Jenny's Couch, Book 5 Chapter 27

In the small hours of the morning, a white van sped down a two-lane highway. The land was flat and the road was straight. There were nothing but fields, fallow in the late winter, to either side of the road. Occasionally in the distance there was a farmhouse or silo, harshly illuminated by security lights. The van was not new. Its engine rumbled and growled and the body bounced and jerked as too-worn springs failed to compensate for the poorly-maintained concrete.

The first hints of dawn were empurpling to the east when the van slowed as it approached an unmarked crossroads and turned left onto a gravel road. The road proceeded straight until the highway was lost in the distance. The van slowed again and turned onto a single-lane track, little more than two ruts, with signs warning "PRIVATE DRIVE" and "DEAD END - NO THRU TRAFFIC" and "NO TRESPASSING". A smaller sign, almost hidden behind the others, read "Calvary Youth Leadership Academy" in fancy script. The van drove slowly onward as the land sloped gently down until it was invisible from the turnoff. It stopped at a fence. It was a serious fence, ten foot high chainlink, with barbed wire strung between angled struts at the top. The struts angled inwards. It was a fence made for keeping in, not keeping out. There was a gate in the fence and in front of the gate was a pole topped by a camera, a keypad and a sign: OFFICIAL TRAFFIC ONLY - NO ENTRY EXCEPT BY APPOINTMENT. The driver's window rolled down and the driver reached out and punched numbers on the keypad. A red light on the camera came on, illuminating the front seat of the van. The driver was a large man, fat, not muscular, with an unkempt beard. In the passenger seat was another man, smaller, with ropy arm muscles and hands gnarled by arthritis. Both men wore white short-sleeved shirts. The driver wore a black stocking cap and was chewing on the butt of a cigar.

After a moment, the light on the camera went out and a motor groaned to life. The gate slowly rolled to the side. The driver waited until it had opened completely, then put the van in gear and slowly pulled through. Behind, the motor reversed and the gate slowly closed. The van followed the track to its end. It made a loop in front of what appeared to be an old farmhouse. It was small, one story plus an attic dormer. A covered porch stretched the width of the front with the roof sharply peaked above it. The house was old but well-maintained. There was fresh gray paint on the exterior and the roof looked new. The boards on the porch were even and well-sanded, painted a dark red that matched the front door. A neat sign next to the door read "Reception".

The driver grunted as he climbed down out of the van, and the passenger came around the front to join him. The grass was wet with dew and the air was cold. Their breath puffed out in clouds. The window in the van's sliding door was blacked out, in fact, all the windows except for the windshield and those in the front doors were blacked out. The driver pulled on the sliding door's handle and the door squealed as he pulled it open.

There were no seats in the back of the van. Instead, there were six heavy U-bolts welded to the floor in two rows of three. The center U in the front row had chains threaded to it. The chains were attached to a young woman, shackled at wrists and ankles, sitting on the cold floor. The chains were too short to allow her to lie down or to stand, even if the van had been tall enough. Her wrists were cuffed together beneath her bent knees. There was a canvas bag on her head, with a drawstring pulled snug around her neck. You could only tell she was female by the long, blonde hair that cascaded from the bag and over her shoulders. That, and she was naked.

Her head which had been resting on her knees jerked upright when the door opened. As they went about efficiently unhooking the chains from the U bolt, the driver leaned close to the prisoner and muttered, "Ok, kid, showtime." Neither man said another word. They released her chains from the U bolt but did not unshackle her. They half-lifted, half-dragged her out of the van and set her upright. She flinched when her bare feet hit the cold, wet grass. Gooseflesh erupted as she stood naked in the cold dawn. Her shackles wouldn't let her hug herself but she pressed her arms against her sides, trying to conserve warmth. The chains rattled softly as she shivered.

Standing, and illuminated by the security lights on poles to either side of the house, it was plain this was not a woman, but a young girl. She was small, barely five feet in height. Her breasts were full but small with no hint of sag and her nipples poked straight out, crinkled and stiff with the cold and anxiety. Her body was willowy with a slender waist and narrow hips. Her limbs were coltish. Her mons Venus was prominent, and completely hairless. Her slit showed very thin inner labia and at their apex an enlarged clitoris was prominent. It curled around itself and shone with moisture. There was a white flaky residue on her inner labia and vulva, and more dried streaks down the inside of both thighs.

