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			DAMSELS UNDER GLASS: THE SERIES
			A Bug's Tale (Charlie's Story) ———————————————— by Van & Courier  ©2000
			Chapter 10

Charlie's back was really starting to ache.  It wasn't too bad... just, not being able to stretch, having to hold herself above the devil's spiked body and clutching talons, being denied even the tiny range of motion allowed by the pillory and stocks... This is getting really old.  She gazed down, into the devil's glowing eyes.  Pillories and stocks are always a drag, she mused.  This the Inner Circle Member knew—from experience.  She started to sigh, and caught herself.  No need to tempt fate... or gravity.  Her jaws were aching too.  Maintaining a constant hold on the devil's tongue was also getting old.  In a few more hours... it would be a serious challenge.  How long has it been? Charlie asked herself.  Hours, she decided, then lifted her gaze to her fellow prisoner.

The "Harp of Heaven" was continuing its non-stop, unheavenly étude of involuntary pleasure.  Teri had lapsed into a sweat-soaked, exhausted daze some time before.  Hanging limply in her chains, her head leaning to one side, eyes closed above her gag, her sex resting solidly against the Harp's continuously vibrating saddle post.  Post-orgiastic coma, Charlie mused.  Been there.  Done that.  Got the obscene T-shirt... but only as part of The Game... in friendly hands, she noted... friendly hands.  By Charlie's count, Teri had cum five times, maybe six.  Hard to tell at the end there, Charlie admitted, when she started getting really tired.  Pleasant dreams, Ter, Charlie wished for her friend.  Dreams may be the only pleasant things we'll have for a while... 'til the cavalry gets here.

Just then, Charlie heard the unmistakable sound of the chamber's door being unlocked.  Elation was instantly replaced by dread when she remembered her promised whipping. Wait a minute, Charlie thought, it can't be morning... can it?

The door creaked open and Charlie beheld Victoria, silhouetted against the lights of the passageway.  The redhead reached inside and flipped on the chamber's overhead lights.  She was wearing a black leather coat, black leather pants, high-heel boots... and apparently no top.  Crazy Bitch, Charlie mused.  Victoria stepped into the chamber, and with a slow, leisurely turn, surveyed her victims; a gloating, decidedly evil smile curling her lips.  Niiiiice Crazy Bitch, Charlie thought, fidgeting in her bonds nervously.

Victoria strolled to the Harp of Heaven and ran her hand along the frame of the rack.  Teri stirred in her sleep, but didn't wake.  "She's precious like that, isn't she?" Victoria asked Charlie in a whisper.  "Asleep I mean."  Charlie could just hear her captor's voice over the monotonous drone of the Harp.  The leather clad redhead walked towards Charlie and the spiked devil.  "Even Drake looks sweet and innocent in her sleep," she confided.

Uh... I'll have to take your word on that one, Charlie thought, skeptically.

Victoria retrieved the tool that had been used to make adjustments to the devil, inserted it in the devil's head, and gave it a turn.  "You can let go of his tongue now," she said, "unless you enjoy sucking on that thing."

Charlie cautiously opened her mouth, allowing the iron cylinder to slowly slide back into the devil's mouth.  Wet with her saliva, the phallic appendage glistened obscenely as it disappeared from view.  Much to Charlie's relief, the devil's talons did not close on her hanging breasts.  She grimaced and tried to lick her lips.  Her mouth still tasted of rust and oil, but was too dry to develop spit, and her jaw ached like crazy.  "Thank you," she croaked after several seconds.  It never hurts to be polite.

"You're welcome, Little One," Victoria answered.  She fiddled with the lock of the pillory, then lifted the heavy, top timber off Charlie's neck and wrists.  "Assume the position," she ordered.

Charlie pushed off with her wrists and gasped.  It felt at once wonderful and horrible to finally be able to move.  Her vertebra popped as she straightened her back.  Her back muscles spasmed in protest... then settled into a glorious burn.  Charlie straightened her spine, interlaced her fingers behind her head, and stretched, pulling back her elbows and pointing her breasts.  She felt good, too good to let the humiliation of her submissive posture spoil the moment.

