dtka66
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- Apr 3, 2005
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Caution: The following content - a pure work of fiction - may contain elements that are not suitable for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised!
Download the PDF version here: https://mega.nz/file/r54znKoC#urcp2zxBN1hTu147zbq_kcTkXbGwoYSeErphFkYpCPY
PENITENTIUM (The Last Days)
by dtka66
BACK IN THE LATE EIGHTIES, the Department of Justice cooked up a brand-new way to handle criminal ladies. They rolled out the Federal Bureau of Foot Tickle Prisons—a revolution in women’s corrections with one simple twist: tickling their bare feet! Up in the Northwest, the Ava Roi Podiatry Center was gaining a reputation. Other joints would follow. But for St. Teresa Corrections Center for Women… it was a different story.
“Ms. Taylor, your qualifications meet our requirements comprehensively and—”
“Again, just Beverly’s fine! Good. I’m glad to hear that, Mrs. Davenport.”
“Yes, sorry! Beverly! So, I have to say our interview is concluded. However... if you have a few moments? My personal curiosity is piqued!”
“Go ahead.”
“What really happened in St. Teresa’s last days? From your perspective, of course.”
“Whoof! That’s a whole lotta jawin’. Ain’t ya got other folks waitin’?”
“Don’t worry! My schedule is clear. Consider this entirely off the record. I’m aware you were exonerated of any charge. And you were senior staff there. So, are you comfortable revisiting... that situation?”
“Cleared don’t mean clean, y’know? It sticks to ya! Alright. Fine. Where do I just start this damn thing…”
It was about 9 a.m. Three souls in different situations, were in a neglected office within St. Teresa Corrections Center for Women. Two prison guards in the middle of a job interview, while one chick in orange faced the wall, her bare feet planted on an iron sadhu board-like studded with copper spikes.
Officer Beverly Taylor, a seasoned guard who’d seen the worst those walls could offer, sat at a scarred desk. Solidly built woman. Ebony-skinned. Her chief’s cap pulled low over a cropped Afro. She sipped black coffee, eyes locked on a file. No room for games on her face.
Across the desk, Melissa. A rookie blondie guard in a crisp navy-blue uniform. Her blunt-cut fringe and pulled back braided updo created a rather angel appearance. And her stiff-backed seating made sure how disciplined she was.
Her hands twitched in her lap. Her eyes kept drifting around. First to the file in Beverly’s hands, then to the inmate’s barefoot. Her soles agonizingly pressed into the punishment device. A dark fascination flickered on her face.
“So, Melissa…” Beverly’s voice brought the rookie out of her sadistic moment.
“Y-Yes? Officer Beverly?”
The veteran guard took another sip of coffee and finally looked Melissa in the eyes.
“Ya been here, what? Two, three days?”
Melissa nodded, replying quickly. “Yes, ma’am. Three days as a trainee.”
“Three days! Think that’s long enough to get a read on things?”
Melissa swallowed hard, her Adam’s apple bobbing. “I-I believe so, Officer Beverly. Even because—”
“‘Believe’, huh! That’s one way to put it.” Officer Beverly leaned in. “So, humor an old head. A fresh face like you… Plenty of other gigs to slap that badge on. What brings ya to St. Teresa’s?”
Melissa’s fingers knotted together. Her eyes darted to the inmate’s suffering one more time—a fucking perverted look.
“I believe in... justice. I wanna make a difference!”
“That’s why ya kept eyeballin’ those spike-kissed soles with that hungry look?”
Melissa’s cheeks flushed, but she lifted her chin. “She’s serving her penance. I believe in Warden Kamuz’s righteous methods. My family and I are devoted to The Lord and The Holy Plantae.”
Officer Beverly was silent, studying Melissa for a while. The tremble in her hands, the fervor in her eyes. She knew the rookie was another zealot.
“I see…” Beverly tapped the file. “Daddy’s tight with Warden Kamuz, ain’t he? So tell me somethin’… How far ya willin’ to go to ‘straighten out’ these women?”
Before Melissa could answer, a muffled groan of pain cut her off, coming from the trembling inmate. The copper spikes bit into her soles, digging deep with each second. Melissa mirrored the inmate’s agony, curling her own toes, safe and sweaty inside her polished boots and black socks.
“Got a problem, prisoner? ‘Cause this buddy you’re steppin’ on and that outlet are real tight!” Beverly’s voice was straight, a clear warning.
The chick in orange pressed her forehead to the wall. “N-No, p-please Officer Beverly… argh! D-Don’t! I-I’m just… j-just prayin’…”
“Good!” Beverly looked again into Melissa’s eyes. “Ya ain’t met the Warden yet, but you gotta’ve heard somethin’—stories don’t come outta nowhere, right?”
“Ahem, well, Officer Beverly, I’m only asking for an opportunity. After these few days here… I’ve realized this is my calling and—”
‘KNOCK! KNOCK!’
The door’s stippolyte glass shook under two sharp knocks. Officer Donna, a strong, fire-haired woman, opened the door and glared at them with a wrought-up expression.
“Hey ya! Warden Kamuz is here. Brought a fresh one. C’mon! Let’s move!”
“Alright, Melissa! I mean, Officer Melissa!” Beverly tossed the rookie a set of keys. “We’re stretched thin! So, welcome aboard! Take this one to her cage, then get your butt to the big hall. Don’t keep the Warden waitin’!”
“Yes, ma’am! And thank you! You won’t regret this, I swear!” Melissa all but dragged the limping inmate outta the office.
Beverly and Donna exchanged a look. The silent verdict of two veterans who’ve seen too many Melissas come and go.
Melissa’s bootsteps echoed as she bolted down the ramp from the upper-tier cell block of St. Teresa’s. She caught up with Officers Beverly and Donna. Her breath hitched. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. She was about to meet the Warden in person.
The entrance of the prison was meticulously designed to appear like a church, causing new intakes felt they were stepping onto their very own 'pearly gates'.
At the far end of the long hallway, another female guard stood stiff beside an open cell door. And then—the voice!
Deep. Calm. A baritone that seemed to vibrate through the very walls, soothing as a sermon, precise as a commanding priest.
“I would never permit a mother to be treated in such a manner! Not under the eyes of The Lord. Not if I possess the sacred authority to act otherwise!”
The guard stepped aside. And there he was.
Warden-Father Kamuz filled the doorway with his towering frame, dominating the space with ease. His all-black suit drank in the flickering overhead light. Around his neck, a white tippet embroidered with golden equal-armed crosses gleamed with quiet authority—a figure that made people kneel.
His face, shadowed beneath the wide brim of his saturno hat, was a portrait of serene control. Only his mouth was visible, curled in a smile that was equal parts beatific and chilling. His large hands rested gently on the shoulders of the new inmate beside him. On his fingers, ecclesiastical rings glinted like tiny crowns.
The new inmate was slight, no older than twenty-two. Her orange jumpsuit hung loose on her thin frame. Her mousy-brown hair was tied in a messy ponytail, strands falling in a face drained from exhaustion. Her hands weren’t cuffed, but clasped together in front of her, like in prayer.
“Thank you so much for helpin’ me, Father Kamuz!”
“I am merely an instrument, my child. It is The Lord who offers forgiveness. I simply… facilitate that process. Because of your decision, The Lord shall bestow His grace upon thee. I believe the unfolding of your life history has been brought before me is part of The Lord’s design. And kindness knows no hatred.”
From across the hallway, Melissa, lingering behind Officer Beverly, couldn’t tear her eyes away, fascinated by the figure of Warden Kamuz. She leaned closer to the older guard and whispered. “The fish… Who is she?”
“A junkie mother,” Beverly muttered back. “Busted tryin’ to hand her baby to some queen couple in Europe. No cash involved. Claimed she just wanna give the baby a better life. Kamuz pulled strings to get her transferred here.”
The rookie nodded, then noticed the woman walking a step behind the Warden.
Sexy black lady in a tailored gray suit, black heels, her bob-cut hair sharp enough to draw blood. She moved like a predator. Calculated and dangerous.
“Is she his counselor? She looks my age!” Melissa whispered louder.
“Shh! Yep. That’s Kamuz’s shadow. See her lookin’ at ya? Walk the other way!”
The Warden was still talking to the new inmate. Hypnotic divine voice, calmy pace.
“You desired a better life for your son, did you not?”
The woman nodded frantically, tears welling. “Y-Yes, Father! I-I wasn’t in my right mind. The dope… the cravin’... desperation… I… I…”
“A mother corrupted by evil. Tsk, tsk, tsk. But here you will be illuminated. Purified! Made whole again! I am pleased with ‘your choice’, my child. To be forgotten in a dark cell amongst sinners would not aid you!”
“No, it wouldn’t!” The inmate’s tearful eyes looked at Kamuz’s figure as if he were salvation itself. He guided her forward, like an angel leading a soul to final judgment.
As they passed the three guards, Warden Kamuz gave them a gentle and benevolent nod. His counselor, however, moved through the guards like a serpent, a venomous aura followed her.
The group walked along a sloped downward corridor, headed toward another wing. In the far distance, the prison’s chapel entrance. A faint gospel tune floated in the air, sweet and inviting, making the new inmate start thinking back over her past.
“My ‘rents were right. Should’ve listened… Should’ve gone to church more... Wouldn’t’ve pulled such bonehead moves… but I’ll do good here. I will!”
She pictured herself among the other inmates, wondering if they’d welcome her. She realized she didn’t even know how to pray, but her heart was full of hope.
“Father Kamuz? You really think… I can be accepted and… forgiven?”
The Warden smiled. “Forgiveness is not the end. It is the beginning. Come forth. The first steps as a servant of The Lord await thy feet!”
He gestured to a corridor descending even deeper. A stuffy warm air wafted from below. The woman hesitated.
“I thought we were gonna pray in the chapel… meet the others… begin my—”
“Do not rush The Lord’s benevolence, my child!”
The Warden’s grip tightened slightly on her shoulder. The mother’s hands stayed in prayer pose, but the brightness in her eyes faded.
Then—The Black Doors!
Ancient. Massive. Twice the height of Warden Kamuz. Their heavy wood surfaces glistened with golden sigils and angels painted weeping tears of light, among what seemed human foot soles.
And etched in blood-red capitals—PENITENTIUM.
Two guards stood at the threshold, dressed head to toe in black robes. Their faces were concealed by white leather lamb masks. One wore a laughing expression, the other, a crying one.
“The Lord not only bestows infinite mercy upon the earth, but also renders fair judgment to humankind!”
Warden Kamuz gave a solemn sign and the masked guards pushed the doors open.
The second they began to open it, the group was struck by a wave of desperate human noises—screams, laughter, groans! Followed by the blast of heat with strong smell of... feet and pee!
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!NOOOAHAHAH!!!ARGHHH!!!AHHHAHHGAHAAA!!!”
When the black doors were fully opened, a vast dimly lit sub-basement was revealed, rebuilt into a modern version of an Inquisition dungeon. Every inch of the underground place were designed for one purpose—Foot Torture!
Scattered around the place, female inmates were strapped into medieval-like contraptions. Their bare feet—some healthy and smooth; some bruised and dirty—twitched like crazy birds in iron traps.
Figures in black robes and lamb masks circled the prisoners, two or three per woman, each performing a punishment like a sacred rite. Most of the inmates wore standard orange uniforms. Others were stripped from the waist up, their naked torsos subjected to additional torments.
Tickling was the predominant method, but not the only. Some foot soles were being whipped, caned, lashed, roasted, burned, scribbled, scrubbed, electrocuted. Others were left coated in itchy powder, hot oil or cold water.
Of those who had accompanied Warden Kamuz, only his counselor wore a smirk. Officers Beverly and Donna were with stone-faces, very used to the scene. Melissa stood transfixed, lips parted, a dark fascination flickering behind her eyes.
And the poor inmate… utterly petrified!
She stumbled backward, colliding with the imposing body of Warden Kamuz. His hands closed around her shoulders in an inescapable grab.
“Illumination requires surrender, my child. Will you not trust in The Lord’s plan?”
The inmate froze, her lips trembling. “I… I…”
“Your love and bravery in attempting to save your own son are commendable. However, a sin will always be a sin! And now the time for thy soul be truly judged according to The Lord’s will has come!”
The poor woman’s eyes glazed with panic. Her mouth twitched open. Her teeth chattered. Two black-robed figures emerged by the flanks and held her arms.
“Fear not, for The Lord walks beside thee! Entrust your soul to my ‘Hands’. There is no boundary to probation!” Warden Kamuz spoke loud, raising his arms.
The new inmate didn’t make any noise as they dragged her away. She was completely dulled inside, leaving a trace of pee on the floor.
As the torturers took her away, Kamuz meandered down the central aisle of the Penitentium, as if he was out for a casual stroll.
Inmates buzzed as he passed. Most of them begged for mercy. Others still spat curses, thrashing with rage. And some were too ‘busy’, their minds dissolving under relentless foot punishments.
