then threads as much chain over the rung as she can, before using the clip to attach the chain back to the rung. She takes another deep breath, before twisting her arms, and then untwisting, so she’s now facing back the way she came. She then raises her legs up until both of them are wrapped over the chain. She then reaches out and grabs the chain with one hand, and then quickly grabs it with the other. She drops down several feet, but she manages to hold on to the chain, which now bridges the gap between the rung and the door. The camera cuts to Gretel, still looking on, then it cuts back to Mrs Turnbull as she slowly shuffles her way along the chain until she is able to get her legs back down on the gantry. She stays kneeling on the ground, breathing deeply from the tension and excursion. Finally she looks up at Gretel:
Mrs Turnbull: I’m going after Helen. I’ll get you out as soon as possible.
Gretel: Give her one for me.