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“It's a pity,” I said, as I carefully polished each silver instrument and wrapped it in dry muslin, “you couldn't stay longer.”

I heard a soft, desperate, muffled sound behind me. I turned around.

“Oh dear,” I whispered. “I forgot this.” I slowly removed the mouth gag, wiping a single tear that was sliding down her cheek. There were soft gasps, and breathing, but no other sounds fell from her trembling lips.

I unlocked the wrist clamps and gently lifted her cool, small body from the vinyl chair. A little pool had collected on the seat. I set her down on shaking legs and handed her a clean towel and washcloth. Giving her a pat on the bottom, I ushered her towards the door.

She hesitated, turning her large eyes towards me. She opened her mouth, slowly, flushed lips still trembling, and whispered, barely audible over the hum of the lights, “...Next week...?”

I put my still-gloved hand under her chin. “Of course, my dear. You have a 10 o'clock appointment.”

A faint hint of a smile hovered on her face. She made her way through the lobby on unsteady legs, trailing her delicate fingers along the wall.

I peeled off my gloves, splattered with now-unrecognizable substances, and tossed them into the trash. I looked out into the lobby. Some of the girls were crying, others were holding each other for comfort, but most were simply sitting stoically, hard eyes staring forward.

I washed my hands, pulled on a new pair of rubber gloves and picked up the clipboard from the wall.

“Now,” I said, grinning. “Who's next?”