Liz had been in the cell all night, still in the straitjacket, still tightly gagged and masked. When she had been taken off the gurney, the bag over her head removed and shoved through the door, she had been shocked to find that the walls and floor of the cell were covered in thick padding. There was no window and, as she turned to face the door, it was slammed shut, showing that it too was covered in the same padding, the only break in the otherwise featureless wall now the spy hole through which she could be observed.
She had struggled to try and get out of the jacket until she was sweaty and exhausted. She had tried to free herself of the mask by scraping it against the floor and the walls, but to no avail. She had kicked at the door until her feet ached, but had achieved nothing. Finally, she lay on her back staring at the ceiling, trying to stave off the panic that was rising within her.
She tried to think logically about how she was going to get out of this. Jake, the prison governor, was the only person who knew that she had been in the prison under false pretences. If he were still alive, then there should be some paper trail from there to here that he could follow. They would have her admission records here, and he would be able to find her and get her released. Of course, that was all based on the assumption, the hope, that Jake was indeed still alive…
Meanwhile, she decided that she had to conserve her energy and look for any opportunity to escape. There was no point in railing uselessly against her situation, getting angry and upset about her betrayal, that was just wasted energy. There was also no point in fighting when she was strapped up in a straitjacket, locked in a padded cell, and with no idea of the layout, size or location of the hospital in which she was being held prisoner. She needed information, she needed opportunity, and she needed to hold it together long enough for those opportunities to arise. Having made her decision, she tried to settle down and get some sleep.
She didn't feel like she had slept a wink, what with the constant glare of the strip light above and the stifling heat which made her sweat terribly inside both the straitjacket and the mask. She felt half dead when she heard a key being turned in the door, but she struggled up onto her knees and then onto her feet, ready to face whoever came in, determined to show no fear, despite the terrible churning she felt inside. She was a hard-bitten reporter, not some pathetic, helpless girl, and she intended to prove it to them.
"Welcome to our little facility, my dear." It was Dr Tilshead, the man who had conspired in having her committed here, accompanied by a tall, pretty nurse.
"Nurse Myers, do you have the patient's records there?"
"Yes, doctor," she replied, and Liz recognised her voice, with alarm she realised that the nurse was Alice, the woman who had admitted her the previous night, the one who had intimidated her with her threats, or were they promises…
"This is Trisha McMillan, age 28, home address in Columbia, South Carolina." The doctor took the clipboard from the nurse and looked it over.
"Well," he said, flicking to the second page, "we know that she lied about her name, so we can't go by anything she has told us. Why don't you have the records updated, recording the name Jane Doe, probable age, say 21, of no known address. And while you're about it, you can take off any reference to her having come from the Tawnee Correctional Institute. Just say ‘picked up off street, probable prostitute’. Let's say two weeks ago?"
He gave Liz an evil smile, looking at the fear growing in her eyes. They both knew that, if the records were falsified in this way, the chances of her being tracked down would be greatly reduced. She shook her head in dismay, trying to make herself understood around the gag stuffing her mouth. She stepped towards him, but the chain between her ankle cuffs tripped her, and she fell to her knees. The doctor and the nurse both looked down at her with wide, knowing smiles.
"Yes, doctor, no problem," Nurse Myers replied.
"Have the orderlies take her for a full physical examination," Dr Tilshead went on, "and then prep her for her first session with me. I'd like you to attend the session, nurse."
"I'll get on it right away, doctor," the uniformed woman said, her enthusiasm obvious, "it'll be an honour to assist you in her… treatment."
Liz tried desperately to get through to them, shuffling forward on her knees, but they turned their backs and walked out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind them. Liz fell forward onto the cushioned floor and, for the first time, gave way to the hot tears welling up within her as panic finally took hold. Her best chance of release had just been removed - she had been completely wiped from the records, and she was certain that the same thing was happening at the other end of the trail, back in the prison where she would have, somehow, become a non-person.
She knew now that the only person she could rely on was herself. Somehow, she was going to have to escape without outside help, and she resolved that she would be ready to take any chance she was given. Once again, she fought back her despair and calmed herself, wanting to stay alert.