The Warden admired each of them in their own penances, paying particular attention to those already showing ‘gratitude’.
A dark-haired inmate with sharp Latina features, had just been strapped to a raised chair. Her legs were elevated at her head height, soles bare and helpless, toes held by cold iron rings. Her trapped trembling feet looked velvety-soft, flushed pink skin.
“F-Father! P-Please! Please punish my soles! I-I beg you! Punish my soles!”
“My ‘Hands’ shall guide you with the appropriate penance, my child!”
“N-No Father! It must be you! In my dream was you that—mphMPHM MHPHHH!!!”
A thick leather gag silenced her, while sharp strokes rang out as wooden paddles slammed into her tender soles. Her muffled shrieks blurred into the rhythm of the bastinado.
‘SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!’
Warden Kamuz moved on, passing beneath two inmates dangling from chains. Naked torsos exposed, legs twitching. Their armpits, sides, and bellies were relentlessly tickled by black-hooded tormentors and their long sharpy nails. Down below, their bare feet were dipped in a basin of bubbling goo that nipped against their nerves.
“STOOOOPPP!!! NOOOHOHAHAAHHH I CAAAAAN’T STAAHAHAHA!!”
Another inmate, a very pale shave-haired woman, tried to draw Kamuz’s attention.
“F-F-F-a-a-t-h-e-r K-K-a-a-m-u-z-z-z... p-p-l-EEIIIK!!!”
The Warden barely looked at the inmate tiptoed over an electrified copper plate. Shackled toe-to-ankle, hands cuffed behind her back, chained to the ceiling above. She whimpered, desperate to speak, to reach him. But a hooded figure beside her decided to turn up the voltage level and sparks danced under her toes!
‘BZZZZ BZZZ BZZ BZZZZZZZZ!’
Another inmate noticed Kamuz’s presence nearby. She was suspended upside down by her ankles, blindfolded, straightjacketed. A steel bar bent her toes back cruelly, stretching her soles taut at the top. They had been written on, line after line of scripture in tiny handwriting. Every inch of her soles were covered by ink.
“F-Father Kamuz, I-I’ve memorized the third chapter of the Holy Book. Wish hear it?”
“Of course, my child.”
“T-There are five signs which will accompany those who believe…”
While the inmate blindly recited the chapter, Kamuz stepped onto a platform to examine her soles. Sat on the contraption stand, a figure in black, holding a very sharp metallic pen, had an excellent view of the woman’s taut scribbled soles.
The Warden leaned close. “Proceed with the fourth chapter.”
The torturer nodded, readied a brush with stiff bristles and dipped it in a basin of soapy lye.
“...and the true light that gives the sign to everyone was coming intoOOOHHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!”
Father Kamuz smiled by the foot scrubbing sound, stepping out of the contraption, while the upside down woman still tried to recite the chapter.
“...AAND AAHAHHAA THOOOHOOSE WHOOOOAHAHAHA!!!”
Finally, the Warden approached the mother. She had been strapped into an iron apparatus. Hands cuffed, ankles locked down, toes clamped apart. One of the black-robed tormentors reached into a brazier, retrieving a glowing stone with a tong. With care, the stone was pressed to her fresh bare soles.
“AARGGGGHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHHMYFEEEEET!!!”
The new inmate screamed as she felt her feet being burned. But the stone soon crumbled across the skin, releasing a hellish unbearable itching. She began to convulse in her bounds, her cries lurching into madness.
Kamuz observed her in silence, consented. One of the figures offered him the woman’s discarded and still warm orange slip-on shoes. The Warden nodded and took them, admiring the footwear like relics, and walked to the Penitentium’s entrance.
“Would you kindly place these in the incinerator?”
He handed the shoes to Officer Melissa, whose pupils dilated at the contact with the shoes. Her fingers curled tightly around them.
As Kamuz strode toward the exit, his counselor followed. Then Officers Beverly and Donna. Melissa remained.
She stood there a few seconds more, staring into the place. A flicker of ecstasy twisted her mind. And in her eyes—a fucking perverted look!
Moments later, Warden Kamuz and the counselor stepped into his office on the last floor of St. Teresa’s staff-only wing.
Inside stood the Warden’s secretary. A pale man, no older than thirty, facing the sunlight spilling through the high window. He was barefoot, standing on corn kernels scattered across the floor. His fisherman sandals lay neatly aside.
His fragile frame had a tired face. Bowl-cut blonde hair and feminine features gave him an androgynous look. So did his size nine feet. Narrow and delicate. His hands were clasped in front of him like he was awaiting judgment.
“Still having those nightmares, Raymond?”
“Unfortunately yes, Father Kamuz. They won’t go away. I think… I need illumination down there in the Penitentium. Feels like I’ve got unfinished business with The Lord.”
“That place is not meant for a soul as upright as yours. But fret not. I will come tend to you later today.”
“Thank you, Father Kamuz. I’ve been needing it.”
“Fair enough.” The Warden watched quietly as the secretary knelt to slip his shoes back on. “Any messages, Raymond?”
“Oh, yes. The Golden Knights of Holy Plantae have dispatched a new shipment of punishment equipment. And… the folks at DOC. They keep calling. They’re pushing to send another inspector. Real persistent.”
“Yes, I am aware. Sinners!” Kamuz nearly lost his composure. “Well, Raymond. Go have your lunch. I have important business to deal with now.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be praying instead. Excuse me.” Raymond picked up a can of raw corn kernels and left the office. Kamuz waved his counselor to sit.
“Ms. Beaumont, I appreciate your efforts in bringing another lost soul to my care. But I suspect you are here for something weightier.”
“Yes, Warden Kamuz. It’s always a... spiritual experience visiting the Penitentium, but as Raymond said, there’s a new inspector coming. This one’s the real deal. Prim-and-proper type. I’m afraid I won’t be able to massage the reports this time around.”
“I walk with The Lord, and with you, Ms. Beaumont, as one of my spears of law. So tell me, why should I care about this new inspector?”
“She’s rigid. No cracks in her armor. Whoever sent her picked her very carefully. Your enemies probably figured it’s time. After all these years of you outsmarting them... they’re not playing games anymore.”
“‘Outsmarting’ others is a sin, Ms. Beaumont. What I have been trying to do is maintain a single sacred place that truly judges and illuminates the unholy ones.”
Kamuz lowered his head solemnly, adjusted his clerical saturn hat, then slowly straightened with a calm smile. Zara, despite her young looks, knew that smile. It wasn’t joy. It was calculation. But despite knowing the game very well, this time things looked very bad.
“Look, Warden. My hands are tied this time.”
“You have given so much to St. Teresa already. Why abandon your father during this critical time?”
“I’m not. I’m just telling you. I can’t legally cover for you if this new inspector finds it. My only advice is… if you’ve got a sheep to sacrifice… now’s the time to use it!”
“A sheep to sacrifice…” Kamuz said with a distant voice.
He turned his chair toward the window. The endless Kansas flatland beyond always seemed to help him think.
Zara stared at his back. Kamuz was whispering something under his breath. Not to her, not even to himself. But to someone else. His head tilted slightly, as if listening, then turned a fraction, like he was responding to murmurs only he could hear.
“... aye... sinners... thy soles upon which their heresy treads... they must be purified through due penance... a testament to The Lord’s unwavering judgment…”
The counselor took a breath, a quiet one. She didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. She just stood there in the stillness, letting him know she was still on his side.
“Ahem, fa— Warden. I’ll make some calls. See if I can move a few meetings around, maybe stall her arrival. We’ll come up with something for her. Okay?”
Kamuz didn’t react. His whispering quickened, a strange rhythm like prayer. Zara Beaumont decided it was the right time to leave him be.
Melissa stared hypnotically at the fire licking the orange fabric. The mother’s slip-on shoes would soon be ash and memory.
She could see all those sinners’ soles writhing inside the flames. One of her hands drifted to rub inside of her right thigh. But then she controlled herself.
“Oh! W-What’s happening to me? F-Forgive me, my Lord!”
The rookie guard waited a few more seconds until the shoes turned to soot, before leaving quietly.
Not far from there, Officers Beverly and Donna were halfway through their lunch in the staff-only canteen of St. Teresa.
“Another poor one. And she didn’t even suspect a thing…”
“Nah. Just another ghost escort gig.”
“So, Bev. Still punchin’ the clock, huh?”
“Well, this place pays better than any other joint. You know that damn well, Donna.”
“Shit, yeah! It’s the only reason we’re still breathin’ St. Teresa’s air...”
“Got a sick kid at home! I need that paycheck. But... this place? Sucks the soul right outta ya. The truth? I dropped another resignation on Kamuz’s desk two days ago.”
“Get outta here! You did it again? Damn, Bev!”
“I count the damn days. But the cash... I need that nest egg before I bail.”
Both women were silent, until Donna broke the quiet, nostalgic.
“Hey! Remember when it was us ticklin’ ‘em? Puttin’ ‘em in line? Hah! We even made friends with some of those barefoot women. I miss those foot tickle days.”
“Tell me about it. I was damn good at ticklin’. A month in my nails and those girls were eatin’ outta my palm, hehe!”
“Fuck… Bev… We’re all burnin’ out. This place’s circlin’ the drain. I heard there’s a new inspector on the way. Tight-ass, by the sound of it.”
“I heard that too. You think they’ll finally shut down St. Teresa’s?”
“To be honest? I really hope so! I heard that—”
The door banged open and Melissa stepped into the canteen.
“Officers! Chicken still warm?”
“Yep. Pretty tasty today,” Beverly said, swirling her coffee and eyeing the rookie.
“You holdin’ up okay, newbie? First peek down there ain’t for everyone,” Donna asked in a mock tone.
“I’m alright, thank you. I don’t understand why officers would be shocked by the Penitentium. Father Kamuz was clear about its purpose. Rehabilitation requires the breaking down of resistance. As stated in the fifth book of The Holy Plantae, ‘Pedicruciatus’ must—”
“Whoa, whoa! Pedicru-what?” Donna asked, frowning.
“You’re not a devotee of The Holy Plantae, are you? I’ll respect your badge, as a superior, but you’re not contributing to these women’s illumination. Actually... why are you still here, Officer Donna?”
“Who ya think you’re talkin’ to like that?” Donna scowled at the rookie.
“Hey! Easy! Both of you,” Beverly intervened. “Melissa, you still gotta report to me. You saw the whole setup down there this mornin’. Any questions cross your mind?”
“Hmm. Yes…” Melissa, perfectly upright on the chair, took a bite of chicken. “The… ‘Hands’? Who are they?”
“Guards. Like us,” Officer Beverly took a long deep breath before continuing.
“Not that long ago, we were ten guards for twenty inmates. Then Kamuz decided foot ticklin’ wasn’t enough. Bam! He builds the Penitentium. Trained two guards into his ‘Hands.’ Then two more. And more. Now there’s fifty of ‘em. Cast-iron resolve. Some were rookies like you. They all dove too deep. Lost their damn minds down there. The ones left… stayed up here.”
“I must say… I completely disagree with your assessment, Officer Beverly. It’s easy to judge without all the necessary information.”
“Look at this girl, Bev!” Donna rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Drinkin’ that Kool-Aid already. Better watch yourself, rookie. Sounds like you’re catchin’ feelings for it?”
“I’m simply trying to do the right thing! Father Kamuz offers a path. Not just bars and… ridiculous tickles! He offers a true trial of spirit, provided by The Lord! His ways are beyond your cynical understanding!”
“Girl, I’ll teach ya—”
“Alright, that’s enough!” Beverly snapped. “Donna, leave it be. Ain’t worth gettin’ riled up!”
The redhead officer shoved her chair back with a screech and stormed out of the canteen.
“Officer Beverly, I don’t need to justify myself to you. Or to Officer Donna. You’re just bitter. You resist the Lord’s word! For me, you’re a sinner. Both of you!”
“Melissa, listen to me. Kamuz’s been feedin’ bullshit to the feds for years. Lied through his damn teeth just to keep his ‘Inquisition’ running. But now there’s a real shot that St. Teresa’s gettin’ shut down. Any day now.”
“What? No! I can’t believe he—”
“Do not become one of them! That’s all I’ll say. Not as a superior. But as a friend!”
Beverly finished her coffee in one last sip and walked off. Melissa was left alone with her thoughts. She gave up her soul to The Holy Plantae. Yet somehow, she still viewed Beverly like an older sister. Trusted her.
But the rookie couldn’t understand why the veteran guard was so critical of Father Kamuz and ‘his sacred work’. “Beverly was wrong! They all were!”
A few days had passed.
Officer Melissa stood guard in the chapel, watching over ten female inmates kneeling barefoot on the cold stone floor while praying. Their dirty soles were visible behind them. Buckets of soapy water sat in front. The morning foot-cleaning ritual was moments from beginning.