As soon as the girl was set on her feet she tried to run. But she couldn't see where she was going and the chain connecting the shackles on her ankles was too short for even a full walking stride, never mind a run, so she took two staggering steps and fell over. Sighing, the two men hoisted her back to her feet. Her bare body was now wet with dew and she shivered more violently in the light breeze. Each man gripped her firmly by the upper arm. They frog-marched her to the house, taking no account of her leg shackles so she stumbled and was dragged as much as walked. When her bare toes caught on the two steps up to the porch she made the first sound since emerging from the van, a muffled cry of pain. They stopped in front of the door and the cigar-chewer pushed a button beneath the "Reception" sign. After a moment the door buzzed and he pushed it open.

Inside the house had been made into a single room appointed as an office. There was a heavy metal desk and rows of files in shelves. Harsh fluorescents glared down from industrial fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Behind the desk, sitting in an incongruously elaborate cushioned office chair, was a nondescript-looking man with a buzz cut. He wore black-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt buttoned up to the neck, black slacks, and scuffed black shoes. There was a large gold cross around his neck.

On the other side of the desk was a simple armless metal chair. It was bolted to the floor. The man behind the desk raised his eyebrows when the other two men brought the naked young girl into the office. They walked her to the metal chair and, without turning loose of her arms, used their other hands to press down on her shoulders until she collapsed to sit in the chair. Then they efficiently re-did her shackles, chaining both her ankles and wrists to the crosspiece between the front legs of the chair. The chains at her wrists were long enough to allow her to sit up straight but no more.

The man behind the chair spoke. "Why is she naked?"

The bigger man removed the stub of his cigar from his mouth and examined it for a moment, as if he might find the answer on it. "She was sleeping commando when we made the pickup at her house. We told her to get dressed but she refused. She said - what did she say, Charlie?"

The other man's voice was gravelly and lugubrious, like a walrus might sound clearing its throat. "She said, 'I'm a whore, and whores go naked.'" He shrugged. "Then she offered to fuck us if we'd let her go. Right in front of her parents." He shook his head mournfully.

The man behind the desk lowered his glasses and peered over the rims at the dried streaks and flakes covering the girl's crotch and thighs, and the red, irritated state of her slit and prominent clitoris. "And I see that you...did not let her go," he said with a significant pause. "Surely also not right in front of her parents."

The big man gave a single bark of mirthless laughter. "No, we did that in the van."

His partner smiled. "Twice."

The man behind the desk made a small "hmph". Well, let's see what we have." He opened a drawer and took out a clipboard. He nodded and Charlie removed the canvas bag from the girl's head. It revealed tangled blonde hair covering an oval face. It was a pretty face, with wide blue eyes, a snub nose, and a wide, full-lipped mouth. But right now the eyes, blinking in the sudden light, were red-rimmed and puffy and wide with fear. And a large ball gag was forced into her mouth and buckled around the back of her neck. Drool spilled over her lower lip and shone on her chin. The man behind the desk raised his eyebrows again.

The big man regarded his cigar solemnly. "After we...did not let her go, she became rather abusive. It was distracting." He stepped behind the girl and unbuckled the gag, then pulled it free of her mouth. The girl worked her jaw slowly, wincing in pain.

"Hello, young lady, my name is Pastor Fustein. Welcome to Calvary Academy."

The girl suddenly exploded into motion. She tried to stand, yanking her chains taut and made as if to leap at the man. She started to scream "Hel..." but at the first sound, Charlie rounded on her and slapped her face so hard that her head snapped back and she fell back in the chair with a rattle of metal. The girl wilted, trying to curl up in the chair as much as her chains would allow, and began to sob.

"This will go much easier if you'll only remain calm," Pastor Fustein said mildly. He regarded the clipboard. "Now...Karen. It says here that you were observed having intercourse in a public park not two blocks from your family home. With a man," he cleared his throat and read from the clipboard, "A man 'old enough to be your grandfather'. Let's see, you're thirteen - how old would that make the man?" he wondered. "Probably sixty, at least." He flipped a page. "When your parents confronted you about this behavior and searched your belongings, a large quantity of cash was found in your backpack, several hundred dollars I believe. And that's when you informed your parents that you were a prostitute, isn't that right?" Karen just sobbed, her head bent.