A few minutes later, the cell door opened again and two male orderlies entered, although to Liz they looked more like bouncers than medical staff, their biceps bulging in the short-sleeved white uniforms. They picked her up and took her out into the corridor, holding her down on a gurney and strapping her in place.
As they pushed her along the corridor, she looked around, taking in her first sight of the hospital. She noticed that all the windows they passed were filled with reinforced frosted glass, making it impossible to see any details outside, or for anyone outside to look in. Each window was heavily padlocked, and she could just see the outline of thick metal bars through the glass. Clearly, there would be no escape through that route.
They passed many cell doors similar to the one from which she had emerged, and she determined that the hospital must have the capacity to hold hundreds of patients, all in the same high security as herself. It was a frightening thought, as she contemplated how many others were here against their will and under false paperwork.
"Patient for Dr Tilshead." Liz saw one of the orderlies go over to a window at the side of the corridor where a guard was sitting in a cubicle. He handed over some paperwork, which the guard looked over before looking up at the restrained woman before him.
"Well, just for a change," he said with a leer, "good-looking young woman, no name, no details, just the way the good doctor likes ‘em. Poor bitch!" He pressed a button on the desk and, with a loud buzz, the security doors in front of them opened and they proceeded.
Things were different here. There were no doors and no windows, even the walls were painted a dull green rather than the bright white of the other part of the hospital. They passed through another security door at the end of the long corridor, although the guard at this one was a lot less loquacious.
Once through the door, they turned into a side room and came to a halt.
"Okay, get her onto the examination table." Liz looked over and saw the person who had spoken, a dark haired woman in a nurse’s uniform, but wearing a long rubberised apron, latex gloves, and with half her face covered by a surgical mask.
The orderlies removed the straps holding Liz down and lifted her, putting her feet on the ground. As she struggled to get free, they removed the straitjacket and the mask covering her face, then held her tight while the nurse came over with a pair of scissors and cut away the bra she was still wearing from the prison, leaving her naked. They forced her frantically struggling body down onto the examination table and, despite her strenuous efforts to prevent them, had no trouble strapping her down, placing leather belts around her wrists, arms, and across her chest and hips. Her feet were lifted into stirrups and her ankles and thighs strapped in place with her legs spread wide and held above her. Now she could only move her head and clasp and unclasp her fingers, nothing more. Remembering her earlier decision to stop wasting energy on futile struggling, she relaxed as best she could and watched the nurse warily.
The woman busied herself with gathering medical instruments, ignoring Liz altogether, so not seeing the look of growing fear on her face at the slowly filling tray of shiny metal. When she did finally turn to her ‘patient’, she started by unbuckling and removing the ballgag from her mouth. Liz had to exercise her aching jaw for a few moments before she could actually speak.
"You have to help me!" she pleaded urgently, "I shouldn't be here! I'm an undercover reporter, and Dr Tilshead is corrupt, and I've been falsely admitted, and… Please! Unstrap me and I can explain everything! What are you doing?!"
The nurse didn't speak, didn't react, and didn't look her in the eyes. Instead, she turned to the tray and picked up a metal device before turning back to Liz’s prone figure.
"You've got to listen to me!" Liz cried desperately, "this place is-"
Before she could continue, the nurse gripped her jaw painfully tight in one hand and, prizing her teeth apart a little, forced the device into her mouth with the other. Liz tried to open her mouth and spit the thing out, tried to shake her head from side to side, but the woman had a vice-like grip, and she calmly began making adjustments to the bracing device. Once she had tightened the screws which locked the brace to Liz’s teeth, she turned the ratchet on the side, forcing her jaws apart until Liz was sure her mouth could not open any wider.
Ignoring the whines and inarticulate cries just as she had ignored the earlier pleas, the nurse picked up a dental pick and began examining Liz’s teeth, poking and prodding between them and into the gum, making Liz squeal as the sharp point delved and scraped until she could taste blood in her mouth. She recorded the results of this examination on a clipboard, before using a wooden tongue depressor to examine the rest of the mouth, gradually moving it deeper until Liz began to gag on the stick. Still she didn't stop, she went further back until Liz felt her eyes streaming and she retched, a little bit of vomit coming up to the back of her throat. Unable to do anything else, she swallowed and then coughed and spluttered, her face turning red as she struggled for breath. Meanwhile, the nurse recorded her notes, uninterested in any problems the patient might be having.