These were the lucky ones, released from the Penitentium in recent months. Each of them was doing everything they could to never return there again.
Melissa respected their devotion, but her focus had shifted. Her mind no longer lingered on redemption. Not since she first stepped into that torture chamber. She couldn’t think of anything else but Foot Punishment. It haunted her. Gnawed at her from inside. Anxiety attacks had started creeping in, and it was getting worse.
“Hey,” she asked another guard on duty beside her, “Any word on new intakes?”
“Nope. Not that I know of, Melissa.”
The rookie started to scratch at her arm. Then her neck. Visibly uncomfortable.
The other guard noticed it. “You alright, Officer?”
“I’m… not! I need some fresh air. You okay to cover it?”
“Sure. I can hold down the fort, no problem.”
Melissa went to the staff bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face.
“Oh Lord! I-I need to do this!”
She headed straight to the Warden Kamuz’s office. Each step heavier than the last. Her breath caught somewhere between dread and relief.
When she reached the door, hesitation. But after a deep breath—three knocks.
A pause. Then the sound of a key turning.
“Yes?” It was Raymond.
“R-Raymond. Uh, c-can I have a word with Father Kamuz?”
“Oh, I’m afraid not. He’s quite busy with—”
“Let her enter, Raymond,” came the voice from within. Deep and resonant. The secretary nodded.
Melissa stepped inside, walking on eggshells. The curtains were half-drawn. Candles flickered. Somewhere, faint Gregorian chants played, thickening the air with the scent of wax. The whole room breathed like a sanctum.
“Melissa,” the Warden intoned, “I have awaited thy arrival. How fares your father?”
She gasped, caught off guard that Kamuz knew her name.
“He’s fine. Thank you, Father Kamuz.”
“‘Tis good tidings indeed. So then, I surmise thou art curious regarding your sacred duties here, is it not so?”
Melissa swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, Father. I… I need to keep following my calling. I want to help these women. I want to assist them with… with…”
“Pedicruciatus!” Warden Kamuz thundered. “St. Teresa is now aligned according to the stern Law of The Lord. This signifies an increase in the severity of the barefoot penances. And as thou hast witnessed in The Penitentium, those already touched by illumination offer their gratitude for The Lord’s grace.”
“Yes, Father. I saw that! That’s why I’m here. Make me one of your ‘Hands’! Please, I beg you! I’m ready!”
The rookie guard dropped to her knees and began reciting The Holy Book.
“...u-unto these blessed souls is bestowed a sacred duty. Administer the Pedicruciatus, the hallowed chastisement of the feet. A conduit of divine correction. A means by which the recalcitrant spirit is drawn back towards the True Path! The foot, being the lowest station of hominun, doth symbolize the foundation of earthly trespasses. Through its tender flesh the burden of sin manifests, and upon it shall the weight of divine justice must be applied!”
Kamuz’s face lit with holy fire. He raised his arms and echoed the continuation.
“Amongst the multitude, there shall be those chosen. Their souls, cleansed by unwavering devotion, laid bare before the Lumina of the Holy Plantae. These faithful shall be consecrated as the very Hands of the Lord upon this earthly coil. So shall it be enacted, until all stray souls are gathered once more beneath the light of The Holy Plantae!”
“AMEN!” The three of them said in unison.
Melissa lowered her head. “Father Kamuz, accept me. I offer myself fully. Let me become one of your ‘Hands’.”
“Stand, my child. Take that seat and place it at my right hand.”
Raymond followed her, then blindfolded the officer once she was seated. The black cloth had two golden equal-armed crosses that sat exactly over her eyes.
“Now, remove the footwear. And offer thy feet, unclad, upon my lap.”
Melissa’s hands trembled as she untied her boots in the dark. She took them off. Socks followed. She stretched her legs forward, resting a lovely pair of delicate bare size five feet on Kamuz’s thighs. Her rosy, smooth soles had a few wrinkles at the center of her heels, glistened with nervous sweat, but no odor betrayed her.
The Warden rolled her navy-blue pants up under her knees, revealing unblemished pale skin legs. Melissa spread her toes, as though offering them in total submission.
“Divine. Virgin feet. Devoid of any guilt or sin!”
“They are yours, Father Kamuz.”
Behind them, Raymond was using a lighter to heat two small branding irons. They had the same symbol—a pair of bare foot soles, crossed by thunderbolts.
He handed one to Kamuz.
“As My ‘Hand’, thou must accept that the path to grace is not always one of ease…”
The Warden pressed the red-hot brand to Melissa’s right sole. A brief sear noise sounded. Her toes curled. Her jaw clenched.
“Ahhhh... mmmm!”
“... yet every step is guided by The Lord’s divine grace.”
Kamuz forced her toes back, keeping them spread out. He then pressed the second brand to her left foot sole.
“Uhhh mmmmnnn! T-Thank you, Father! ”
Melissa was shaking.
Something broke free inside her. The first full orgasm of her life!
Raymond applied a healing ointment to the marks and removed the blindfold.
Melissa’s tear-glazed eyes met Kamuz’s.
“Thou art now the Lord’s ‘Hand’, my child. A sacred duty bound in spirit.”
“Father Kamuz! I lack nothing for my mission!”
“Good! Now attend closely, for The Lord hath a significant task for you…”
Wichita Mid-Continent Airport. Late Afternoon.
The boxy cars idled in the taxi lane. The sky was heavy. A storm was in the forecast for the evening. Inside the passenger terminal, people in shoulder pads and teased-up hair rushed for cabs, luggage in tow. Then came a woman who stood apart from the multitude.
Nearly six feet tall. Shoulders broad, stride deliberate. Amazon-like in a tailored olive-green suit and black ankle boots. Her face looked carved from stone. No expression. No smile. Even her light brown hair, pulled into a tight bun, seemed afraid to move.
“Inspector Thorne?”
She turned. No words. Just a glance.
“Inspector Thorne! I’m Officer Melissa. From St. Teresa Corrections Center. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
Thorne didn’t extend a hand. Just gave her a professional nod.
“Welcome to Kansas. I’m here to escort you to St. Teresa. However, I understand you may be tired from the flight. We have a hotel reserved in your—”
“Duty first, Officer. Get me to St. Teresa.” Her voice was cold and precise.
“Oh! Of course, Inspector. Please, follow me.” Melissa’s smile was just… too bright.
A lone blue Ford Pinto sat at the parking lot like it had been abandoned. Melissa popped the door open and climbed in. Thorne followed, her knees brushed the dashboard.
The car pulled out, taking the highway. But instead of heading north toward the correctional facility, Melissa steered west, past silos and aging truck stops. Thorne quickly noticed the “mistake”.
“I believe you’ve taken the wrong route, Officer.”
“Hear that? That… that awful wobble! Sounds like a flat. Sorry, Inspector, I can’t risk a blowout out here. My father’s got a buddy. A grease monkey. Just up ahead...”
Thorne’s temples throbbed. Her jaw tensed. She gave a single, sharp nod.
Then, without a word, Melissa veered off the highway into a dusty parking lot behind a shuttered auto depot. Nobody in sight. Not even a bird.
“I’m really sorry, Inspector! It’s worse than I thought. Gotta check it now.”
Melissa twisted around in the seat, stretching like she was reaching for a jack. Instead, her hand closed around a rag soaked in chloroform.
In one sudden motion, the rookie guard lunged. The rag clamped over Thorne’s face. “Whatammmmmpfh!”
Thorne’s eyes went wide. Her elbow shot back, nearly hitting Melissa. The rookie braced, straining with her whole body against the inspector’s resistance. Melissa felt the big woman slowly sag. Her limbs lost strength. Her frame collapsed against the seat like a felled statue.
Breathless, Melissa scrambled to a small black case tucked under the floor mat. She snapped it open. Inside, a syringe, pre-filled with a fast-acting sedative. Without hesitation, she plunged it into Thorne’s thigh.
“Thank you, my Lord, for Your strength!”
The wind howled outside. Melissa looked around, eyes darting, panic nipping at her edges. The lot looked clear. Still trembling, she slid back behind the wheel, checked the rearview and floored it.
The rain came down steadily, just like the forecast said. Inside an old barn half-swallowed by dust, a rusty 70-gallon tin barrel stood over the edge of a deep hole dug into the dirt floor. Lightning cracked somewhere far off.
Poking out of the barrel’s open top, two big, dangling feet—Thorne’s size elevens.
One foot was bare, the other still wrapped in sheer black nylon.
Her ankles were cinched tight with leather straps, a horizontal steel bar pinning them together, suspended her legs up. Her body was stuffed in there like trash waiting for the dump.
Her big toes were tied together. Her pinky toes yanked back to the barrel’s rim with ropes. Her feet bounced, totally vulnerable.
The balls of her soles were large and meaty, accentuating beautifully her arches that led to narrow heels. Her small toes and bunions were a result from years of boots and closed shoes.
Thorne was awakening from sedation. It took some time for her to realize where she was. A tight pressure constricted her legs. Panic clawed at her throat, but only a muffled groan escaped. Her tongue wrestled against her own stocking, held by a silver tape wrapped around her head. Her arms and wrists were tied by ropes, as well as her knees.
She was in a death trap. No way out. A prisoner in a tin can!
Just as the panic threatened to overwhelm Thorne, two wet-dirty figures emerged from lights breaking through the barrel, their faces streaked with filth and rain.
Melissa, braid still somehow perfect, and Raymond, pale as a corpse, his ugly bowl-cut stuck to his forehead like wet seaweed. Both grinned down at the exposed soles of Thorne's feet, bouncing helpless above the barrel’s rim.
“Well, well, look who’s awake,” Melissa’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “Just another sinner!”
Raymond chuckled like a sick altar boy. “Awake just in time for the Pedicruciatus. A fine time before we leave you for The Lord’s trial!”
Melissa dropped to her knees beside the barrel and pulled out two lengths of old garden hose. Cracked and stiff with age.
“You see these, Inspector? The Lord providing us Holy tools of purification!”
Before Thorne could even register the threat, Melissa whipped the nylon-covered sole with the piece of hose. Raymond followed and his hose thudded against the bare sole. A painful groan escaped Thorne’s gagged mouth. She bucked, but her legs were locked in place. Her feet just trembled in midair.
‘CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!’
Melissa and Raymond kept beating her soles for several minutes. Synchronized action. Over and over. Until the hoses began to split and break. Bits of plastic flew inside the barrel, over the sweaty face of Thorne. Her soles blazed red, crisscrossed with rising welts.
Melissa let out a satisfied sigh, then tossed the remains of the hose. Raymond dropped his too. Both wiped the sweat from their forehead, looking at each other with sparkly eyes. They proceeded to the next phase—foot tickling!
Twenty sharp nail tips began creeping across the meat of Thorne’s ravaged soles. The sudden shift from blunt pain to maddening tickling made her body jerk wildly. Her head banged inside of the barrel. Muffled screams filled the space.
“Confess, you sinner! Repent before the Holy Plantae!” Melissa howled with excitement.
“Repent! May The Lord forgive you in the afterlife!” Raymond dug his nails into the arch of her bare sole.
Thorne could only buck and writhe, trapped in her metal tomb. Her soles twitched under the tickle attack. Tears and sweat dripped from her face. The nylon on her right foot tore loose as Melissa ripped it off.
Now both soles were bare… raw and throbbing!
The rain continued assaulting the barn roof, drowning out everything but her muffled cries and the voices of their captors.
Finally the tickling stopped.
Melissa spat into the barrel. She held a flashlight, angling it down to catch Thorne’s eyes. “I hope you’re repented of your sins, Inspector. Your final trial’s coming fast.”
Raymond began to burn a piece of plastic with his lighter, handing it to Melissa. Then lit another. Together, they began dripping the melted plastic onto the soles of Inspector Thorne.
Each drop hit like hot needles.
The barrel clunked while Thorne’s body thrashed inside. Her muffled screams reached a pitch. The barn filled with the stench of melted plastic and scorched feet.
When the plastic was all used up, both feet were pocked with blackened blisters.
“Lord, may our Pedicruciatus prepare this sinner for your trial,” Melissa said out loud.
Her nails were back. Scratching. Scraping. Digging into Thorne’s ultra sensitive and irritated skin. Pain and tickling. The Inspector twitched like a dying lizard.
“Our duty’s done, Melissa. Now it’s time for The Lord to judge her!”
The officer ignored Raymond. “Not yet!” She pulled a silver flask from her coat and poured it across the soles.
Thorne arched. A burning itch spread instantly across her soles. Her legs shook like a dying engine. Her body had no fight left.
Melissa looked at the agonizing feet. “Now… she’s ready!”
Together, they loosened the steel bar. Thorne’s legs collapsed inside the barrel like limp noodles.
Raymond grunted as he lifted a heavy lid from the ground.
“May The Lord have mercy on your soul.” Melissa gave Thorne a last word.
And they slammed it shut. A final, dull thud.