Pastor Fustein continued to read from the clipboard. "Karen confessed that her sexual appetites required her to have regular daily intercourse, and that she had been doing so for the past two years - my my, so a prostitute from age eleven, goodness me - and that she had no intention of stopping." He looked up from the clipboard. "And that's when your parents called us, Karen. They realized that they were not capable of dealing with such sinful behavior, so they called us. Here at the Leadership Academy we specialize in rescuing children like yourselves from the clutches of sin. You will stay here with us and with prayer, and penitence, and our gentle correction, we will return you to the ways of the Lord. No matter how long it takes."

He opened his desk drawer and took out another clipboard. "Now, this is our intake form. I'd like you to fill it out, and especially to sign at the bottom. That indicates that you're here of your own free will and that you consent to follow the rules and regulations that govern students here at the Academy. Once you have signed, we'll get you some proper clothing and see you to your room so you can rest and clean up. You've had a very tiring night, and morning prayers begin in just a couple of hours." He pushed the clipboard across the desk. He nodded to Charlie, who bent and uncuffed Karen's right wrist. Karen raised her tear-stained face and looked across the desk. Her shoulders slumped and every line of her body showed defeat, but her blue eyes snapped with hatred. She picked up the pen in her freed hand and flung it at Pastor Fustein's face. He batted it away with a quick, economical motion of his hand. "Oh dear," he said. "Failure to sign consent to our rules is a violation of our rules, punishable by confinement in isolation. You're certainly not getting off to a good start, Karen. Well, never mind. Tomorrow we'll start fresh." He turned his attention to the two men. "Gentlemen I know it's not your job but our night escort deacons are fully engaged working with some...recalcitrant students. Would you mind taking Karen back to the isolation wing? The deacons will meet you there. Thank you so much."

They unlocked Karen from the chair and this time made no pretense of walking her. They dragged the naked girl around the desk and to a door in the back of the office. When they opened it, the sound of someone crying and then something slapping against flesh could be heard faintly. The door shut solidly behind them. Pastor Fustein 'tsk'd' a couple of times, and went back to his paperwork.

The two men walked Karen, still shackled hand and foot, down three concrete steps and onto a gravel path. She winced as sharp rocks dug into the tender soles of her feet but the men took no notice of her unshod condition. She began to whimper from the pain. Her head swiveled back and forth as she stared wildly around. There was a fan of long, low rectangular buildings behind the house. In contrast to the house's cozy exterior these were featureless concrete, unadorned, with flat roofs of corrugated metal and very narrow slit windows. Each had a single entrance on the short side facing the house, with a sign on the walk in front of it, simple black text on white. One said, "Boys". The next, "Girls". Then a smaller building with normal-sized windows labeled "Administration". And finally, one that said "Isolation". It was towards that one that Karen was hustled along. The barbed wire-topped fence was visible in the middle distance, intermittently obscured by small groves of trees and clumps of brush. Low-pressure sodium floodlights on high poles lent the whole scene a ghastly orange cast. The grass looked black. As they approached the Isolation building the crying became louder and more distinct.

The cigar-chewer pushed a button below the sign that said "Isolation". In a moment there was a buzz and a click and the door opened a couple inches. He pulled it open further and the two of them hustled Karen inside. She looked over her shoulder through the door, eyes taking in every detail as if she were afraid she would never see the outside world again. The door swung solidly closed and there was a thunk as somewhere inside heavy bolts shot home.

"Well, what's this?" Karen's head whipped around. The two drivers held her facing a desk, behind which a large older man sat. He was dressed similarly to Pastor Fustein, white shirt, black pants, black shoes, though his white shirt was short-sleeved. He had the same heavy gold cross around his neck. He was older than her Dad by a considerable margin - his hair was just a gray fringe around a liver-spotted pate and his face was wrinkled and saggy, like a basset hound. His eyes weren't friendly like a basset hound's, though. They were small, deep-set, and beady and Karen quailed as they seemed to devour her naked body. For all his age, he was powerfully built with large arm muscles and thick veins snaking over them. The room was glaringly lit by the same fluorescents in industrial fixtures as in the reception office. The floor was bare, unpolished concrete, cold against her soles. Behind the desk was a short corridor lined with gray steel doors that ended in a blank wall.

"New student," grunted Charlie.

"Where's her clothes?"

"Didn't bring any. She goes naked. Says she's a whore. She refused to sign consent."

