She wasn't in the office anymore. She was lying on a stiff bed of some kind, not like the one underneath the machine. The sounds were all harsh, as if bouncing off bare concrete. The voices were unfamiliar.She opened her eyes.She was lying down on a mattress covered in stained white cotton, the room around her a featureless slab of grey concrete. The wall to her left had a stainless steel toilet bowl protruding from it, and the one to her right had a heavy looking door set into it. The door had no handle. It wasn't anything like the one at work, however. Whereas the familiar door of her workplace had consisted of white, vertical, metal bars and an oversized lock, this one was a featureless metal rectangle. Clearly, it wasn't for show, to merely look like it was secure. It was purely functional, offering her nothing to grab onto.It took a few seconds for her to realise where she was. She was in a prison. A real prison."Hey!" she said, much weaker than she'd intended to. Her throat was. I was stuck at the bottom of the well; maybe they had found an exit.=^.^=The flicker of overhead lights singled an end of recess. The Society's meeting was reconvening.Alice and I took our seats on opposite sides of Sheila. Madame Moderator never bothered to look up. She was the image of intense concentration as she hurriedly flipped the pages of a speckled black composition notebook. Sheila paused for a moment to read the page, smiled, and using a pencil as a bookmark, closed the journal.I did a double take when I noticed the hand-lettered title of the journal: "Things Worth Remembering" A diary? Seriously?The hall was on edge with anticipation as the audience waited for Sheila's next move."Welcome again to deliberations. We have returned to business, and the floor is open. Rise and be recognized so that we may better know your mind," the gavel's bang! echoed from the walls."Together we built this place as a shelter to survive whatever fate may throw at us. This is our refuge, our.
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