No sound came from inside. Thorne was drained past the point of any resistance.
Melissa and Raymond pushed the barrel to the edge of the hole, which they had dug hours ago, and now it was ready to swallow their offering. Their faces were locked in that same holy grimace. Grim. Joyless. Devoted.
But then!
“Freeze! FBI! Hands where I can see ‘em!”
The barn doors exploded inward.
Melissa and Raymond turned just in time to see agents swarm inside.
Shouting. Lights. Mud flying in all directions. The agents quickly arrest them.
The barrel didn’t fall. The hole remained empty. Inspector Thorne was saved, but totally whacked out of her damn mind.
In a residential area of Topeka, Beverly was worried about the storm. She sat on the couch, trying to relax after another day in St. Teresa’s. She kept one ear cocked toward her son’s room. He had just fallen asleep.
‘DING-DONG.’
The doorbell.
Beverly frowned. “Da hell?”
She grabbed her robe and opened the door slowly. A familiar silhouette stood on the porch, umbrella up, heels sharp even in the storm.
“M-Ms. Beaumont? What’re ya doin’ here?”
“Ms. Taylor? May I come in?”
“Uh… yeah, yeah. Sure.”
The counselor clicked the umbrella closed with one smooth motion and stepped inside like she owned the place.
“Apologies for dropping in unannounced. I won’t take much of your time.”
“That’s fine. Want somethin’ to drink or...?”
“Sweet of you, but no. This won’t take long.”
“Alright... have a seat, then.”
They sat across from each other. Bev’s living room was cozy. The only sound was the clock ticking and the heavy rain on the roof.
Zara didn’t waste a beat.
“Raymond and that rookie… Melissa. They’ve been arrested!”
Beverly widened her eyes. “Whoa! What?”
“They kidnapped the missing inspector. The one scheduled to visit St. Teresa. FBI found them in an abandoned barn. Looked like they were about to bury her alive.”
Bev’s mouth opened, then shut. Her stomach dropped. She didn’t need to ask where that twisted idea came from. “Jesus…”
Zara raised a finger. “But… that’s not why I’m here.”
She pulled an envelope from her coat and handed it over to the veteran guard.
Inside, two one-way plane tickets to Seattle. And cash. A lot of it.
“Da hell is this?”
“A lifeboat. St. Teresa will be shut down tomorrow. Or… being gutted. Rebuilt. I don’t know yet... But! I want you out of there. In two weeks, you’ll be in Seattle with your son. Fresh start.”
Bev stared at her, frozen. The counselor continued.
“Detectives will knock on your door soon. Just tell the truth. You’ll be forgotten after that. I’ll make sure of it. Plus…” Zara leaned in slightly, voice softening. “I found a good doctor in Seattle. He can help your boy.”
That hit hard for Beverly. The kind that lands somewhere between your ribs and your faith in humanity.
“Mommie...?” A tiny voice called out from the hallway
Bev turned fast. “Back to bed, sweetheart. Mommie’s right here. Go on now.”
The boy nodded and shuffled back to his room.
Zara smiled. “Lovely child!”
Beverly didn’t return the smile. Her face was stone as she turned back to the woman on her couch.
“Alright! Cut the crap. Why ya doin’ this?”
Zara tilted her head, and laid a hand on Beverly’s shoulder.
“I’ve been watching you. You’re one of the good ones. You… remind me of my mother. Least, what little I remember. She passed when I was... well. Long ago.”
Bev’s voice dropped. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Water under the bridge! So, this offer... it’s how you honor her name.”
“Ms. Beaumont... What da hell is goin’ on? For real?”
Zara’s lips twitched. Not a smile, but more like a crack in the mask.
“My fa— My former boss, the Warden, did things to my mother you don’t even want to imagine. That man needs to rot in the worst kind of hell.”
Beverly brow furrowed. “Wait! So all these years, ya were plannin’—”
“Exactly!”
Zara clenched her fist, then let go of it like nothing had happened.
“Stay home tomorrow. Be with your son. Let the system eat itself. I’m handling it.”
She stood up, adjusting her coat.
“Oh! And your friend, Donna Auburn? She’s working for me now. She’s packing her stuff to California with her daughter. What’s that name… Oh! Scarlett!”
Beverly looked at the envelope again. Then slowly nodded.
“Alright. I’ll take it. But I’m only doin’ this for my boy!”
“Good! Yeah! Do it for your lil boy!” Zara said it loud and slapped Beverly’s thigh.
“MOMMIE!!!”
“Oops! Sorry! Go to your boy. We’re done here. Don’t worry, he’s gonna be okay.”
The counselor stood and grabbed her umbrella.
“Oh, and one more thing… there’s a job waiting for you in Seattle!”
She flashed one last smirk, then walked out into the rain without looking back.
Thunder rumbled again, low and distant. Beverly stood at the door a long time, envelope in hand.
“MOMMIE!!!”
She turned, her voice soft. “I’m comin’, sweetheart. Mommie’s comin’.”
One week later, everything Zara said came true. Detectives. Exoneration. St. Teresa’s shutdown. But before leaving Topeka to start a new life, Beverly had one last thing to do. A loose end she couldn’t ignore.
She called Donna to join her on a quick trip. They rented a beat-up Oldsmobile and hit the Kansas Turnpike, heading east. Beverly was clenched up, barely spoke. Donna just lit a cigarette and kicked back, satisfied.
They rolled into Kansas City and parked outside the eyesore of a place. K.C. Forensic Psychiatric Institution. Gray as ash, windows like dead eyes.
“Damn,” Donna muttered. “What a freakin’ dump. Like Arkham’s broke cousin.”
After a parade of bureaucratic sign-ins at the reception, the ex-officers got their visitor badges slapped to their jackets. A peppy nurse led them through reeking corridors.
“…she’s been treated real good here,” the nurse rambled. “You ladies probably know the drill, right? Heh. Usin’ the same methods y’all did back in that shoebox…”
After what felt like miles of hallway, they stopped. Room 237.
The officers looked into the room through a small window in the door.
Inside, in the corner, forehead bowed toward a padded wall, knelt a barefoot young woman in a ratty straitjacket. Diapered, freshly shaved head, pale as chalk. Praying.
“Can we go in and say hi?” Donna asked the nurse.
“I’ll have to check with Doc—”
“Of course you can,” came a voice behind them, clipped and cheerful. “Social interaction is therapeutic. I assume you’re friends of the patient?”
A tall, weirdly cheerful man in a crisp coat stepped forward. “I’m Dr. Morton,” he said, offering his hand. “And you are?”
“I’m Donna Auburn. She’s Beverly Taylor. We’re not exactly friends… We were—”
“I was her boss,” Beverly cut in, melancholic. “I feel… responsible for what happened. I need to see her.”
“I understand… I understand… Fine! Well, no time like the present. I’m here to pick her up for her morning session. Nurse Miller? Could you?”
“Right away, Doctor.”
The nurse opened the door. “Melissa? It’s giggles time.”
The dull thud of a forehead banging the padded wall increased.
“NO, NO, NO! I’m not a sinner! I’m not a sinner ! I’M NOT A SINNER!!!”
Melissa turned. Then crawled, straight to Beverly, like a dog remembering its owner.
“O-OFFICER BEVERLY! PLEASE! TELL ‘EM! I’M NOT A SINNER! I WAS ON A MISSION! THE LORD CHOSE ME TO SAVE THOSE SOULS! I’M A KNIGHT OF THE HOLY PLANTAE, NOT A SINNER!!!”
Bev looked stunned. Her mouth opened, like she might speak, but then two burly orderlies entered and hoisted Melissa up by the straitjacket’s back straps.
“Of course you’re not a sinner, Melissa.” Dr. Morton said with a syrupy warmth. “Now, we’ll bring back that precious giggle of yours in no time. Just a little tickle… a little reflection. It’s the path to healing, dear.”
“NO! NOT MY FEET! PLEASE! NOT MY FEEEEET! I’M NOT A SIIIIINNEEER!”
Beverly and Donna watched as Melissa kicked and flailed between the orderlies, her cries echoing down the corridor.
Dr. Morton waved the ex-officers a gentle goodbye as he followed Melissa into the therapy wing. That left the women with Nurse Miller.
“Tsk, poor thing,” the nurse said with a lopsided smile. “But you know how it goes. First it’s ‘not my feet,’ and then soon they’re reformed!”
Beverly watched Melissa being dragged with a blank expression.
Donna, on the other hand, smilingly engaged the nurse in a chat.
“Hey, Nurse Miller, didn’t they bring the other one here too?”
“Oh yeah. The creepy guy? He’s over in the men’s ward. I heard he loves tickles on his bare feet. Laugh like a schoolgirl when they touch his soles. But no visitors are allowed over there.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Beverly cut in, stepping back fast. “We’re done here. Thanks for everything, Nurse Miller. Let’s head out.”
She strode toward the exit, fast, hiding her tearing eyes from Donna.
“Okay, Bev… Err… I’ll meet ya in the car.”
Then the redhead turned to Nurse Miller, lowered her voice with a grin. “Between us? I’d love to see how Raymond’s holdin’ up in there. But in the meantime… Can I just check on Melissa? She was my rookie, y’know?”
“Okay. Follow me.”
Through the window in the therapy room door, they could see Melissa, strapped tight to a padded recliner, secured with so many leather belts it looked like a bondage tutorial. The orderlies were scrubbing her soles with hand brushes dipped in hot water. Dr. Morton sat behind her, swinging a pendulum in front of her face and whispering something in her left ear.
Her face was red, ready to explode. Even though she couldn’t be heard by Donna and Miller, it was obvious that she was screaming hysterically.
“She gets this three times a day,” the nurse whispered. “But if she doesn’t improve soon, next step’s combine foot stimulation with electroshock therapy.”
Donna chuckled. “She always did seem a little… fried.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hehe! Let it go, I’m just—”
Suddenly, the door of the therapy room opened. The two orderlies walked out, nodding briefly. In the seconds the door was open, Melissa’s shrieks cracked through.
Donna peeked one last time. Dr. Morton sat down next to his patient’s feet, holding a thin steel fork in his hand, and began tracing it along Melissa’s reddish sensitive soles.
“This’ll go on for hours! Until she breaks through. Dr. Morton can be quite… forbearing,” the nurse said.
A voice rang out through the corridor. “Nurse Miller! I need you here!”
“Be right there!” she called, then turned to Donna. “Sorry, I gotta lock up. Please go wait in the reception, okay?”
“Nah, I’m leavin’. Thanks for the peek. And tell Melissa I said bye-bye.”
Back at the parking lot, Donna spotted Beverly leaning against the Olds, arms folded, staring at her.
“Bev! What’s the rush? You okay? You missed the whole show—”
Before she could finish, Beverly grabbed her by the collar and slammed her against another parked car, forearm pressing hard into her throat.
“Listen up! You think this is funny? That girl’s in hell ‘cause of me. I let her sign up. I looked the other way and now she’s in straps. And we’re out here. Walkin’ free! Like it don’t mean nothin’. Just ‘cause we know how that shit works!”
She let her go. Donna coughed, straightened her jacket.
“Jesus, Bev. Yeah… gotcha. You’re right! Just… Dunno… That’s my way to deal this shit. But don’t forget, you warned her! Kamuz’s to blame! Not me!”
Beverly looked away, jaw clenched. “Let’s get back to Topeka.”
They stood there in silence for a moment. Then got into the car.
The drive home was quiet. No radio. No jokes. Just the hum of the engine, and Kansas rolling by.
“Ms. Tay— Oh, sorry, Beverly. I… I honestly don’t know what to say,” the job interviewer shook her head. “I remember watching the news when it all came out. But I had no idea you went through all that.”
Beverly leaned back, hands resting in front of her belly.
“Yeah… it was a hell of a ride, I won’t lie. Didn’t have much of a choice.”
“And this… Father Kamuz? He’s still at large, isn’t he?”
“Far as I know? Yep. Slipped through the cracks like a greased-up rat.”
“I see. Fair enough. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Nah, don’t sweat it. I’m the one who ran my mouth. Guess I had it bottled up too long. Appreciate the ear, though. Needed to get that crap outta my chest.”
Davenport smiled, more genuine now. “That’s perfectly fine. And I get it. Tight spot, high-pressure place, moral lines... things get blurred. I won’t hold it against you.”
Beverly nodded. “Thanks, Mrs. Davenport!”
The interviewer grabbed a folder, tapped it twice on the desk and smiled.
“Alright then… I believe we’re done here.”
She stood and extended a hand.
“Ms. Taylor. I’m pleased to tell you your admission’s been approved. You start Monday. I believe that your work here as an enforcement officer will come easy to you! Hehe!
Beverly smiled wide, a real smile, the kind she hadn’t worn in a while.
“I’m ready to roll, hehe… Thanks, Mrs. Davenport.”
“We thank you! Welcome to Ava Roi Podiatry Center!”