The oral examination over, the nurse picked up a pen light and shone it into Liz’s left eye, then right eye, before checking in her ears. She then used a stethoscope to check her heart rate and her lungs, all the while updating her clipboard sheet. She applied a pressure cuff to Liz’s arm, having to work around the straps holding her down, and took her blood pressure.
These procedures had been uncomfortable yet fairly routine, but when Liz saw the nurse approaching with a hypodermic needle, she began to get very nervous. Without a moment's hesitation, the nurse jammed the needle into Liz’s arm, making her cry out at the sudden sharp pain then, after disconnecting the needle from the hypodermic, attached a tube to the end. Liz watched in consternation as her blood slowly filled the tube and ran into a plastic bag at the end. The same was done on her other forearm and she lay there as the two bags gradually filled. She realised that she was, basically, giving blood involuntarily, and at twice the normal rate!
As Liz watched her lifeblood leaking out of her, the nurse returned with an instrument that Liz didn't recognise, a handle with a long metal tube on it, ending in a sharp point. To her horror, she felt the cold metal parting her nether lips and being slid into her vagina. Again, she let out a cry of surprise and discomfort, but she was ignored. The device pushed into her until the sharp end of it pressed painfully against her cervix. As she looked down, she saw the nurse squeeze the handle, which was protruding vertically between her thighs, and the metal tube inside her began to expand.
She realised at that point that it was a speculum, an instrument used to perform an internal examination. The tube inside her had split into three, each part of which was now pressing against the wall of her vagina, causing her considerable discomfort, about which her inarticulate protests were, as before, being ignored. The nurse bent her head down between Liz’s thighs to look through the instrument and examine her, which seemed to involve poking the sharp ends of it into her tender flesh, and twisting it this way and that, even rotating it, all actions designed, Liz suspected, to cause her maximum unpleasantness and humiliation.
The nurse made a note of the results of her inspection, leaving the cruel instrument in place as she did so, disregarding Liz’s urgent complaints. She then disconnected the drips from her patient’s arms, placing the full bags into a cooler, before finally collapsing and withdrawing the speculum. Liz felt relieved, but became worried when the nurse started to jack her legs up in the air, raising her butt off the table. Now she felt the speculum thrust into her anus, forcing her sphincter wide open as it slid deep into her rectum. Liz cried out in real pain this time as the instrument opened up, stretching her to a point where she thought her skin might split.
She struggled and squirmed on the table, tears running from her eyes as she cried at the horrible intrusion. Again, the woman took her time, seeming to delight in the cries which came from the examination table. Finally, she withdrew it and put it back on the instrument tray, leaving Liz panting as she fought to come to terms with the pain now in both of her lower orifices.
Liz looked over at the uniformed woman, desperately hoping the torturous examination was now complete, but she saw her picking up another instrument, a metal wand about two feet long, the purpose of which was unclear. That is, until the woman held it by the rubber handle and pressed the button under her thumb. A blue light arced between the two short prongs at the end of the device, and Liz realised that it was meant to deliver an electric shock. Frantically, she began to pull the belts holding her down, shouting, trying to form words but being defeated by the dental clamp which still stretch her jaws painfully apart. She shook her head violently from side to side, trying to get her message across as the nurse brought the torture device closer to her.
Liz shied away as the woman jabbed the prongs into the side of her neck and pressed the button. She screamed as the electricity flowed through her, causing an agonising jolt to her nervous system and sending the muscles in her neck into spasm. She felt sweat breaking out on her forehead and underneath her arms as she clenched her hands into tight fists in an effort to try and cope with the extreme pain. She looked desperately at the woman doing this to her, hoping for some human contact, some mercy. But the woman never even looked into her eyes as she sought out another target.
She lifted the young woman's left breast and stuck the electrical prod underneath it before pressing the button once more and eliciting another howling scream. She repeated the exercise on her right breast, then stomach, before shocking her on the inner thigh, first left and then right. She struggled to keep the wicked smirk off her face as she pulled the woman's labia apart and placed the prongs either side of her clitoris.