The old man smiled. It was not a friendly smile, and revealed several missing teeth. "Troublemaker, eh? I like troublemakers." He paused as one of the doors down the corridor behind him opened. The crying was suddenly louder. Two men, both dressed identically in white short-sleeve shirts and black slacks stepped out and closed the door. The crying cut off as the door slammed. "One second, I'll get the deacons," the old man said. He opened the center drawer of his desk and removed a ring of large, heavy keys and then heaved his bulk upright. He walked slowly down the corridor. When he reached the other two men he used a heavy brass key to lock the door they had come out of. Then all three moved back to where Karen stood shivering.

The old man spoke to the driver and his partner. "Let us just get the young lady settled and then I'll sign off on your paperwork."

"We're running behind already..." the cigar-chewer spoke.

"You can be witnesses." One of the deacons snickered. They, too, had the same heavy gold cross though in their case, worn outside a tshirt. Both were large and muscular, one bald, one with a shock of red hair.

"Boys, meet our new student. First time we've ever had a whore show up fresh. Usually we have to mint 'em ourselves. We'll put her in...let's see..." The old man squinted at a clipboard on the desk in front of him. "Number 2. Then she can be right close by in case she needs anything. Come on, then." The van drivers stood back as the deacons rounded the deck and took Karen in the same come-along grip, one heavy hand on her shoulder, the other around her upper arm, and she was hustled along behind the old man to the first door on the right. He selected the oversized brass key and unlocked the door. Karen was pushed into the room. She looked around with dismay. The room was a nearly featureless concrete box, about two by three meters. Light came from a buzzing fluorescent tube mounted at the juncture of wall and ceiling and encased in a heavy metal cage. It was much too bright for the small room. The room was absolutely bare: floor, walls, ceiling were all painted the same neutral gray. There was a raised concrete slab on the wall below the light fixture, maybe two feet wide and six long. In the opposite corner was a covered plastic bucket. There was a single window to one side of the far wall, barely three inches wide with recessed bars. It gave no light or air into the room. In the center of the ceiling was a single heavy hook of rusty metal. There were some stains on the concrete floor directly below it.

"Welcome to your new home, sweet stuff," the older man said. "Behave yourself, you'll move into the dorm in a couple of days. Why don't you boys unlock her and, uh, introduce her to her new situation? I'm just going to get her welcome kit." He turned and walked out, leaving the cell door open.

The red-haired deacon saw Karen eyeing the open doorway and the drivers just outside it. "Don't even think about it, kid." He grabbed her thin shoulders and spun her around so she was facing the opposite wall, then put his hand on the back of her neck and squeezed, hard enough to draw a squeak of protest. "You move and things won't go well for you." His partner turned to the cigar-chewer and made a "gimme" motion. The driver dug in his pocket and tossed over his own ring of keys. The deacon lowered himself smoothly to one knee and unlocked and removed the shackles from around Karen's ankles. He kicked the chains so they slid across the concrete and out the door. He got back to his feet and moved to stand in front of her. She held out her wrists, but he only spun the keyring around his index finger. "Naw, I think you look good with those bracelets on for now. Now, me and my friend are going to give you a chance to convince us to let you go." He smiled. Karen's eyes widened. Hope flared for a minute before she realized there was no chance. The man stepped aside and the grip on her neck tightened and pushed her. She staggered forward until she was being pressed against the wall. She raised her hands and turned her head to avoid her face being smashed into the concrete. It was rough, gritty and cold against her breasts and belly.

The bald deacon kicked the insides of her ankles, spreading her legs out. Karen whimpered as she felt the man's hand probing between her legs. He pinched her perineum, hard, and then she groaned as two fingers shoved their way between her inner labia and into her hole. "Damn," exclaimed. "She's all wet. I guess she really is a little whore." Karen heard the man's belt buckle jingle as he opened it, and then the sound of his pants dropping around his ankles.

"Nooo," she whispered. Tears began to leak from her eyes as he withdrew his fingers but then used them to stretch her labia apart. Something hot and blunt probed at her and then she groaned as he savagely shoved his cock home. Karen went up on tiptoes to keep it from banging painfully into her cervix. He put his hand against the side of her face, holding her pressed against the wall. "Oh, the little whore's crying," the other man jeered, and Karen opened her eyes to see nothing of compassion in his face. She grunted rhythmically as the first man began to thrust, each shove lifting her onto her toes. Her blue eyes were wide and unseeing as she tried to wish herself away, away to anywhere far from this hellish prison she found herself in. In the hall, a muscle jumped in the cigar-chewer's jaw and his hands clenched into fists. His partner scowled but remained otherwise impassive.