The End?
Download the PDF version here: https://mega.nz/file/r54znKoC#urcp2zxBN1hTu147zbq_kcTkXbGwoYSeErphFkYpCPY
PENITENTIUM (The Last Days)
by dtka66
BACK IN THE LATE EIGHTIES, the Department of Justice cooked up a brand-new way to handle criminal ladies. They rolled out the Federal Bureau of Foot Tickle Prisons—a revolution in women’s corrections with one simple twist: tickling their bare feet! Up in the Northwest, the Ava Roi Podiatry Center was gaining a reputation. Other joints would follow. But for St. Teresa Corrections Center for Women… it was a different story.
———
“Ms. Taylor, your qualifications meet our requirements comprehensively and—”
“Again, just Beverly’s fine! Good. I’m glad to hear that, Mrs. Davenport.”
“Yes, sorry! Beverly! So, I have to say our interview is concluded. However... if you have a few moments? My personal curiosity is piqued!”
“Go ahead.”
“What really happened in St. Teresa’s last days? From your perspective, of course.”
“Whoof! That’s a whole lotta jawin’. Ain’t ya got other folks waitin’?”
“Don’t worry! My schedule is clear. Consider this entirely off the record. I’m aware you were exonerated of any charge. And you were senior staff there. So, are you comfortable revisiting... that situation?”
“Cleared don’t mean clean, y’know? It sticks to ya! Alright. Fine. Where do I just start this damn thing…”
———
It was about 9 a.m. Three souls in different situations, were in a neglected office within St. Teresa Corrections Center for Women. Two prison guards in the middle of a job interview, while one chick in orange faced the wall, her bare feet planted on an iron sadhu board-like studded with copper spikes.
Officer Beverly Taylor, a seasoned guard who’d seen the worst those walls could offer, sat at a scarred desk. Solidly built woman. Ebony-skinned. Her chief’s cap pulled low over a cropped Afro. She sipped black coffee, eyes locked on a file. No room for games on her face.
Across the desk, Melissa. A rookie blondie guard in a crisp navy-blue uniform. Her blunt-cut fringe and pulled back braided updo created a rather angel appearance. And her stiff-backed seating made sure how disciplined she was.
Her hands twitched in her lap. Her eyes kept drifting around. First to the file in Beverly’s hands, then to the inmate’s barefoot. Her soles agonizingly pressed into the punishment device. A dark fascination flickered on her face.
“So, Melissa…” Beverly’s voice brought the rookie out of her sadistic moment.
“Y-Yes? Officer Beverly?”
The veteran guard took another sip of coffee and finally looked Melissa in the eyes.
“Ya been here, what? Two, three days?”
Melissa nodded, replying quickly. “Yes, ma’am. Three days as a trainee.”
“Three days! Think that’s long enough to get a read on things?”
Melissa swallowed hard, her Adam’s apple bobbing. “I-I believe so, Officer Beverly. Even because—”
“‘Believe’, huh! That’s one way to put it.” Officer Beverly leaned in. “So, humor an old head. A fresh face like you… Plenty of other gigs to slap that badge on. What brings ya to St. Teresa’s?”
Melissa’s fingers knotted together. Her eyes darted to the inmate’s suffering one more time—a fucking perverted look.
“I believe in... justice. I wanna make a difference!”
“That’s why ya kept eyeballin’ those spike-kissed soles with that hungry look?”
Melissa’s cheeks flushed, but she lifted her chin. “She’s serving her penance. I believe in Warden Kamuz’s righteous methods. My family and I are devoted to The Lord and The Holy Plantae.”
Officer Beverly was silent, studying Melissa for a while. The tremble in her hands, the fervor in her eyes. She knew the rookie was another zealot.
“I see…” Beverly tapped the file. “Daddy’s tight with Warden Kamuz, ain’t he? So tell me somethin’… How far ya willin’ to go to ‘straighten out’ these women?”
Before Melissa could answer, a muffled groan of pain cut her off, coming from the trembling inmate. The copper spikes bit into her soles, digging deep with each second. Melissa mirrored the inmate’s agony, curling her own toes, safe and sweaty inside her polished boots and black socks.
“Got a problem, prisoner? ‘Cause this buddy you’re steppin’ on and that outlet are real tight!” Beverly’s voice was straight, a clear warning.
The chick in orange pressed her forehead to the wall. “N-No, p-please Officer Beverly… argh! D-Don’t! I-I’m just… j-just prayin’…”
“Good!” Beverly looked again into Melissa’s eyes. “Ya ain’t met the Warden yet, but you gotta’ve heard somethin’—stories don’t come outta nowhere, right?”
“Ahem, well, Officer Beverly, I’m only asking for an opportunity. After these few days here… I’ve realized this is my calling and—”
‘KNOCK! KNOCK!’
The door’s stippolyte glass shook under two sharp knocks. Officer Donna, a strong, fire-haired woman, opened the door and glared at them with a wrought-up expression.
“Hey ya! Warden Kamuz is here. Brought a fresh one. C’mon! Let’s move!”
“Alright, Melissa! I mean, Officer Melissa!” Beverly tossed the rookie a set of keys. “We’re stretched thin! So, welcome aboard! Take this one to her cage, then get your butt to the big hall. Don’t keep the Warden waitin’!”
“Yes, ma’am! And thank you! You won’t regret this, I swear!” Melissa all but dragged the limping inmate outta the office.
Beverly and Donna exchanged a look. The silent verdict of two veterans who’ve seen too many Melissas come and go.
———
Melissa’s bootsteps echoed as she bolted down the ramp from the upper-tier cell block of St. Teresa’s. She caught up with Officers Beverly and Donna. Her breath hitched. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. She was about to meet the Warden in person.
The entrance of the prison was meticulously designed to appear like a church, causing new intakes felt they were stepping onto their very own 'pearly gates'.
At the far end of the long hallway, another female guard stood stiff beside an open cell door. And then—the voice!
Deep. Calm. A baritone that seemed to vibrate through the very walls, soothing as a sermon, precise as a commanding priest.
“I would never permit a mother to be treated in such a manner! Not under the eyes of The Lord. Not if I possess the sacred authority to act otherwise!”
The guard stepped aside. And there he was.
Warden-Father Kamuz filled the doorway with his towering frame, dominating the space with ease. His all-black suit drank in the flickering overhead light. Around his neck, a white tippet embroidered with golden equal-armed crosses gleamed with quiet authority—a figure that made people kneel.
His face, shadowed beneath the wide brim of his saturno hat, was a portrait of serene control. Only his mouth was visible, curled in a smile that was equal parts beatific and chilling. His large hands rested gently on the shoulders of the new inmate beside him. On his fingers, ecclesiastical rings glinted like tiny crowns.
The new inmate was slight, no older than twenty-two. Her orange jumpsuit hung loose on her thin frame. Her mousy-brown hair was tied in a messy ponytail, strands falling in a face drained from exhaustion. Her hands weren’t cuffed, but clasped together in front of her, like in prayer.
“Thank you so much for helpin’ me, Father Kamuz!”
“I am merely an instrument, my child. It is The Lord who offers forgiveness. I simply… facilitate that process. Because of your decision, The Lord shall bestow His grace upon thee. I believe the unfolding of your life history has been brought before me is part of The Lord’s design. And kindness knows no hatred.”
From across the hallway, Melissa, lingering behind Officer Beverly, couldn’t tear her eyes away, fascinated by the figure of Warden Kamuz. She leaned closer to the older guard and whispered. “The fish… Who is she?”
“A junkie mother,” Beverly muttered back. “Busted tryin’ to hand her baby to some queen couple in Europe. No cash involved. Claimed she just wanna give the baby a better life. Kamuz pulled strings to get her transferred here.”
The rookie nodded, then noticed the woman walking a step behind the Warden.
Sexy black lady in a tailored gray suit, black heels, her bob-cut hair sharp enough to draw blood. She moved like a predator. Calculated and dangerous.
“Is she his counselor? She looks my age!” Melissa whispered louder.
“Shh! Yep. That’s Kamuz’s shadow. See her lookin’ at ya? Walk the other way!”
The Warden was still talking to the new inmate. Hypnotic divine voice, calmy pace.
“You desired a better life for your son, did you not?”
The woman nodded frantically, tears welling. “Y-Yes, Father! I-I wasn’t in my right mind. The dope… the cravin’... desperation… I… I…”
“A mother corrupted by evil. Tsk, tsk, tsk. But here you will be illuminated. Purified! Made whole again! I am pleased with ‘your choice’, my child. To be forgotten in a dark cell amongst sinners would not aid you!”
“No, it wouldn’t!” The inmate’s tearful eyes looked at Kamuz’s figure as if he were salvation itself. He guided her forward, like an angel leading a soul to final judgment.
As they passed the three guards, Warden Kamuz gave them a gentle and benevolent nod. His counselor, however, moved through the guards like a serpent, a venomous aura followed her.
The group walked along a sloped downward corridor, headed toward another wing. In the far distance, the prison’s chapel entrance. A faint gospel tune floated in the air, sweet and inviting, making the new inmate start thinking back over her past.
“My ‘rents were right. Should’ve listened… Should’ve gone to church more... Wouldn’t’ve pulled such bonehead moves… but I’ll do good here. I will!”
She pictured herself among the other inmates, wondering if they’d welcome her. She realized she didn’t even know how to pray, but her heart was full of hope.
“Father Kamuz? You really think… I can be accepted and… forgiven?”
The Warden smiled. “Forgiveness is not the end. It is the beginning. Come forth. The first steps as a servant of The Lord await thy feet!”
He gestured to a corridor descending even deeper. A stuffy warm air wafted from below. The woman hesitated.
“I thought we were gonna pray in the chapel… meet the others… begin my—”
“Do not rush The Lord’s benevolence, my child!”
The Warden’s grip tightened slightly on her shoulder. The mother’s hands stayed in prayer pose, but the brightness in her eyes faded.
Then—The Black Doors!
Ancient. Massive. Twice the height of Warden Kamuz. Their heavy wood surfaces glistened with golden sigils and angels painted weeping tears of light, among what seemed human foot soles.
And etched in blood-red capitals—PENITENTIUM.
Two guards stood at the threshold, dressed head to toe in black robes. Their faces were concealed by white leather lamb masks. One wore a laughing expression, the other, a crying one.
“The Lord not only bestows infinite mercy upon the earth, but also renders fair judgment to humankind!”
Warden Kamuz gave a solemn sign and the masked guards pushed the doors open.
The second they began to open it, the group was struck by a wave of desperate human noises—screams, laughter, groans! Followed by the blast of heat with strong smell of... feet and pee!
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!NOOOAHAHAH!!!ARGHHH!!!AHHHAHHGAHAAA!!!”
When the black doors were fully opened, a vast dimly lit sub-basement was revealed, rebuilt into a modern version of an Inquisition dungeon. Every inch of the underground place were designed for one purpose—Foot Torture!
Scattered around the place, female inmates were strapped into medieval-like contraptions. Their bare feet—some healthy and smooth; some bruised and dirty—twitched like crazy birds in iron traps.
Figures in black robes and lamb masks circled the prisoners, two or three per woman, each performing a punishment like a sacred rite. Most of the inmates wore standard orange uniforms. Others were stripped from the waist up, their naked torsos subjected to additional torments.
Tickling was the predominant method, but not the only. Some foot soles were being whipped, caned, lashed, roasted, burned, scribbled, scrubbed, electrocuted. Others were left coated in itchy powder, hot oil or cold water.
Of those who had accompanied Warden Kamuz, only his counselor wore a smirk. Officers Beverly and Donna were with stone-faces, very used to the scene. Melissa stood transfixed, lips parted, a dark fascination flickering behind her eyes.
And the poor inmate… utterly petrified!
She stumbled backward, colliding with the imposing body of Warden Kamuz. His hands closed around her shoulders in an inescapable grab.
“Illumination requires surrender, my child. Will you not trust in The Lord’s plan?”
The inmate froze, her lips trembling. “I… I…”
“Your love and bravery in attempting to save your own son are commendable. However, a sin will always be a sin! And now the time for thy soul be truly judged according to The Lord’s will has come!”
The poor woman’s eyes glazed with panic. Her mouth twitched open. Her teeth chattered. Two black-robed figures emerged by the flanks and held her arms.
“Fear not, for The Lord walks beside thee! Entrust your soul to my ‘Hands’. There is no boundary to probation!” Warden Kamuz spoke loud, raising his arms.
The new inmate didn’t make any noise as they dragged her away. She was completely dulled inside, leaving a trace of pee on the floor.
As the torturers took her away, Kamuz meandered down the central aisle of the Penitentium, as if he was out for a casual stroll.
Inmates buzzed as he passed. Most of them begged for mercy. Others still spat curses, thrashing with rage. And some were too ‘busy’, their minds dissolving under relentless foot punishments.