Liz had never felt such pain before in her life. Her screams echoed off the walls of the examination room deafeningly, but attracting no sympathy from her torturer, and no help from outside the room. The electricity seared through her as if a knife had been plunged deep into her, through her sex but affecting every part of her body. The nurse kept the button depressed as long as she dared, only stopping because she feared that it would do permanent, visible damage. Dr Tilshead would not be happy with her if she harmed his latest toy - before he did, at least!
"She's ready to be dressed and taken to the doctor," she said into the intercom. A minute later, the two muscle-bound orderlies entered the room and unstrapped Liz from the table. They helped her, semiconscious, onto her feet, and had to hold her upright as the effects of both the torture and the blood-letting left her dizzy and weak-kneed.
As she gradually regained her senses, Liz realised that they were forcing her into another straitjacket, but this one was different. Rather than the standard tan, canvas one in which she had been brought here, this one was made of thick, black rubber and, with her arms wrapped around her and strapped down, the strange garment only reached down to her belly button, and also left her breasts totally exposed. From the bottom of the front of the jacket, two cables ran down between her thighs, either side of her sex, and fastened to the back of the restraint, having been pulled painfully tight.
As well as the jacket, they locked leather cuffs around her ankles, joined by a short hobble chain, and then pulled a leather hood over her head, the only openings being two small slits over her eyes. The nurse past her notes to one of the orderlies and then ignored her as she was hustled out of the room and down the corridor.
Liz tried to keep track of where they were taking her, hoping to build up a mental image of the hospital layout, but they took her down so many corridors and past so many doors that she soon lost track. All she could say was that she seemed to be still in the same wing of the building because the walls were still the sickly green colour.
Eventually, they took her through one of the doors and she found herself in a large, plush office. They pushed her down into an ornately carved wooden seat and restrained her with a single leather strap which went around her neck and was attached to the high back of the chair. The hood was removed and the orderlies then left, closing the door behind them.
Liz struggled briefly to try and free herself, encouraged by the fact that she was held down only by one restraint, but she quickly found that it was useless, just causing her to choke herself and rub the skin on her neck raw. Instead, she sat quietly and looked around the room.
She presumed that this was Dr Tilshead’s office, but the only remarkable thing about it was its size, with the desk, filing cabinets, bookcases and various cupboards looking lost in the vast space. There was expensive-looking artwork on the walls, all modern art rather than classical portraits or landscapes. It wasn't her taste, and she found some of it rather disturbing, looking like the abstract drawings someone might make of their nightmares. Thinking about that just brought her back to the nightmare she was currently living, which made her start to worry and panic again. She had to make a conscious effort to calm down and wait patiently for her opportunity.
Eventually, the office door opened and Dr Tilshead walked in, closing it behind him.
"Ah, Miss Brubaker, I'm glad to see that you have been suitably processed," he said, ambling over to stand in front of her and staring at her with a broad smile on his face. Liz watched his eyes roam over her exposed flesh in a slow, intimate way, making her feel like he had just violated her.
She took the opportunity to assess him in return. He was tall and thin, with lank, greasy black hair, round, steel rimmed glasses, a thin face with a sallow complexion, a long, sharp nose and thin lips. He wore a white coat, like many doctors, beneath which was a blue shirt with striped tie, black dress trousers and black shoes, well polished. He held a clipboard in one hand and shot a glance at it occasionally. He looked to be in his mid to late thirties. Liz wasn't sure if it was his physical looks or the power relationship which had been established between them, but he seemed to give off an evil, malevolent air which intimidated and frightened her.
He took a step forward and put his hand on her breast, fondling it as if he was assessing its size and softness rather than trying to provide himself or her with any kind of pleasure. Liz realised that it was just another demonstration of his power over her, and gritted her teeth, refusing to react.
"Take your filthy hands off me," Liz said firmly but calmly, keeping a lid on her disgust. The man’s smile broadened a little further, but he took his hand away and walked around behind the imposing desk, taking a seat in the leather swivel chair.
