Joe and Hal, having checked all the monitors and found nobody, left the precious tapes securely locked in the surveillance room and proceeded to conduct a rather haphazard sweep of the cavernous store. They had no luck at all, until, precisely at 11:26, a door alarm went off like hell's bells.

"Sounds like Door 4," Hal yelled over the tumult. "Must be that damn Rita what's-her-name."

"Donovan," Joe shouted back.

"Whatever. You go after her. I got to get to a phone and call off the cops with some bull shit story."

In point of fact, it wasn't Rita; Ms. Murgess was the one who set off the alarm. She had been in the middle of delivering an "improving lecture," and, lost in her monologue, she pushed against the crush bar of Door 4 without thinking. In the ensuing pandemonium, she hesitated for only half a heart-beat, then carried on through the doorway and, still talking, bore off in what she imagined was the general direction of where they'd parked the school van. Stan, nobody's fool, kept his mouth shut.

Joe hurried over to Door 4 as fast as possible for a three-legged man, but he was much too late to catch the guilty party.

---

So where was Rita? For over an hour, she had had been creeping about the vast and dimly lit store in search of something to wear in place of that insufferable uniform. She'd gotten all turned around in housewares (it was like a maze), been distracted by a fine display of Waterford crystal, and become thoroughly confused (but quite impressed in spite of herself) in the oriental rug department. When she reached cosmetics, she knew she was close, and celebrated by sampling the Chanel No.5. But then she took a wrong turn and wound up in leather goods.

She was passing through the "Little Miss" department, with a sneer on her lips, when the alarm went off. Startled into a tizzy, she grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that looked like they might fit and headed for an exit that wasn't going bananas at the moment.

Joe had just heaved a sigh of relief after re-setting the alarm on Door 4, when the after-hours silence was again shattered. This time it was Door 7.

Rita had left the building.

---

Eventually, Hal and Joe straggled back to the security office, baffled. Except for them, the store was clearly deserted.

"God knows where that Rita-damn-Donovan is now," Hal said, wearily. "But those Harrington people must have taken Stephanie away with them, back to the school -- though God knows why. Since I'm senior, I'd better stay here and try to deal with any inquiries. You get out to Harrington and retrieve Steph.... She'll prob'ly be really, really appreciative, 'nudge-nudge, wink-wink.' Right?"

"I'd be happy to, but you know it's well after midnight now...."

"No sweat. Since there's a runaway, there'll be somebody in Admin all night, and they won't want this thing to get any more out of hand than we do.... So get goin', and I'll make sure to have your copies of the tapes ready by the time you get back."

Joe managed a rueful grin and a mock salute on his way out the door.

---

After barrelling out Door 7, Rita had nipped around the side of the store and hidden behind some dumpsters, where she changed clothes and threw jumper, blouse, and so-called bra into the rubbish. ("And good riddance!" 😉 The t-shirt was a little tight and the shorts very loose, but tolerable.

She hurried across the almost vacant parking lot, which held only four vehicles -- three in a cluster nearby: a dumpy Ford Tempo, a rusty Scout (is there any other kind?), and a grey pickup with the vanity plate "HEF," as well as, a distance away, a black van with some gold lettering and a crest on the side.

She headed straight for the garishly lit convenience store that she spotted about a block away. Regardless of what sort of twerp was behind the counter, Rita was sure she could vamp him into calling her a cab, and, after that, she'd soon be free of this dreadful affair.

But the instant she walked into the store, the Middle Eastern clerk began gibbering excitedly and shooing her away. She was both frightened and flabbergasted until, turning to go, she glimpsed her reflection in the big glass front door. She was still wearing anklets and mary janes -- and those damn barrettes -- as well as pink short-shorts (riding very low and threatening to slip past her narrow hips at any moment) and a mustard yellow t-shirt with purple lettering that read "Lil' Princess." One part of her brain suddenly understood why she was being treated as a pre-teen out after curfew and loitering around a place with a liquor license in jeopardy. The rest of her brain, however, was mulling over "Lil'" and wondering why they'd put the apostrophe THERE. "Must have been made by cheap foreign labor," she decided, as she swept from the store. "So typical: tasteless AND ungrammatical!"

She hesitated in front of the convenience store, unsure what to do next, but aware that the greasy clerk was continuing to stare at her. Then, suddenly, she found herself "caught in the headlights," literally, of a black van that seemed vaguely familiar. She couldn't go forward, and, when she heard the clerk lock the door behind her, she knew there was no retreat, either.

"Busted...again," she murmured, recognizing the van.

A woman, superficially attractive, but fundamentally bovine, descended from the van and approached Rita, whose mind had just gone into overdrive.

"It is way after curfew, little girl. Are you lost?" Ms. Murgess asked.

Wiping her nose on the back of her hand and raising her voice an octave or so above normal, Rita replied, "My mom's real sick, an' I was gonna get her a present...an' I took the bus all the way to that big store down there -- Nelson's -- but it was closed...an' some big, mean girls stole all my money I'd saved up...an' now I can't even get back home...."