Victoria reached into the pocket of her coat and produced a quart size, plastic bottle.  She popped the cap and held it to Charlie's lips.  Charlie drank rapidly, some of of the liquid dribbling from her chin and splashing the spiked torso of the devil.

Sports drink, Charlie noted as she guzzled the cool beverage, lemon-lime.  Not my favorite, but it'll do!

"Don't be greedy," Victoria teased.  "I'm sure the Doctor will want a drink too."  She capped the sports bottle and placed it back in her coat pocket.  She then reached into her opposite pocket and produced a small, glass vial of clear oil.  She opened the vial, and a pleasant floral fragrance filled the chamber.  Victoria poured a dollop of oil into her left palm, closed and pocketed the vial, and rubbed her strong hands together.  She then stepped behind Charlie and began massaging the petite prisoner's shoulders and back.

Charlie rolled her eyes in ecstasy.  "I... I know what you're doing," she whispered.

"Exactly what is it that I'm doing?" Victoria asked quietly, continuing her slow, skillful massage.

"Torment, followed by small acts of kindness, followed by more torment, followed by... lower."  Victoria's hands slid an inch down Charlie's white back and kneaded the flesh over the prisoner's spine.  "That's it, right... there."

"I knew you were more than you seemed," Victoria purred.  "Yes," she continued, "the psychology of brainwashing: alternating pleasure and pain, but never relinquishing control."  The massage continued for several seconds in silence, then stopped.  Victoria stepped to the front and lifted Charlie's chin with one oil-slick hand.  "You know exactly what I'm doing," she said with a feral smile, "but you know what?"  Charlie gazed into her eyes but said nothing.  "It doesn't matter whether you know what's happening or not.  Eventually, you'll be my happy little puppy of a slave, regardless."

Charlie swallowed.  "Why do you even want a slave?" she mumbled.  "Haven't you ever had a normal—?"  Charlie bit her lip.  Time to shut your big mouth Charlie, she decided.

"Hmm..." Victoria purred, "You should never provoke your mistress, eh slave?  You never know what she might do."  Victoria stepped into the shadows, and returned with a hairbrush.  Charlie swallowed again.  "Cross your arms over your breasts," Victoria ordered.  Charlie complied, nervously.  Victoria stepped behind the kneeling prisoner, there was a long pause, during which Charlie stared straight ahead and clenched her dimpled buttocks, in anticipation... then Victoria began brushing her prisoner's short, raven locks.

Charlie sighed in relief.  She's right, the diminutive captive mused.  It doesn't matter what I know.  The only thing that matters is whatever rings Psycho-Redhead-Bitch's chimes.  The brushing continued for several long minutes.  At one point Charlie was surprised to find Teri was awake, and was watching with tired, sad eyes, as her captor and tormentor groomed her best friend.  Sorry Ter, Charlie thought, then sighed.  What the hell have you got to apologize for, idiot? she scolded herself.  Psycho-Bitch is in charge.

"There," Victoria said.  "What a pretty little slave."  She then returned to the shadows (with Charlie glaring at her back in defiant anger), and returned with something in her hand.  "Catch!" she said, and tossed it to Charlie.  The petite captive caught the object, and discovered a thin leather strap bisecting a stitched, leather ball.  "Given you're my helpless slave, behind locked doors," Victoria purred with a gloating smile, "deep within my hidden dungeons, locked behind my secret doors... why do you suppose I keep you gagged?"

"The phrase 'Sadistic Bitch' springs to mind," Charlie muttered.  Victoria laughed, but said nothing, waiting.  "Okay," Charlie continued, "obviously, it makes us feel even more helpless."