"Put her on the floor," Karen heard the red-haired deacon say and his partner obliged, stepping back from the wall and grabbing a handful of Karen's tangled blonde hair to yank her along with him. For a moment she dangled, suspended from her hair and his cock, flailing her legs helplessly, before the man pushed her forward. She fell to her hands and knees, groaning as his cock pulled free, abrading her already sore vagina. Before she had a chance to catch her breath both men were on their knees as well. As the one shoved himself brutally back into her cum-slippery cunt and grabbed her hips to start thrusting, her groan was cut off as the redhead stuffed his own thick, uncircumcised erection into her mouth. "Suck it, bitch," he said, winding her hair around his fist tight to her scalp and yanking her head forward. Karen choked.

The two men pushed Karen back and forth, penetrating her front and back. She squealed around her mouthful of grimy cock as the bald one probed at her anus with a callused thumb, pushing until her sphincter yielded. Her tears mingled with the drool forced out of her mouth as Redhead's cock plunged in and out. She coughed and gagged as it slapped wetly into the entrance to her throat. She felt the shaft expanding between her lips and prepared herself for another mouthful of hot, gooey semen. But the deacon yanked her head back and his penis popped out of her mouth just in time to fire the first shot right into her eye. Karen yowled at the sting as he whipped his cock back and forth, painting semen across her face and managing to get a good shot into her other eye as well. When he was done her face was covered. Her eyes were squinted shut, both her nostrils were clogged, and cum dripped off her cupid's bow into her mouth as she gasped for breath.

The redhead giggled in an incongruously shrill voice as he stood and did up his pants. Meanwhile his partner was rutting hard in Karen's sloppy quim. The concrete box echoed with the wet sounds of her penetration. Her arms trembled and she collapsed onto her shoulders. Her semen-covered face left gooey smears on the floor as Karen cried and blubbered incoherently. Over the loud squelching and the slapping of meaty thighs against her ass, Karen heard footsteps. She opened her eyes and saw the shoes and pantlegs of the older man in front of her face. He was holding some kind of stick, pointing down. It forked into two at the end, like an undersized slingshot. He pressed a button and with a snapping sound a spark jumped between the two forks at the end. Karen's eyes widened but before she could speak the man pressed the sparking stick between her bare shoulder blades. "OWW!" she cried and her body jerked.

"Wow, do that again," Karen's current rapist urged. "You should feel how that made her pussy clench up!"

The older man looked at him with some annoyance. "Now you just felt the lowest setting," he said calmly. He waved the stick and Karen cowered away from it but the hands holding her hips held her fast. As he spoke the man shocked Karen repeatedly all over her back. "This is...just a reminder...to make sure...you remember...your place."

With each touch Karen jumped, her body writhing on the cold concrete floor, crying out in pain. "Stop! Stop! It hurts! I'll be good!"

"You're fucking great!" the deacon cried as he suddenly buried his cock in the young girl to the hilt and grunted with each ejaculation into her already cum-drenched vagina. Karen sobbed with revulsion and humiliation as yet another load was emptied into her. After several moments the driver rocked back on his heels. His softening penis pulled out of the girl with an obscene slurp and she collapsed spread-eagle on the concrete as semen oozed out. She lay there crying, letting her tangled hair cover her face to hide her shame.

"Help me out here, will you? I'm not as young as I used to be." The older man stepped back and let the two deacons, with much grunting and complaining, lift Karen off the floor. She was limp, dead weight, too traumatized to move, much less resist. But then her arms were yanked upwards and she moaned as her shoulder joints protested. She tilted her head back to see that her chains were looped over the hook in the ceiling. Her toes barely brushed the floor. She twisted her head, trying to keep the older man in view as he swung the shock stick and walked slowly around her.

"Like I said, that was just a little tickle. Now, if you're seriously disobedient..." he thumbed another switch and the sparking got brighter and louder as he walked around to face Karen as she dangled. He held the stick up just inches from her face. Her eyes were wild as she tracked the jumping electricity. Without warning the man swung the stick down, jamming it directly against Karen's soaked and swollen clitoris.