"Oh, you poor, sweet little thing. You just come along with me. I am a school teacher, and I will help you."

("Idiots," Rita thought. "I'm surrounded by idiots. Tell 'em the absolute truth, and they refuse to believe any of it. Tell outrageous lies, and they lap up every word. And my rotten so-called 'friends' -- petty, shallow, back-stabbing bitches and bastards -- they're really no better, just different. I could have gotten out of this mess hours ago, if I'd had one friend I could trust. God! If I could ever find one person I could bond with...speak to truly, without saying a word...." 😉

"I am afraid you will have to ride in the back of the van, dear. We already have another girl back there, but you must not be afraid. Stan, would you put Heather in restraints?"

("Heather?" Rita wondered to herself. "The notorious Heather Hammond? The real one or...?" 😉

When, at last, she scrambled into the back of the Black Mariah, the question was answered.

"You treacherous little bitch," Stephanie spat, venomously.

Stephanie kept her voice down, so as not to antagonize Ms. Murgess any further. But she spent the entire 30-minute trip holding forth on what a loathesome worm Rita was, and explaining, in crude and graphic detail, exactly how Rita was going be revenged upon the instant Stephanie was free.

Rita, deciding to take what she imagined was the "high road," made only two remarks. Initially, she observed, "Nice uniform...but didn't they have any 'plus-sizes'?" And later, after Stephanie's almost unbroken tirade had begun winding down, she sniffed, "People who live in glass houses, Heather...."

---

From the back of the closed van, Rita could see nothing of the school, and almost nothing while being hustled from the van and through what turned out to be the back door of the Administration building. There might have been something to see between that point and Ms. Murgess's office, near the front of the building, but Rita found it much more amusing to watch Stephanie waddle along, in diaper and tight shoes, with her hands cuffed behind her. At the same time, Rita's shorts seemed to be getting even looser, and she had to hitch them up every few steps.

The office was about what Rita had expected: two walls covered with fake wood paneling and the other two painted institutional green; grey metal horizontal file; scrupulously neat grey metal desk; golf trophy; PC with stuffed Garfield perched on top; framed diploma of some sort, but no paintings, no prints, not even any photos.

After shackling Stephanie to one of the grey metal side chairs, Stan actually spoke (his voice gravely, perhaps from lack of use), "Inspection in half an hour?"

"Yes. You go ahead; I will be along presently," Ms. Murgess answered. "I just want to type up a report and punishment order on our ungrateful, runaway, former-prefect/present-and-future- sub-minimus, Heather Hammond."

"Now, wait just a minute...." Stephanie began, but the woman cut her off with a gesture. She rose from her desk and, from a white enameled wall cabinet, she produced some sort of heavy wire device. "It is called a 'dental gag'; it is AMA approved." It had movable jaws that were opened and closed by means of a handle on the side. "Open wide," she said to "Heather." But when the latter clamped her lips together and shook her head defiantly, she simply had her nostrils pinched shut until she had to open her mouth to breathe. The gag was then slipped into place between her upper and lower teeth, the handle squeezed, and her mouth forced wide open -- and held that way.

"Safe and rather effective. You can still breathe and make some noise (though articulate speech is, of course, impossible), but you should find it somewhat humbling...and it makes you drool. But, I warn you, you had better not dare slobber on my nice carpet, girl, or you will get 'extras' later."

She turned to Rita, and her expression softened. "You had better phone your father now, dear, and let him know where you are. He will probably be worried sick."

Rita dialled her home phone and, knowing that her machine didn't pick up until after the sixth ring, hung up after five and a half. She shook her head and looked about to cry.

"Never mind, sweetheart," Ms. Murgess said. "He is surely out looking for you. Wait a few minutes and try again." She booted up the PC and began typing briskly. From time to time, she would pause, and look at Stephanie, and smile a secret smile. When she'd finished and printed out the result (5 pages!), she tucked the print-out into a manila folder, dropped it onto the middle of her otherwise sterile desk, and pressed a button on the intercom. "Judy, please come in here for a moment."

Almost immediately, there was a tapping on the door, which opened to admit a sallow, slightly adenoidal young woman with a squint.

"Ah, Judy, I am afraid you will have to work tonight until I finish Inspection. When the two new matrons check in, have them 'see to' our young Miss Hammond; her papers are in this folder. Remind them that we are not indulgent here. And this is Rita...Donovan. Her father may be coming by for her. See that there's no problem."

"Yes'm," Judy said, and Rita could have sworn she practically curtseyed.

Ms. Murgess sighed and stretched. She extracted a clipboard from her desk and got to her feet.

Rita looked terrifed. "P-please don't leave me alone with HER. She's older'n me, an' bigger an' stronger, an' she was talkin' real mean to me before...."