"Totally under my control," Victoria added, nodding in agreement.  "Unable to beg for mercy, for yourself or your friend, unable to scream when I do something nasty, unable to compare notes when I'm not around...  That's a practical reason, of course... It makes you more of a little animal, doesn't it?" she asked, smiling pleasantly.

Wrong, Bitch, Charlie mused, carefully hiding her defiance.  I'm not your 'little animal' and never will be... until you break me...  Hurry Kat!

"Well, enough small talk," Victoria said.  "I have to take care of your friend.  Gag yourself."  The redhead returned to the shadows and seemed to be rummaging in a large chest.  Charlie sighed, glanced at Teri (who was staring back in a sad, weary daze), then inserted the leather ball in her mouth and buckled the gag's strap behind her neck.  Victoria returned to Charlie's side, a thick, woolen blanket folded over her right arm.  "Better than that," she scolded, still smiling.

Charlie sighed, unbuckled the strap and tightened it one notch, then paused and stared at her captor, one eyebrow raised in question.  Victoria nodded, and Charlie finished closing the buckle.  Not bad, as ball-gags go, Charlie decided, working her still aching jaw.

Meanwhile, Victoria opened the blanket and draped it over the devil's spiked body.  The blanket was thick and coarse, muted colors woven in what looked to Charlie's untrained eye like a traditional Indian pattern.  "That's several hundred dollars worth of Zuñi horse blanket," Victoria observed, running her hand over the blanket's thick yarns.  "Down you go," she ordered.  Charlie looked at the blanket and the waiting pillory, but didn't move.  "Don't make me repeat myself," Victoria purred.

Charlie sighed (again), and slowly, carefully, leaned forward and settled her wrists and neck back into the slots of the pillory.  Victoria closed the top beam and locked it in place, then stepped to the front and gazed down at her prisoner.  Charlie found it was impossible not to rest her body on the blanket.  The wool was coarse and scratchy and thick, but she thought she could feel several points where the devil's spikes were pressing from below... maybe.  It was hard to tell.  Not too bad, she decided.  Better than... Ah!... Hell-o!... Itches!

"Better not squirm too much, Little One," Victoria advised with a gloating smile, "or some of those nasty spikes might work their way through my expensive blanket."  She stepped back into the shadows and returned, rolling a low wooden serving table.  Arranged on the table was an extensive selection of whips, crops, quirts, and the like, all carefully oiled and polished.  "Leather is Drake's hobby," Victoria said, "if you haven't already guessed.  Oh... and of course she has other hobbies...  as you will soon learn."  She then spun on her heel and walked towards Teri and the Harp of Heaven.

Charlie's eyes were on the table. She means it, Charlie mused.  She's really going to whip me.

"Well," Victoria said, "look who's awake.  Good evening, Doctor."  Teri was panting behind her gag, gazing at her grinning captor with tired, wet eyes.  Victoria turned a key at the base of the Harp, the gears instantly froze in position, and the Harp was silent, for the first time in hours.  Teri continued watching as Victoria removed her coat and let it drop to the floor.  She was indeed topless.  Her leather pants glistened like oil and her fair skin glowed like polished porcelain in the chamber's dim light.  "I'm going to take you off the rack," she told the exhausted archeologist.  "I don't particularly feel like a wrestling match," she said, "and you don't look like much of a challenge anyway, at the moment, so you won't give me any trouble, will you?"  Teri looked at Victoria, then at Charlie, who was watching unfolding events with nervous anticipation (or possibly repressed squirming.)  Victoria produced a coil of cotton rope from somewhere behind the Harp.  "Not that I won't take precautions," she purred.  Teri nodded in exhausted surrender.  "Good," Victoria said, then draped the rope over the frame of the rack, leaned close, and unbuckled Teri's gag.  The prisoner worked her jaw weakly, but drank with enthusiasm when Victoria held the bottle of sports drink to her dry lips.  Victoria tossed the now empty bottle aside and it rattled away into the darkness.  Teri seemed about to say something, when Victoria shoved the slimy plug of the gag back in her mouth and buckled the strap tight.  "We can chat later, Doctor," Victoria said, unlocking the prisoner's shackles and right manacle.  She then retrieved the rope and stood back.  "Off you come," she ordered, then laughed.  "'Off you come,'" she repeated, "and cum, and cum, eh Doctor?"

