Chapter Six
Payback
Thrown back in my cell, the straightjacket didn’t wrap my upper body again. My hands and arms were free, but the collar was locked to the chain on the wall. Once more my personal limit was the faded painted line on the floor.
I heard things. Debates rumbled just outside my cell. Things like “Is she sure she knows what she’s doing?” followed by “You want to be the one who tells her?” or “Just do what you know is right!”, then long periods of silence.
The food came, a generous portion in the morning and a modest one in the evening, now always delivered and fed by Emory with my hands locked in back. No way was I allowed any hint of self-reliance. Upon entrance I was to stand and turn about, not only to have Emory restrain my hands, but also so that in the morning she c