"I wanted to speak to you alone," he said, "before I ask the nurse to come in and we commence your treatment. I'm sure you have questions you wish to ask, and I want you to fully understand your situation here."
"Why don't you start by telling me what the hell is going on here, and what you intend to do with me," Liz spat at him aggressively.
"I think you probably have a good idea of what the answers to those questions are already," he replied, "but let me confirm your suspicions.
"My sister, Karen, has been running a very successful business out of the Correctional Institute for many years. However, she realised that that was threatened by the new governor and his investigations, so she got him out of the way and identified you as one of his spies. She requested my help in ‘dealing’ with you, and here you are. I should let you know that I am the only person here who knows your real name, I am the only one who will call you by that name, and you're the only one who will hear me call you by that name. As far as the rest of the staff is concerned, and according to the records, you are Patient 7153, Jane Doe, just another poor, unfortunate down-and-out with no family or friends, and severe psychological problems which will, almost certainly, keep you here for the rest of your natural life."
Liz felt the panic rising within her, not only at his words, but at the calm, almost icy, tone in which he delivered them. It scared her, like the time she had interviewed a serial killer on death row. Again, she had to make herself stay outwardly calm while she fought to control her racing heart.
"As for what I am going to do with you," he continued, steepling his fingers in front of him as he lay back in the chair and contemplated her, "the simple answer is ‘anything I like’. My sister told me I should kill you, but then I find she is rather crude in her methods. I think my solution is rather more elegant - you are not dead, you just never existed! However, don't let the simple fact that you are still alive give you false hope of rescue. The only way anyone could find out that you are here would be to get a confession from my sister and, as she would be confessing to conspiracy to murder, I find that rather unlikely.
"But let us assume that such a situation did occur. Anyone coming here would find no record of you, under your real or your assumed name, or of any patient arriving when you actually arrived, or of any patient matching your description. There is absolutely nothing to indicate that you have ever been here.
"But let us go further, let us assume that they ignore that and do a thorough, top-to-bottom search of this facility. They would find nothing because, as from now, you will not be occupying any recognised part of this hospital. I have some very special accommodations arranged for you, my dear."
He could see the effect he was having on her as, one by one, he closed off her imagined escape routes. He felt himself aroused by her barely-suppressed despair and the terror he could see bubbling just below the surface, even more aroused than he had been when he had first seen her semi-naked body. He was definitely going to enjoy this one…
"As for what I will actually do with you, let me reassure you that I have ruled out a few viable options. For example, I could maim and disable you if I wanted, cutting off your hands and feet, then, when you have healed and fully recovered, cut off your legs at the knee and arms at the elbow, and finally removing your arms and legs altogether, leaving just your delectable torso and beautiful face. I could do that, but I won't. Not because I'm squeamish, you understand, but because I would find you less attractive with every piece I hacked off.
"If I was worried that you might at some point in the future testify against me, I could cut out your tongue and put out your eyes. I could destroy your mind, turning you into nothing but a human vegetable. But I won't, because you will never get the opportunity to tell your story. And anyway, I want you to know what I am doing to you, to see what is happening to you, to be able to beg for mercy. And you will beg, my dear, have no doubts about it.
“You will live, but you will probably come to wish you hadn't. Your treatment here will be painful, very painful, and you will almost certainly find it degrading and humiliating."
Liz stared at him in horror, and a tear ran down her face as she contemplated what he had said.
"Why?" she croaked hoarsely, hardly able to speak around the lump in her throat, "why are you doing this to me? I've done nothing to you!" She thought about begging for her freedom, trying to strike a bargain with him, but she knew it would be useless.
"Why?" he repeated, "well, torture is a recognised way of achieving behaviour modification and attitudinal adjustment. You will learn to do whatever I want, no matter how disgusting you might find it, in a desperate attempt to receive some mercy in return. And you will learn to call me Master, not only because I demand it, but because you genuinely believe it, and want it to be so.
"I also have to admit that I am a sadist, and I can and do use my position of authority to satisfy my particular fetishes. Perhaps, over the coming years, we can discuss why I am a sadist, but I don't think that is a question for now. Now, I think we need to begin your treatment."