A psycho-bitch-comedian, Charlie mused.  Juuuust great!

Teri slowly, carefully lifted her right leg and pulled herself up, over, and away from the Harp's saddle post and string array.  She then rolled to the left side of the rack and to the floor, totally free, but for her gag and left manacle.

Victoria manhandled Teri to her feet, relieving the pressure on the prisoner's outstretched left arm and chained wrist.  She then forced Teri to lean, stomach down, over the slanting rack.  "Feet apart," she ordered, kicking the exhausted archeologist's ankles wide with her sandaled feet.  Teri offered no resistance as her captor looped the rope around her waist, and tied a tight crotch rope.  Victoria then reached for Teri's right wrist... and the prisoner twisted in place against the rack, struggling with her right hand, groping for a hold, her left hand straining against its manacle for a fist-full of red hair.

No Ter!  Charlie groaned inwardly.  Not now!  ...It won't work.

Victoria laughed and easily defeated Teri's rebellion.  "Good, good, Doctor," she purred, then twisted Teri's right wrist and arm in a savage hammerlock.  Teri whined through her gag.  Victoria's leering face was pressed against her prisoner's hair, the redhead's pale breasts flattened against Teri's sweat slick, tan back.  "We're going upstairs," she announced, "and this gives me an excuse to make your journey... interesting.  Thank you."  In short order, Teri's right wrist was lashed to the crotch rope, at the small of her back.  Then the final remaining manacle was unlocked, and Teri's left wrist was lashed across her right.  Next, Victoria produced several more coils of rope, tripped the miserable prisoner to the floor, hobbled her ankles, tied her legs together above the knees, and bound her arms to her torso.  She then looped the free end of the rope binding Teri's knees behind the prisoner's neck, back down to her knees, and pulled.  Teri squawked through her gag as she was bent into a tight crunch, her breasts bobbing against her thighs.  Victoria tied the rope off and stood.  "Get up," she ordered.

Yeah, that'll happen, Charlie mused.

"Here," Victoria cooed.  "Let me help you."  She grabbed Teri's wrists (and crotch rope), and hauled her to her feet.

Ouch, Charlie thought, wincing in sympathy.

Teri mewed through her gag and shuffled on her bare feet, bent at the waist, encumbered by her bound knees.  "Don't fall over," Victoria ordered.  "Don't do it!" she warned.  Teri finally found stability (of a sort).  Her bound wrists twisted in their bonds.  She was trying to turn her gagged face up towards her captor, but could see little through her tousled curls.  The rope at the back of her neck was taut, enforcing her awkward pose.  Finally, she simply looked down at the floor.  Her hair settled around her head like a damp mop.  Her bare feet shuffled slightly as she corrected to maintain her balance.

Poor Ter, Charlie mused, then glared at their tormentor.  Bitch!

"We'll be going for a stroll in a moment, Doctor," Victoria announced, "but wait here while I say nightie-night to your little friend."

Victoria walked to the whip laden table before Charlie and selected one of three riding crops arrayed among the other implements.  She stepped behind Charlie... and trailed the end of the crop down Charlie's spine and along the crack of her white, dimpled buttocks.  The diminutive captive flinched at the first touch, then clinched her fists, trying not to squirm.  "See you in the morning, Little One," Victoria murmured, "and I would try to stay as still as possible if I were you.  I meant it about the spikes poking through the blanket.  You should probably try to stay awake, if you can... so you don't wriggle in your sleep."  Charlie flinched again, when Victoria gave her right buttock a light slap.  "Good night, Little One."  Victoria then strolled back to the rack, and her precariously balanced, bent and bound, other prisoner.