"AAAAIIIIEEEE!" Karen screamed as her body convulsed in agony. Her teeth clacked together as every muscle seized and froze from the current slicing through her body. She screamed until the breath left her, then dangled, head drooping, coughing and crying. Blood started to drip from beneath the snarled mess her long blonde hair had become. She had bitten her tongue.

After a moment Karen was able to raise her head, slowly, as if it were too heavy for her. Her blue eyes, swimming in tears, were wild and desperate as she looked at the old man's malicious grin. "Please," she breathed through her sobs. "Please, I'll be good, I'll do anything..."

"Yes, you will," the man said, and shoved the shock stick into her clit again. Karen's ragged scream echoed in the room. The man stepped aside as a stream of urine arced from her slit and splashed noisily onto the concrete floor. He watched dispassionately as her spasming body caused the piss to spray wildly until the stream weakened and it dribbled down her legs to puddle around her toes. He waited until she went limp again, then turned to the other man who was watching impassively. "That's enough for now. I have to get all the paperwork filled out for these gentlemen. Get her down, will you, and get those chains off her?"

Karen collapsed onto the puddle of her urine on the cold concrete, shivering and crying and begging incoherently. The older man set down a roll of cheap brown toilet paper he'd been holding on the lid of the plastic bucket. He nudged Karen in the side with the toe of his boot. "You're expected to keep your room clean. I'll be back in a while to inspect it and IF you've done a good job, I'll bring you some breakfast. Otherwise..." He swung the stick negligently past her face, making her flinch and slide her face through the cooling piss. The three men trooped out. The door slid closed with a bang and the sound of the lock shooting home.

Karen lay naked on the floor, sobbing. After several minutes she rolled over and painfully raised herself to a sitting position. With two fingers she carefully explored her crotch, pressing her hand against her violated opening. She cried harder as she examined the fresh burn marks on her clitoris, wincing as her fingers touched the seared flesh. Then, slowly, still sobbing, she crawled to the bucket and began using the stiff, unabsorbent toilet paper to try to sop up the puddle of urine. When she had done the best she could, she crawled to the far corner of the cell, under the window slit, pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them and dropped her head. Her thin shoulders still heaved as the cried silently. She stayed like that for some time until a noise caused her to raise her head. It sounded like "Psst", but only if the speaker had a mouth full of gravel...or four chrome tusks. "Pshsh!" It came again.

Karen shifted to put a hand on the bottom of the window slit and painfully pulled herself up to a kneeling position, wincing as the cold, gritty concrete dug into her bare knees. She looked out between the heavy bars, seeing nothing but a patch of slowly lightening sky. "L...Lilah?"

There was silence for a moment. Then a wet, sibilant whisper came from outside the window. "Theven dayth."

Karen gulped. "Seven? Oh no. I can't..."

"Theven dayth," the whisper repeated. "Keep your eyth open. Count the deaconth. Watch for shift change. Anything elth you thee. And find the girl."

"Please, Lilah..."

"You wanted thith," and there was the faintest sound of bare feet pattering across wet grass, quickly fading to nothing.

Karen fell back and curled up again, pressing herself into the corner, feeling the cold concrete suck the heat out of her naked body. The buzz of the fluorescent light covered up her quiet sobs.

The sun was breaking the horizon when the white van turned back onto the two-lane highway. It headed back the way it had come. After a few minutes it pulled off onto the shoulder behind an extended cab pickup. The van driver got out and walked to the driver's side of the truck. The truck bed was loaded with what looked like camping equipment. The window rolled down. "Any problems, Professor?"

The driver scowled around his cigar. "Don't call me that. I don't deserve it any more." He looked past the driver. On the bench seat next to him were a young girl's clothes: jeans, a pretty blouse with beadwork, running shoes, footy socks, pale lavender panties, all nicely folded. There was another girl, younger than Karen, elementary aged, sitting in the back seat, watching anxiously.

"You did the work, as far as I'm concerned you earned the title. But whatever. Any problems?" he repeated.

"No," said the van driver. "We dropped Lilah before we got to the fence, and left the sack in the tall weeds. She just disappeared. The way that kid can move is spooky." He looked troubled. "We...we did what she wanted. Karen...it was difficult."

"Lilah didn't tell her what to expect. We couldn't risk her reaction tipping them off."

"Poor kid."

"No, she needs this. That's as much the reason as the rest of it. You did right." A hand emerged from the truck and passed over a folded stack of bills. "When we get your daughter out, we'll call."