The Warden admired each of them in their own penances, paying particular attention to those already showing ‘gratitude’.
A dark-haired inmate with sharp Latina features, had just been strapped to a raised chair. Her legs were elevated at her head height, soles bare and helpless, toes held by cold iron rings. Her trapped trembling feet looked velvety-soft, flushed pink skin.
“F-Father! P-Please! Please punish my soles! I-I beg you! Punish my soles!”
“My ‘Hands’ shall guide you with the appropriate penance, my child!”
“N-No Father! It must be you! In my dream was you that—mphMPHM MHPHHH!!!”
A thick leather gag silenced her, while sharp strokes rang out as wooden paddles slammed into her tender soles. Her muffled shrieks blurred into the rhythm of the bastinado.
‘SWAT! SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!’
Warden Kamuz moved on, passing beneath two inmates dangling from chains. Naked torsos exposed, legs twitching. Their armpits, sides, and bellies were relentlessly tickled by black-hooded tormentors and their long sharpy nails. Down below, their bare feet were dipped in a basin of bubbling goo that nipped against their nerves.
“STOOOOPPP!!! NOOOHOHAHAAHHH I CAAAAAN’T STAAHAHAHA!!”
Another inmate, a very pale shave-haired woman, tried to draw Kamuz’s attention.
“F-F-F-a-a-t-h-e-r K-K-a-a-m-u-z-z-z... p-p-l-EEIIIK!!!”
The Warden barely looked at the inmate tiptoed over an electrified copper plate. Shackled toe-to-ankle, hands cuffed behind her back, chained to the ceiling above. She whimpered, desperate to speak, to reach him. But a hooded figure beside her decided to turn up the voltage level and sparks danced under her toes!
‘BZZZZ BZZZ BZZ BZZZZZZZZ!’
Another inmate noticed Kamuz’s presence nearby. She was suspended upside down by her ankles, blindfolded, straightjacketed. A steel bar bent her toes back cruelly, stretching her soles taut at the top. They had been written on, line after line of scripture in tiny handwriting. Every inch of her soles were covered by ink.
“F-Father Kamuz, I-I’ve memorized the third chapter of the Holy Book. Wish hear it?”
“Of course, my child.”
“T-There are five signs which will accompany those who believe…”
While the inmate blindly recited the chapter, Kamuz stepped onto a platform to examine her soles. Sat on the contraption stand, a figure in black, holding a very sharp metallic pen, had an excellent view of the woman’s taut scribbled soles.
The Warden leaned close. “Proceed with the fourth chapter.”
The torturer nodded, readied a brush with stiff bristles and dipped it in a basin of soapy lye.
“...and the true light that gives the sign to everyone was coming intoOOOHHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!”
Father Kamuz smiled by the foot scrubbing sound, stepping out of the contraption, while the upside down woman still tried to recite the chapter.
“...AAND AAHAHHAA THOOOHOOSE WHOOOOAHAHAHA!!!”
Finally, the Warden approached the mother. She had been strapped into an iron apparatus. Hands cuffed, ankles locked down, toes clamped apart. One of the black-robed tormentors reached into a brazier, retrieving a glowing stone with a tong. With care, the stone was pressed to her fresh bare soles.
“AARGGGGHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHHHMYFEEEEET!!!”
The new inmate screamed as she felt her feet being burned. But the stone soon crumbled across the skin, releasing a hellish unbearable itching. She began to convulse in her bounds, her cries lurching into madness.
Kamuz observed her in silence, consented. One of the figures offered him the woman’s discarded and still warm orange slip-on shoes. The Warden nodded and took them, admiring the footwear like relics, and walked to the Penitentium’s entrance.
“Would you kindly place these in the incinerator?”
He handed the shoes to Officer Melissa, whose pupils dilated at the contact with the shoes. Her fingers curled tightly around them.
As Kamuz strode toward the exit, his counselor followed. Then Officers Beverly and Donna. Melissa remained.
She stood there a few seconds more, staring into the place. A flicker of ecstasy twisted her mind. And in her eyes—a fucking perverted look!
———
Moments later, Warden Kamuz and the counselor stepped into his office on the last floor of St. Teresa’s staff-only wing.
Inside stood the Warden’s secretary. A pale man, no older than thirty, facing the sunlight spilling through the high window. He was barefoot, standing on corn kernels scattered across the floor. His fisherman sandals lay neatly aside.
His fragile frame had a tired face. Bowl-cut blonde hair and feminine features gave him an androgynous look. So did his size nine feet. Narrow and delicate. His hands were clasped in front of him like he was awaiting judgment.
“Still having those nightmares, Raymond?”
“Unfortunately yes, Father Kamuz. They won’t go away. I think… I need illumination down there in the Penitentium. Feels like I’ve got unfinished business with The Lord.”
“That place is not meant for a soul as upright as yours. But fret not. I will come tend to you later today.”
“Thank you, Father Kamuz. I’ve been needing it.”
“Fair enough.” The Warden watched quietly as the secretary knelt to slip his shoes back on. “Any messages, Raymond?”
“Oh, yes. The Golden Knights of Holy Plantae have dispatched a new shipment of punishment equipment. And… the folks at DOC. They keep calling. They’re pushing to send another inspector. Real persistent.”
“Yes, I am aware. Sinners!” Kamuz nearly lost his composure. “Well, Raymond. Go have your lunch. I have important business to deal with now.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be praying instead. Excuse me.” Raymond picked up a can of raw corn kernels and left the office. Kamuz waved his counselor to sit.
“Ms. Beaumont, I appreciate your efforts in bringing another lost soul to my care. But I suspect you are here for something weightier.”
“Yes, Warden Kamuz. It’s always a... spiritual experience visiting the Penitentium, but as Raymond said, there’s a new inspector coming. This one’s the real deal. Prim-and-proper type. I’m afraid I won’t be able to massage the reports this time around.”
“I walk with The Lord, and with you, Ms. Beaumont, as one of my spears of law. So tell me, why should I care about this new inspector?”
“She’s rigid. No cracks in her armor. Whoever sent her picked her very carefully. Your enemies probably figured it’s time. After all these years of you outsmarting them... they’re not playing games anymore.”
“‘Outsmarting’ others is a sin, Ms. Beaumont. What I have been trying to do is maintain a single sacred place that truly judges and illuminates the unholy ones.”
Kamuz lowered his head solemnly, adjusted his clerical saturn hat, then slowly straightened with a calm smile. Zara, despite her young looks, knew that smile. It wasn’t joy. It was calculation. But despite knowing the game very well, this time things looked very bad.
“Look, Warden. My hands are tied this time.”
“You have given so much to St. Teresa already. Why abandon your father during this critical time?”
“I’m not. I’m just telling you. I can’t legally cover for you if this new inspector finds it. My only advice is… if you’ve got a sheep to sacrifice… now’s the time to use it!”
“A sheep to sacrifice…” Kamuz said with a distant voice.
He turned his chair toward the window. The endless Kansas flatland beyond always seemed to help him think.
Zara stared at his back. Kamuz was whispering something under his breath. Not to her, not even to himself. But to someone else. His head tilted slightly, as if listening, then turned a fraction, like he was responding to murmurs only he could hear.
“... aye... sinners... thy soles upon which their heresy treads... they must be purified through due penance... a testament to The Lord’s unwavering judgment…”
The counselor took a breath, a quiet one. She didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. She just stood there in the stillness, letting him know she was still on his side.
“Ahem, fa— Warden. I’ll make some calls. See if I can move a few meetings around, maybe stall her arrival. We’ll come up with something for her. Okay?”
Kamuz didn’t react. His whispering quickened, a strange rhythm like prayer. Zara Beaumont decided it was the right time to leave him be.
———
Melissa stared hypnotically at the fire licking the orange fabric. The mother’s slip-on shoes would soon be ash and memory.
She could see all those sinners’ soles writhing inside the flames. One of her hands drifted to rub inside of her right thigh. But then she controlled herself.
“Oh! W-What’s happening to me? F-Forgive me, my Lord!”
The rookie guard waited a few more seconds until the shoes turned to soot, before leaving quietly.
Not far from there, Officers Beverly and Donna were halfway through their lunch in the staff-only canteen of St. Teresa.
“Another poor one. And she didn’t even suspect a thing…”
“Nah. Just another ghost escort gig.”
“So, Bev. Still punchin’ the clock, huh?”
“Well, this place pays better than any other joint. You know that damn well, Donna.”
“Shit, yeah! It’s the only reason we’re still breathin’ St. Teresa’s air...”
“Got a sick kid at home! I need that paycheck. But... this place? Sucks the soul right outta ya. The truth? I dropped another resignation on Kamuz’s desk two days ago.”
“Get outta here! You did it again? Damn, Bev!”
“I count the damn days. But the cash... I need that nest egg before I bail.”
Both women were silent, until Donna broke the quiet, nostalgic.
“Hey! Remember when it was us ticklin’ ‘em? Puttin’ ‘em in line? Hah! We even made friends with some of those barefoot women. I miss those foot tickle days.”
“Tell me about it. I was damn good at ticklin’. A month in my nails and those girls were eatin’ outta my palm, hehe!”
“Fuck… Bev… We’re all burnin’ out. This place’s circlin’ the drain. I heard there’s a new inspector on the way. Tight-ass, by the sound of it.”
“I heard that too. You think they’ll finally shut down St. Teresa’s?”
“To be honest? I really hope so! I heard that—”
The door banged open and Melissa stepped into the canteen.
“Officers! Chicken still warm?”
“Yep. Pretty tasty today,” Beverly said, swirling her coffee and eyeing the rookie.
“You holdin’ up okay, newbie? First peek down there ain’t for everyone,” Donna asked in a mock tone.
“I’m alright, thank you. I don’t understand why officers would be shocked by the Penitentium. Father Kamuz was clear about its purpose. Rehabilitation requires the breaking down of resistance. As stated in the fifth book of The Holy Plantae, ‘Pedicruciatus’ must—”
“Whoa, whoa! Pedicru-what?” Donna asked, frowning.
“You’re not a devotee of The Holy Plantae, are you? I’ll respect your badge, as a superior, but you’re not contributing to these women’s illumination. Actually... why are you still here, Officer Donna?”
“Who ya think you’re talkin’ to like that?” Donna scowled at the rookie.
“Hey! Easy! Both of you,” Beverly intervened. “Melissa, you still gotta report to me. You saw the whole setup down there this mornin’. Any questions cross your mind?”
“Hmm. Yes…” Melissa, perfectly upright on the chair, took a bite of chicken. “The… ‘Hands’? Who are they?”
“Guards. Like us,” Officer Beverly took a long deep breath before continuing.
“Not that long ago, we were ten guards for twenty inmates. Then Kamuz decided foot ticklin’ wasn’t enough. Bam! He builds the Penitentium. Trained two guards into his ‘Hands.’ Then two more. And more. Now there’s fifty of ‘em. Cast-iron resolve. Some were rookies like you. They all dove too deep. Lost their damn minds down there. The ones left… stayed up here.”
“I must say… I completely disagree with your assessment, Officer Beverly. It’s easy to judge without all the necessary information.”
“Look at this girl, Bev!” Donna rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Drinkin’ that Kool-Aid already. Better watch yourself, rookie. Sounds like you’re catchin’ feelings for it?”
“I’m simply trying to do the right thing! Father Kamuz offers a path. Not just bars and… ridiculous tickles! He offers a true trial of spirit, provided by The Lord! His ways are beyond your cynical understanding!”
“Girl, I’ll teach ya—”
“Alright, that’s enough!” Beverly snapped. “Donna, leave it be. Ain’t worth gettin’ riled up!”
The redhead officer shoved her chair back with a screech and stormed out of the canteen.
“Officer Beverly, I don’t need to justify myself to you. Or to Officer Donna. You’re just bitter. You resist the Lord’s word! For me, you’re a sinner. Both of you!”
“Melissa, listen to me. Kamuz’s been feedin’ bullshit to the feds for years. Lied through his damn teeth just to keep his ‘Inquisition’ running. But now there’s a real shot that St. Teresa’s gettin’ shut down. Any day now.”
“What? No! I can’t believe he—”
“Do not become one of them! That’s all I’ll say. Not as a superior. But as a friend!”
Beverly finished her coffee in one last sip and walked off. Melissa was left alone with her thoughts. She gave up her soul to The Holy Plantae. Yet somehow, she still viewed Beverly like an older sister. Trusted her.
But the rookie couldn’t understand why the veteran guard was so critical of Father Kamuz and ‘his sacred work’. “Beverly was wrong! They all were!”
———
A few days had passed.
Officer Melissa stood guard in the chapel, watching over ten female inmates kneeling barefoot on the cold stone floor while praying. Their dirty soles were visible behind them. Buckets of soapy water sat in front. The morning foot-cleaning ritual was moments from beginning.
These were the lucky ones, released from the Penitentium in recent months. Each of them was doing everything they could to never return there again.