"Fear not, child," Ms. Murgess said. "I have to leave you both here for a while, but she will be in restraints. And, as for the 'mean talking,' the gag will take care of that."

---

Rita just had to get away and knew she'd have to make her escape attempt soon, before The Murgess returned. It wasn't that she feared legal ramifications. The department store wouldn't press a couple of trivial misdemeanors very hard when she could nail them to the wall for more than one felony. And she could get these Harrington idiots off her back simply by proving her identity. Stephanie might cause some trouble, but couldn't do much without admitting her own guilt. But all the above would mean publicity...publicity of the most humiliating sort. People would be LAUGHING at her! And nobody laughs at Rita Donovan...haven't for a long time, at least...not since school....

Then she noticed Stephanie squirming in her chair. Of course, the diaper was hot and itchy, but.... "Ah, does baby wanna go potty?" She grinned. "Let me see if baby's had an accident...."

Much to Stephanie's dismay, Rita stuck her hand down the front of the diaper.

"No, not wet yet...but soon, I think.... And, what's this? Did babykins lose all her pubic hair? Did The Murgess do that to you? How exquisite! That must have been quite a sight. But that's neither here nor there. You're going to wet your diaper soon, and I can't help that. And I can't change you, even if I had a spare diaper handy, 'cause SHE might not approve...."

Rita looked around, hitched up her shorts, and crossed over to the medicine cabinet. "But...yes! Some ointment will maybe help ward off diaper rash, don't you think?" She chose a tube and squeezed out a large blob of goo. She thrust her hand down the front of Stephanie's diaper again and wiggled it around. "Ben-Gay," she said. After pulling her hand out, she wiped her fingers on a tissue, to remove the slight traces of burning ointment that remained.

Stephanie sat as if paralyzed, her eyes big and her breathing labored. Instead of shrieks, all she could utter were tiny, strangled squeaks. Having no other recourse, she tried to put out the fire in her crotch by pissing herself. It did seem to help some, but not nearly enough.

Rita, meanwhile, was reading with great interest the "Punishment Order" (form A101) that Ms. Murgess had typed up for "Heather Hammond."

"Wow-ow!" she said. She reassembled the file, then shook her head and grimaced. "You ain't seen nothin' yet...."

Rita felt exhilarated.

Since Stephanie was beginning to find her shrieking voice, Rita waited until she had paused to catch her breath, then blew her a kiss and darted out of the office. She listened for a moment outside and was pleased to find that they apparently were using the original heavy oak Edwardian door. Hardly a sound penetrated it, and nothing could be heard five feet away.

Satisfied, Rita hitched up her shorts and began making her stealthy way toward the lighted area that was just ahead.

---

Rita was biding her time, lurking in the shadows of the lobby until she might have a chance to get past Judy, guarding the desk and front door. She knew she'd have to wait until someone was buzzed in who was preoccupied, lead-footed, or just stupid -- and she figured her odds around here were pretty good.

Then a beefy figure in an all-too-familiar uniform appeared at the door. Joe flashed his badge, and was admitted.

"Bummer," Rita muttered to herself. Yet.... Rita had discovered a bold, adventuresome streak in her personality that she enjoyed immensely. She stepped out of the shadows, so that Joe could now see her -- but Judy still could not -- and dramatically flung her arms wide, desperately hoping he'd be shrewd enough to read her body language.

Joe immediately got a blank look on his face, and Rita could almost see the wheels going around inside his head. She concentrated, trying to will them to spin in the right direction. Her mental reflexes may have been quicker than his, but he was no blockhead. He blinked and put on an apologetic half-smile. "My name's Donovan," he said to Judy. "And I've come for my little girl."

Rita beamed. Finally, here was someone who wasn't an idiot.

"Daddy!" she cried. Heedless of her shorts, she ran to him and hugged him tight. She whispered, "Get me out of here right now, big boy, and I promise I won't sue your ass."

Joe bent down to her. "Deal. But where's Steph?" he murmured.

"She'll keep; my offer won't, Daddy."

---

Moments later, they were outside and down the steps, trying to walk casually toward the green-and-rust Scout parked nearby. Judy was standing in the doorway behind them, smiling proudly.

"To tell you the truth, copper, your Stephanie IS inside there. They think she's the infamous "Heather Hammond" -- who, I've decided, must be the criminal fiend who started this whole thing by stealing my stuff to begin with. But, since your Stephanie was such a bitch, I'll make it worth your while to wait twenty-four hours before informing them of their mistake."

Joe frowned. "Well, in the first place, she's not MY Stephanie...not any more. And, in the second place, I wouldn't do that for money."

"I wasn't offering...money," Rita purred and gripped his hand more tightly.

Joe considered, but not long. "You tired?"

"Not in the slightest. What do you have in mind?"

"Probably a lot like what you have in mind. But I want to make a stop along the way to pick up a tape. I think you'll like it."

*** C. Lakewood Alec Leamus