Yeah, good night, Psycho Bitch, Charlie fumed, her wrists still in fists, glaring at her tormentor's bare white back, long straight red hair, and the crop slapping the side of her glistening leather pants.

Victoria retrieved and donned her leather coat, then stepped to the door.  "Let's go, Doctor," she ordered.  Teri shuffled in place but made little progress.  Victoria sighed, stepped closer to the doubled over prisoner and raised the crop.  "Just so we understand each other," she said casually, and rained a flurry of quick, smart snaps on the backs of Teri's thighs and her rope bisected buttocks, shepherding her miserable prisoner towards the door.  Teri mewed and stamped her feet as she shuffled along, but made it to the door.  "That's better," Victoria cooed.  She reached behind with her free hand, turned off the overhead lights, and began pulling the chamber door closed.  "Now," she continued, to the bound archeologist, "a tap on the left thigh will mean 'go left.'  The right thigh will, of course, mean 'go right.'  Now, for 'go faster'—"

The door closed and Charlie could hear no more.  Bitch! she fumed.  Poor Ter!  She looked down, into the mocking, still glowing, red eyes of the iron devil beneath her... then her eyes traveled to the whips and crops on the table beyond.  At first she could see little, then her eyes began readapting to the near darkness, and she could see more and more details of the dreadful instruments.  I've never really been whipped, she mused. A little playful spanking, a few love taps... but never a real whipping.  The Inner Circle played with whips and crops and such, but only as props... as toys... as part of The Game.  Charlie examined a tawse with a tapered, split tip.  Bet that one hurts, she mused... and felt her gut twist in a thrill of despair.  Bet they all hurt.  It was going to be a long, sleepless night.  Charlie might get tired, but the iron devil and its spikes certainly wouldn't, and her only protection, the damn blanket... itched... like crazy, and her back ached, and her jaws ached, and...  Teri... the Red Bitch is doing something terrible to Ter... and... I can't stop it!   Charlie's eyes welled and she felt a trickle down her right cheek.  A tear fell into the devil's open mouth.   Hurry Kat... Margo! she prayed. Hurry somebody!

Janet sighed in contentment, luxuriating in the cool water of the cattle trough.  The windmill powering the pump deep underground turned in the hot, dry, late afternoon breeze.  Draped over the windmill's skeletal steel tower, Janet's freshly laundered T-shirt, shorts, panties, bra, and socks, flapped and swayed.  Gonna dry in no time, she mused.  Modest, but not a prude, Janet usually didn't go in for skinny-dipping, but way out here, six miles from Old Woman Attcity's place, many, many more miles from the nearest improved road, dirty from recent and increasingly not so recent events... the bath felt good.  Her belt, weapon, spare clips, and badge case were also draped over the tower.  Janet eyed the holstered Beretta and made a mental note to ask Kat if she had a cleaning kit.  Probably got a robot to do it for her, she mused, then stretched and splashed her face. That ain't fair, Janet admitted.  She acts like a damn coyote... but she ain't.  Good one to have watching your back.

The subject of her thoughts approached, gracefully striding the 100 yards from the Hex-Rover and their camp to the well site.  Still dressed in her camouflaged suit and harness, Kat had a small gym bag in her left hand.  "My turn," she said as she got close.  Janet smiled but said noting.  "Catch," Kat called, and tossed her the bag.

Janet caught it and held it above the water.  "What's this?"

"Change of clothes," Kat said, "courtesy of TESSERACT Inc."

Dripping and nude, Janet stepped out of the trough, zipped open the bag and found a towel atop a neatly folded set of what looked like expensive athletic-style underwear: bikini panties and sports bra, both in a dark tan.  Janet quickly dried herself with the towel, then donned the panties and bra.  They fit perfectly.

Meanwhile, Kat had removed and draped her gadget-laden harness over the windmill tower and was unzipping her boots.