Melissa respected their devotion, but her focus had shifted. Her mind no longer lingered on redemption. Not since she first stepped into that torture chamber. She couldn’t think of anything else but Foot Punishment. It haunted her. Gnawed at her from inside. Anxiety attacks had started creeping in, and it was getting worse.
“Hey,” she asked another guard on duty beside her, “Any word on new intakes?”
“Nope. Not that I know of, Melissa.”
The rookie started to scratch at her arm. Then her neck. Visibly uncomfortable.
The other guard noticed it. “You alright, Officer?”
“I’m… not! I need some fresh air. You okay to cover it?”
“Sure. I can hold down the fort, no problem.”
Melissa went to the staff bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face.
“Oh Lord! I-I need to do this!”
She headed straight to the Warden Kamuz’s office. Each step heavier than the last. Her breath caught somewhere between dread and relief.
When she reached the door, hesitation. But after a deep breath—three knocks.
A pause. Then the sound of a key turning.
“Yes?” It was Raymond.
“R-Raymond. Uh, c-can I have a word with Father Kamuz?”
“Oh, I’m afraid not. He’s quite busy with—”
“Let her enter, Raymond,” came the voice from within. Deep and resonant. The secretary nodded.
Melissa stepped inside, walking on eggshells. The curtains were half-drawn. Candles flickered. Somewhere, faint Gregorian chants played, thickening the air with the scent of wax. The whole room breathed like a sanctum.
“Melissa,” the Warden intoned, “I have awaited thy arrival. How fares your father?”
She gasped, caught off guard that Kamuz knew her name.
“He’s fine. Thank you, Father Kamuz.”
“‘Tis good tidings indeed. So then, I surmise thou art curious regarding your sacred duties here, is it not so?”
Melissa swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, Father. I… I need to keep following my calling. I want to help these women. I want to assist them with… with…”
“Pedicruciatus!” Warden Kamuz thundered. “St. Teresa is now aligned according to the stern Law of The Lord. This signifies an increase in the severity of the barefoot penances. And as thou hast witnessed in The Penitentium, those already touched by illumination offer their gratitude for The Lord’s grace.”
“Yes, Father. I saw that! That’s why I’m here. Make me one of your ‘Hands’! Please, I beg you! I’m ready!”
The rookie guard dropped to her knees and began reciting The Holy Book.
“...u-unto these blessed souls is bestowed a sacred duty. Administer the Pedicruciatus, the hallowed chastisement of the feet. A conduit of divine correction. A means by which the recalcitrant spirit is drawn back towards the True Path! The foot, being the lowest station of hominun, doth symbolize the foundation of earthly trespasses. Through its tender flesh the burden of sin manifests, and upon it shall the weight of divine justice must be applied!”
Kamuz’s face lit with holy fire. He raised his arms and echoed the continuation.
“Amongst the multitude, there shall be those chosen. Their souls, cleansed by unwavering devotion, laid bare before the Lumina of the Holy Plantae. These faithful shall be consecrated as the very Hands of the Lord upon this earthly coil. So shall it be enacted, until all stray souls are gathered once more beneath the light of The Holy Plantae!”
“AMEN!” The three of them said in unison.
Melissa lowered her head. “Father Kamuz, accept me. I offer myself fully. Let me become one of your ‘Hands’.”
“Stand, my child. Take that seat and place it at my right hand.”
Raymond followed her, then blindfolded the officer once she was seated. The black cloth had two golden equal-armed crosses that sat exactly over her eyes.
“Now, remove the footwear. And offer thy feet, unclad, upon my lap.”
Melissa’s hands trembled as she untied her boots in the dark. She took them off. Socks followed. She stretched her legs forward, resting a lovely pair of delicate bare size five feet on Kamuz’s thighs. Her rosy, smooth soles had a few wrinkles at the center of her heels, glistened with nervous sweat, but no odor betrayed her.
The Warden rolled her navy-blue pants up under her knees, revealing unblemished pale skin legs. Melissa spread her toes, as though offering them in total submission.
“Divine. Virgin feet. Devoid of any guilt or sin!”
“They are yours, Father Kamuz.”
Behind them, Raymond was using a lighter to heat two small branding irons. They had the same symbol—a pair of bare foot soles, crossed by thunderbolts.
He handed one to Kamuz.
“As My ‘Hand’, thou must accept that the path to grace is not always one of ease…”
The Warden pressed the red-hot brand to Melissa’s right sole. A brief sear noise sounded. Her toes curled. Her jaw clenched.
“Ahhhh... mmmm!”
“... yet every step is guided by The Lord’s divine grace.”
Kamuz forced her toes back, keeping them spread out. He then pressed the second brand to her left foot sole.
“Uhhh mmmmnnn! T-Thank you, Father! ”
Melissa was shaking.
Something broke free inside her. The first full orgasm of her life!
Raymond applied a healing ointment to the marks and removed the blindfold.
Melissa’s tear-glazed eyes met Kamuz’s.
“Thou art now the Lord’s ‘Hand’, my child. A sacred duty bound in spirit.”
“Father Kamuz! I lack nothing for my mission!”
“Good! Now attend closely, for The Lord hath a significant task for you…”
———
Wichita Mid-Continent Airport. Late Afternoon.
The boxy cars idled in the taxi lane. The sky was heavy. A storm was in the forecast for the evening. Inside the passenger terminal, people in shoulder pads and teased-up hair rushed for cabs, luggage in tow. Then came a woman who stood apart from the multitude.
Nearly six feet tall. Shoulders broad, stride deliberate. Amazon-like in a tailored olive-green suit and black ankle boots. Her face looked carved from stone. No expression. No smile. Even her light brown hair, pulled into a tight bun, seemed afraid to move.
“Inspector Thorne?”
She turned. No words. Just a glance.
“Inspector Thorne! I’m Officer Melissa. From St. Teresa Corrections Center. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
Thorne didn’t extend a hand. Just gave her a professional nod.
“Welcome to Kansas. I’m here to escort you to St. Teresa. However, I understand you may be tired from the flight. We have a hotel reserved in your—”
“Duty first, Officer. Get me to St. Teresa.” Her voice was cold and precise.
“Oh! Of course, Inspector. Please, follow me.” Melissa’s smile was just… too bright.
A lone blue Ford Pinto sat at the parking lot like it had been abandoned. Melissa popped the door open and climbed in. Thorne followed, her knees brushed the dashboard.
The car pulled out, taking the highway. But instead of heading north toward the correctional facility, Melissa steered west, past silos and aging truck stops. Thorne quickly noticed the “mistake”.
“I believe you’ve taken the wrong route, Officer.”
“Hear that? That… that awful wobble! Sounds like a flat. Sorry, Inspector, I can’t risk a blowout out here. My father’s got a buddy. A grease monkey. Just up ahead...”
Thorne’s temples throbbed. Her jaw tensed. She gave a single, sharp nod.
Then, without a word, Melissa veered off the highway into a dusty parking lot behind a shuttered auto depot. Nobody in sight. Not even a bird.
“I’m really sorry, Inspector! It’s worse than I thought. Gotta check it now.”
Melissa twisted around in the seat, stretching like she was reaching for a jack. Instead, her hand closed around a rag soaked in chloroform.
In one sudden motion, the rookie guard lunged. The rag clamped over Thorne’s face. “Whatammmmmpfh!”
Thorne’s eyes went wide. Her elbow shot back, nearly hitting Melissa. The rookie braced, straining with her whole body against the inspector’s resistance. Melissa felt the big woman slowly sag. Her limbs lost strength. Her frame collapsed against the seat like a felled statue.
Breathless, Melissa scrambled to a small black case tucked under the floor mat. She snapped it open. Inside, a syringe, pre-filled with a fast-acting sedative. Without hesitation, she plunged it into Thorne’s thigh.
“Thank you, my Lord, for Your strength!”
The wind howled outside. Melissa looked around, eyes darting, panic nipping at her edges. The lot looked clear. Still trembling, she slid back behind the wheel, checked the rearview and floored it.
———
The rain came down steadily, just like the forecast said. Inside an old barn half-swallowed by dust, a rusty 70-gallon tin barrel stood over the edge of a deep hole dug into the dirt floor. Lightning cracked somewhere far off.
Poking out of the barrel’s open top, two big, dangling feet—Thorne’s size elevens.
One foot was bare, the other still wrapped in sheer black nylon.
Her ankles were cinched tight with leather straps, a horizontal steel bar pinning them together, suspended her legs up. Her body was stuffed in there like trash waiting for the dump.
Her big toes were tied together. Her pinky toes yanked back to the barrel’s rim with ropes. Her feet bounced, totally vulnerable.
The balls of her soles were large and meaty, accentuating beautifully her arches that led to narrow heels. Her small toes and bunions were a result from years of boots and closed shoes.
Thorne was awakening from sedation. It took some time for her to realize where she was. A tight pressure constricted her legs. Panic clawed at her throat, but only a muffled groan escaped. Her tongue wrestled against her own stocking, held by a silver tape wrapped around her head. Her arms and wrists were tied by ropes, as well as her knees.
She was in a death trap. No way out. A prisoner in a tin can!
Just as the panic threatened to overwhelm Thorne, two wet-dirty figures emerged from lights breaking through the barrel, their faces streaked with filth and rain.
Melissa, braid still somehow perfect, and Raymond, pale as a corpse, his ugly bowl-cut stuck to his forehead like wet seaweed. Both grinned down at the exposed soles of Thorne's feet, bouncing helpless above the barrel’s rim.
“Well, well, look who’s awake,” Melissa’s voice was sickeningly sweet. “Just another sinner!”
Raymond chuckled like a sick altar boy. “Awake just in time for the Pedicruciatus. A fine time before we leave you for The Lord’s trial!”
Melissa dropped to her knees beside the barrel and pulled out two lengths of old garden hose. Cracked and stiff with age.
“You see these, Inspector? The Lord providing us Holy tools of purification!”
Before Thorne could even register the threat, Melissa whipped the nylon-covered sole with the piece of hose. Raymond followed and his hose thudded against the bare sole. A painful groan escaped Thorne’s gagged mouth. She bucked, but her legs were locked in place. Her feet just trembled in midair.
‘CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!’
Melissa and Raymond kept beating her soles for several minutes. Synchronized action. Over and over. Until the hoses began to split and break. Bits of plastic flew inside the barrel, over the sweaty face of Thorne. Her soles blazed red, crisscrossed with rising welts.
Melissa let out a satisfied sigh, then tossed the remains of the hose. Raymond dropped his too. Both wiped the sweat from their forehead, looking at each other with sparkly eyes. They proceeded to the next phase—foot tickling!
Twenty sharp nail tips began creeping across the meat of Thorne’s ravaged soles. The sudden shift from blunt pain to maddening tickling made her body jerk wildly. Her head banged inside of the barrel. Muffled screams filled the space.
“Confess, you sinner! Repent before the Holy Plantae!” Melissa howled with excitement.
“Repent! May The Lord forgive you in the afterlife!” Raymond dug his nails into the arch of her bare sole.
Thorne could only buck and writhe, trapped in her metal tomb. Her soles twitched under the tickle attack. Tears and sweat dripped from her face. The nylon on her right foot tore loose as Melissa ripped it off.
Now both soles were bare… raw and throbbing!
The rain continued assaulting the barn roof, drowning out everything but her muffled cries and the voices of their captors.
Finally the tickling stopped.
Melissa spat into the barrel. She held a flashlight, angling it down to catch Thorne’s eyes. “I hope you’re repented of your sins, Inspector. Your final trial’s coming fast.”
Raymond began to burn a piece of plastic with his lighter, handing it to Melissa. Then lit another. Together, they began dripping the melted plastic onto the soles of Inspector Thorne.
Each drop hit like hot needles.
The barrel clunked while Thorne’s body thrashed inside. Her muffled screams reached a pitch. The barn filled with the stench of melted plastic and scorched feet.
When the plastic was all used up, both feet were pocked with blackened blisters.
“Lord, may our Pedicruciatus prepare this sinner for your trial,” Melissa said out loud.
Her nails were back. Scratching. Scraping. Digging into Thorne’s ultra sensitive and irritated skin. Pain and tickling. The Inspector twitched like a dying lizard.
“Our duty’s done, Melissa. Now it’s time for The Lord to judge her!”
The officer ignored Raymond. “Not yet!” She pulled a silver flask from her coat and poured it across the soles.
Thorne arched. A burning itch spread instantly across her soles. Her legs shook like a dying engine. Her body had no fight left.
Melissa looked at the agonizing feet. “Now… she’s ready!”
Together, they loosened the steel bar. Thorne’s legs collapsed inside the barrel like limp noodles.
Raymond grunted as he lifted a heavy lid from the ground.
“May The Lord have mercy on your soul.” Melissa gave Thorne a last word.
And they slammed it shut. A final, dull thud.
No sound came from inside. Thorne was drained past the point of any resistance.
