Chapter Thirty-six
Though Guard Greta has departed, poor Sammy remains frightened as the suffering form of Charles Nelson Bedford remains oddly stooped on the punishment platform, an occasional low moan evidencing the slow anguish of the many weighted clamps. The warden ignores the pitiful sounds, apparently accustomed to hearing such throughout the day. Yet curiosity has me glancing, noting that the weighted scrotal sac hangs almost to the knees. The relentless torment is endured daily, there is no doubt.
Sitting before the sizeable desk, I turn back to face the warden as our discussion begins.
“Your program is working well, Mary. Despite having our share of violent offenders Hempstead’s incident record is quite good. These prisoners in pink do make a difference.”
“Thank you warden. s
