Wood crunched as Sam slammed the IV pole against the wooden frame like a hoe. She stood with legs apart and had raised the stand high above her head. Again she let the five-stride pedestal crash against the frame. Her shoulder joints ached from the recoil. She thought of the missing children and spoke each of them with one of her names.

The names gave her strength and endurance. Again and again she drove the metal against the frame. Her stamina was rewarded. Sam punched an oval hole in the wood. She dropped the stand clattering and peered with one eye through the opening. Too dark, she could not see anything. Sam tried to use his fingers to enlarge the hole, but only painfully pulled some splinters into the sensitive skin under the nails.

She hurried to the mess on the floor and looked frantically from one object to another. Sam grabbed a pair of pliers and the rope of her ankle cuffs. She tied the rope around the center of the forceps and slid it through the hole in the frame, looping the rope around her hand and pulling it over her left shoulder. Sam turned his back to the door, braced himself against the resistance and pulled. The even pulling did not do anything. Sam took a step back and threw himself forward with a jerk. Satisfied, she heard wood splintering and stumbled two steps forward.

She hurried to the door. With trembling fingers she stroked the gap. Broad enough to use the IV pole as a lever. Sam started the hard work. Forcing her way, she pushed away piece by piece of the wooden frame and released the lock. She was bathed in sweat and her tongue stuck to the palate. What would she give for a drink of water? She dared not drink from the bottles of water that stood in Summersby's basement.

Who knew with what additives this pig poisoned it.

After half an eternity Sam had finally freed the lock. With her eyes closed, she put her belt around the liberated piece of wood in which the door lock was embedded, praying that there would not be any additional safety bolts in the frame. She moved in jerky movements and ... the door moved inch by inch across the floor.

Sam peered through the narrow gap. Another room opened in front of her, but through the darkness she could see almost nothing. Sam opened the door enough for her to squeeze through. Next to the door, she felt a light switch and pressed it.

The neon lights flared brightly on the ceiling and hummed evenly. Sam blinked and was disappointed. She stood in another, much smaller room. To the left of her the only item. Sam approached curiously. A waist-high stainless steel tub filled up to ? with milky fluid rested against the wall. There was a biting stench from the tub. To the right of it hung a thick black cable from the ceiling, which ended in a rectangular black box with a red and a green button.

Sam stared into the milky liquid. As if in a trance, she grabbed the black box and pressed the green button. The surface of the liquid beat gentle waves. Sam noticed the soft hum of an engine. Struggling, she continued to stare into the opaque contents of the tub. Something rose from within and slowly approached the surface.

Sam was suddenly no longer sure if she wanted to see what would penetrate the milky liquid at any moment and become visible. Fervorily, she kept pressing the green button. "Pull yourself together." It was her clients, the missing children and Jessica guilty. A dark shadow appeared just below the surface.

Sam was sitting alone at the last table in the dining room, poking listlessly in an indefinable pudding lamp. The usual sounds of rattling dishes, the soft whispering of the rough fabric of prison clothing as the men and women moved, and the muffled murmur of the uniformed men made a lethargic noise. 'There is only a lack of elevator music and the deceptive idyll is perfect,' Sam thought.

Her conversation with her new 'friend' had been over five days now. Normally, Lapuente used the peacemaker night for Friday so the prisoners would rest for the weekend when the number of watchdogs was reduced by a third. In addition, it was a running gag among the women that the guards had chosen this day so that the gentlemen - appropriately stimulated - could make their senoritas happy on the weekend.

Sam remembered well, at the crowded gallery, and she tasted burning stomach acid as she thought of the pillar-leaning Brutus, who had been at her housewarming party. Today was Friday and Sam guessed that she had to take a fundamental step toward her plan that night. In the past few days she had been listening attentively to the conversations of the other women, anxiously discussing how soon guards might come up with their own guardian nights.

Sam deliberately distinguished herself from her fellow sufferers. If it was up to Sam's will, guard nights could take place in the foreseeable future. After all, they were part of their plan. Some idiot guard would be so impressed by their physical assets that she could abuse him as a puppet and leave this fucking place.

This was one of the reasons why Sam was anxious not to make contact with the other women. Despite her doggedness, she had a guilty conscience. After all, because of Sam's plan, they probably had to endure even more humiliation than before. If everything went as Sam imagined.