Melissa and Raymond pushed the barrel to the edge of the hole, which they had dug hours ago, and now it was ready to swallow their offering. Their faces were locked in that same holy grimace. Grim. Joyless. Devoted.
But then!
“Freeze! FBI! Hands where I can see ‘em!”
The barn doors exploded inward.
Melissa and Raymond turned just in time to see agents swarm inside.
Shouting. Lights. Mud flying in all directions. The agents quickly arrest them.
The barrel didn’t fall. The hole remained empty. Inspector Thorne was saved, but totally whacked out of her damn mind.
———
In a residential area of Topeka, Beverly was worried about the storm. She sat on the couch, trying to relax after another day in St. Teresa’s. She kept one ear cocked toward her son’s room. He had just fallen asleep.
‘DING-DONG.’
The doorbell.
Beverly frowned. “Da hell?”
She grabbed her robe and opened the door slowly. A familiar silhouette stood on the porch, umbrella up, heels sharp even in the storm.
“M-Ms. Beaumont? What’re ya doin’ here?”
“Ms. Taylor? May I come in?”
“Uh… yeah, yeah. Sure.”
The counselor clicked the umbrella closed with one smooth motion and stepped inside like she owned the place.
“Apologies for dropping in unannounced. I won’t take much of your time.”
“That’s fine. Want somethin’ to drink or...?”
“Sweet of you, but no. This won’t take long.”
“Alright... have a seat, then.”
They sat across from each other. Bev’s living room was cozy. The only sound was the clock ticking and the heavy rain on the roof.
Zara didn’t waste a beat.
“Raymond and that rookie… Melissa. They’ve been arrested!”
Beverly widened her eyes. “Whoa! What?”
“They kidnapped the missing inspector. The one scheduled to visit St. Teresa. FBI found them in an abandoned barn. Looked like they were about to bury her alive.”
Bev’s mouth opened, then shut. Her stomach dropped. She didn’t need to ask where that twisted idea came from. “Jesus…”
Zara raised a finger. “But… that’s not why I’m here.”
She pulled an envelope from her coat and handed it over to the veteran guard.
Inside, two one-way plane tickets to Seattle. And cash. A lot of it.
“Da hell is this?”
“A lifeboat. St. Teresa will be shut down tomorrow. Or… being gutted. Rebuilt. I don’t know yet... But! I want you out of there. In two weeks, you’ll be in Seattle with your son. Fresh start.”
Bev stared at her, frozen. The counselor continued.
“Detectives will knock on your door soon. Just tell the truth. You’ll be forgotten after that. I’ll make sure of it. Plus…” Zara leaned in slightly, voice softening. “I found a good doctor in Seattle. He can help your boy.”
That hit hard for Beverly. The kind that lands somewhere between your ribs and your faith in humanity.
“Mommie...?” A tiny voice called out from the hallway
Bev turned fast. “Back to bed, sweetheart. Mommie’s right here. Go on now.”
The boy nodded and shuffled back to his room.
Zara smiled. “Lovely child!”
Beverly didn’t return the smile. Her face was stone as she turned back to the woman on her couch.
“Alright! Cut the crap. Why ya doin’ this?”
Zara tilted her head, and laid a hand on Beverly’s shoulder.
“I’ve been watching you. You’re one of the good ones. You… remind me of my mother. Least, what little I remember. She passed when I was... well. Long ago.”
Bev’s voice dropped. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Water under the bridge! So, this offer... it’s how you honor her name.”
“Ms. Beaumont... What da hell is goin’ on? For real?”
Zara’s lips twitched. Not a smile, but more like a crack in the mask.
“My fa— My former boss, the Warden, did things to my mother you don’t even want to imagine. That man needs to rot in the worst kind of hell.”
Beverly brow furrowed. “Wait! So all these years, ya were plannin’—”
“Exactly!”
Zara clenched her fist, then let go of it like nothing had happened.
“Stay home tomorrow. Be with your son. Let the system eat itself. I’m handling it.”
She stood up, adjusting her coat.
“Oh! And your friend, Donna Auburn? She’s working for me now. She’s packing her stuff to California with her daughter. What’s that name… Oh! Scarlett!”
Beverly looked at the envelope again. Then slowly nodded.
“Alright. I’ll take it. But I’m only doin’ this for my boy!”
“Good! Yeah! Do it for your lil boy!” Zara said it loud and slapped Beverly’s thigh.
“MOMMIE!!!”
“Oops! Sorry! Go to your boy. We’re done here. Don’t worry, he’s gonna be okay.”
The counselor stood and grabbed her umbrella.
“Oh, and one more thing… there’s a job waiting for you in Seattle!”
She flashed one last smirk, then walked out into the rain without looking back.
Thunder rumbled again, low and distant. Beverly stood at the door a long time, envelope in hand.
“MOMMIE!!!”
She turned, her voice soft. “I’m comin’, sweetheart. Mommie’s comin’.”
———
One week later, everything Zara said came true. Detectives. Exoneration. St. Teresa’s shutdown. But before leaving Topeka to start a new life, Beverly had one last thing to do. A loose end she couldn’t ignore.
She called Donna to join her on a quick trip. They rented a beat-up Oldsmobile and hit the Kansas Turnpike, heading east. Beverly was clenched up, barely spoke. Donna just lit a cigarette and kicked back, satisfied.
They rolled into Kansas City and parked outside the eyesore of a place. K.C. Forensic Psychiatric Institution. Gray as ash, windows like dead eyes.
“Damn,” Donna muttered. “What a freakin’ dump. Like Arkham’s broke cousin.”
After a parade of bureaucratic sign-ins at the reception, the ex-officers got their visitor badges slapped to their jackets. A peppy nurse led them through reeking corridors.
“…she’s been treated real good here,” the nurse rambled. “You ladies probably know the drill, right? Heh. Usin’ the same methods y’all did back in that shoebox…”
After what felt like miles of hallway, they stopped. Room 237.
The officers looked into the room through a small window in the door.
Inside, in the corner, forehead bowed toward a padded wall, knelt a barefoot young woman in a ratty straitjacket. Diapered, freshly shaved head, pale as chalk. Praying.
“Can we go in and say hi?” Donna asked the nurse.
“I’ll have to check with Doc—”
“Of course you can,” came a voice behind them, clipped and cheerful. “Social interaction is therapeutic. I assume you’re friends of the patient?”
A tall, weirdly cheerful man in a crisp coat stepped forward. “I’m Dr. Morton,” he said, offering his hand. “And you are?”
“I’m Donna Auburn. She’s Beverly Taylor. We’re not exactly friends… We were—”
“I was her boss,” Beverly cut in, melancholic. “I feel… responsible for what happened. I need to see her.”
“I understand… I understand… Fine! Well, no time like the present. I’m here to pick her up for her morning session. Nurse Miller? Could you?”
“Right away, Doctor.”
The nurse opened the door. “Melissa? It’s giggles time.”
The dull thud of a forehead banging the padded wall increased.
“NO, NO, NO! I’m not a sinner! I’m not a sinner ! I’M NOT A SINNER!!!”
Melissa turned. Then crawled, straight to Beverly, like a dog remembering its owner.
“O-OFFICER BEVERLY! PLEASE! TELL ‘EM! I’M NOT A SINNER! I WAS ON A MISSION! THE LORD CHOSE ME TO SAVE THOSE SOULS! I’M A KNIGHT OF THE HOLY PLANTAE, NOT A SINNER!!!”
Bev looked stunned. Her mouth opened, like she might speak, but then two burly orderlies entered and hoisted Melissa up by the straitjacket’s back straps.
“Of course you’re not a sinner, Melissa.” Dr. Morton said with a syrupy warmth. “Now, we’ll bring back that precious giggle of yours in no time. Just a little tickle… a little reflection. It’s the path to healing, dear.”
“NO! NOT MY FEET! PLEASE! NOT MY FEEEEET! I’M NOT A SIIIIINNEEER!”
Beverly and Donna watched as Melissa kicked and flailed between the orderlies, her cries echoing down the corridor.
Dr. Morton waved the ex-officers a gentle goodbye as he followed Melissa into the therapy wing. That left the women with Nurse Miller.
“Tsk, poor thing,” the nurse said with a lopsided smile. “But you know how it goes. First it’s ‘not my feet,’ and then soon they’re reformed!”
Beverly watched Melissa being dragged with a blank expression.
Donna, on the other hand, smilingly engaged the nurse in a chat.
“Hey, Nurse Miller, didn’t they bring the other one here too?”
“Oh yeah. The creepy guy? He’s over in the men’s ward. I heard he loves tickles on his bare feet. Laugh like a schoolgirl when they touch his soles. But no visitors are allowed over there.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Beverly cut in, stepping back fast. “We’re done here. Thanks for everything, Nurse Miller. Let’s head out.”
She strode toward the exit, fast, hiding her tearing eyes from Donna.
“Okay, Bev… Err… I’ll meet ya in the car.”
Then the redhead turned to Nurse Miller, lowered her voice with a grin. “Between us? I’d love to see how Raymond’s holdin’ up in there. But in the meantime… Can I just check on Melissa? She was my rookie, y’know?”
“Okay. Follow me.”
Through the window in the therapy room door, they could see Melissa, strapped tight to a padded recliner, secured with so many leather belts it looked like a bondage tutorial. The orderlies were scrubbing her soles with hand brushes dipped in hot water. Dr. Morton sat behind her, swinging a pendulum in front of her face and whispering something in her left ear.
Her face was red, ready to explode. Even though she couldn’t be heard by Donna and Miller, it was obvious that she was screaming hysterically.
“She gets this three times a day,” the nurse whispered. “But if she doesn’t improve soon, next step’s combine foot stimulation with electroshock therapy.”
Donna chuckled. “She always did seem a little… fried.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hehe! Let it go, I’m just—”
Suddenly, the door of the therapy room opened. The two orderlies walked out, nodding briefly. In the seconds the door was open, Melissa’s shrieks cracked through.
Donna peeked one last time. Dr. Morton sat down next to his patient’s feet, holding a thin steel fork in his hand, and began tracing it along Melissa’s reddish sensitive soles.
“This’ll go on for hours! Until she breaks through. Dr. Morton can be quite… forbearing,” the nurse said.
A voice rang out through the corridor. “Nurse Miller! I need you here!”
“Be right there!” she called, then turned to Donna. “Sorry, I gotta lock up. Please go wait in the reception, okay?”
“Nah, I’m leavin’. Thanks for the peek. And tell Melissa I said bye-bye.”
———
Back at the parking lot, Donna spotted Beverly leaning against the Olds, arms folded, staring at her.
“Bev! What’s the rush? You okay? You missed the whole show—”
Before she could finish, Beverly grabbed her by the collar and slammed her against another parked car, forearm pressing hard into her throat.
“Listen up! You think this is funny? That girl’s in hell ‘cause of me. I let her sign up. I looked the other way and now she’s in straps. And we’re out here. Walkin’ free! Like it don’t mean nothin’. Just ‘cause we know how that shit works!”
She let her go. Donna coughed, straightened her jacket.
“Jesus, Bev. Yeah… gotcha. You’re right! Just… Dunno… That’s my way to deal this shit. But don’t forget, you warned her! Kamuz’s to blame! Not me!”
Beverly looked away, jaw clenched. “Let’s get back to Topeka.”
They stood there in silence for a moment. Then got into the car.
The drive home was quiet. No radio. No jokes. Just the hum of the engine, and Kansas rolling by.
———
“Ms. Tay— Oh, sorry, Beverly. I… I honestly don’t know what to say,” the job interviewer shook her head. “I remember watching the news when it all came out. But I had no idea you went through all that.”
Beverly leaned back, hands resting in front of her belly.
“Yeah… it was a hell of a ride, I won’t lie. Didn’t have much of a choice.”
“And this… Father Kamuz? He’s still at large, isn’t he?”
“Far as I know? Yep. Slipped through the cracks like a greased-up rat.”
“I see. Fair enough. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“Nah, don’t sweat it. I’m the one who ran my mouth. Guess I had it bottled up too long. Appreciate the ear, though. Needed to get that crap outta my chest.”
Davenport smiled, more genuine now. “That’s perfectly fine. And I get it. Tight spot, high-pressure place, moral lines... things get blurred. I won’t hold it against you.”
Beverly nodded. “Thanks, Mrs. Davenport!”
The interviewer grabbed a folder, tapped it twice on the desk and smiled.
“Alright then… I believe we’re done here.”
She stood and extended a hand.
“Ms. Taylor. I’m pleased to tell you your admission’s been approved. You start Monday. I believe that your work here as an enforcement officer will come easy to you! Hehe!
Beverly smiled wide, a real smile, the kind she hadn’t worn in a while.
“I’m ready to roll, hehe… Thanks, Mrs. Davenport.”
“We thank you! Welcome to Ava Roi Podiatry Center!”
The End?
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