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Shit. He thought as he quickly slid out of Trish and leapt off the bed. The woman had already disappeared by the time he looked back at the door. Trish sat up and smiled, pushing her hair out of her face. “That was fantastic. We’ve got to get together again sometime.” Then she passed out on the bed, bare, legs spread, with a stream of semen leaking out her slit. Garret blinked, and quickly redressed, exiting as fast as possible. He hadn’t even been there fifteen minutes. Blargh, he thought. That was a waste of time. He suddenly wanted to splash some cold water on his face. So he tried the first door next to Trish’s bedroom. A linen closet. The next was a study. And then in third he cracked open, the one he was confident would be a bathroom- was the girl, sitting on her bed, a Macbook open on her lap. She glanced up, eyebrows raised, her face illuminated by the light of the computer. “ Oh hello. Were you looking for something?” She asked softly. He realized this was the first time he. For that was exactly the kind of facility Hadamar had become, yes, certainly a home for the criminally insane! But the real deviants weren’t the patients, the real monsters were the care givers! A visit to Hadamar, even by the most casual observer, would have revealed an institution so fundamentally different in the way it conducted its daily operations, so despicable in its standard patient care, so diseased in the way medical treatment was administered, that it would induce such profound revulsion as to be nauseatingly sickening to even the stoutest of hearts. Tragically, on the fifth floor of this modern Tartarus, this Twenty-first Century Gahanna, a pretty protagonist lay in despondent half sleep feebly twisting and turning in deliberately over tightened straps and maliciously fitted undersized garments. Had she committed some terrible misdeed, performed some awful crime? No, poor Sorrel’s only crimes had been her innocent determination to do her very best, to avoid senseless.
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