Janet reached back into the bag and pulled out a one-piece bodysuit of what looked and felt like spandex.  It was desert tan, and had sewn-in knee and elbow pads, reinforced seams, numerous pockets, and a long zipper down the front.  Janet's name, badge (with correct number, she noted), Navajo Tribal Police shoulder patches, and Sergeant's stripes were embroidered in the appropriate places.  They were in full color, but with a muted, pastel palette that complemented the underlying, tan fabric.  "What the...?"

"Those robots can do just about anything," Kat explained, "even needlework.  I've got spare clothes for Bug and Dr. Fournelle too... for when we find them."

Janet stepped into the body suit and pulled her arms through the sleeves.  It also fit perfectly... and was probably the most comfortable thing Janet had ever worn in her life.  "I'll get laughed off the NTP if anyone sees me in this thing," she remarked.

"Even after your fellow cops learn the fabric has the tensile properties of kevlar? " Kat asked.

"It stops bullets?" Janet asked skeptically.  No way, she mused.  Too thin.  Too stretchy.

"No," Kat admitted, "but it slows them down a lot."

Worth lookin' like a Star Trek wannabe for that, Janet decided.  She zipped the suit to just above her breasts, stretched, and did a slow spin.  "Thanks.  How do I look?"

"Stunning," Kat snapped sarcastically.  "Eve's making some progress, by the way.  Her profile matrix has narrowed the field to 27 primary leads.  My guess is we'll have enough to go active in a few hours.  She'll brief us later... after my bath."  Boots removed, Kat was starting to unzip her bodysuit.  "I laid out the kitchen and some food," she said.  "If you can cook, you can..."  Kat froze, her hand on her suit's main zipper.

Having found fresh socks, Janet was pulling on her boots.  "What?" she asked.

"Ever have the feeling you're being watched?" Kat growled.

Janet buckled on her belt and pocketed her badge case.  "Like maybe from those rocks over to the North, where neither of us should turn and look right now?"

"The very same," Kat agreed.

"It's Old Woman Attcity's nephew," Janet said with a grin.

Kat relaxed.  "You sure?"

"Positive," Janet answered.  "You want me to chase him away?"

Kat grinned, finished unzipping her suit, slowly peeled it off her lithe, athletic body, and draped it over the tower's frame next to her equipment harness.  "He was helpful," she noted, doing a slow, sensual, nude stretch.  "How's the water?"

"Good," Janet said.  "I'll go start the cookin'."

"Take your time," Kat said with a grin.  "I like to unwind with a little Kata and Tai Chi before bathing, so I'll be about an hour."  She began moving through a series of slow, fluid, Martial Arts stances.  Leaping and posing, her perfectly toned muscles rippling under her glistening, tan skin—her strong, bare feet raising little puffs of dust when she kicked or stamped—her long, straight hair fanning when she spun or turned, strands lifting and waving in the hot wind when she froze in stance—her firm breasts pointing, bobbing, and performing some very interesting oscillations as she moved.

Janet turned and walked towards the camp, shaking her head.  Hope that kid has a strong heart, she mused.

Delores approached the door of what she had heard Victoria refer to as "Jessie's Room".  The maid was dressed in jeans, workshirt, and boots, and was carrying a small duffle bag.  She reached back and scratched under the neck of her shirt.  It was such a long time since Delores had last worn normal clothes (rather than one of Victoria's "costumes") that they felt strangely... confining.  Ironic, Delores mused.  I am so used to being naked and in chains that clothes are 'confining'.

Delores fumbled with the ring of skeleton keys she had stolen from Drake's main workshop.  They were duplicates, but she knew they didn't fit all the locks.  She'd already found she couldn't open the gates barring access to the top level of the Mine (and therefore the Lodge on the mesa above).  That meant the best escape route (the main garage and a relatively short drive to a decent State road) was out.  She'd have to escape through the Canyon, steal something from the much smaller and less well stocked lower garage, drive through the ghost town at the head of the Canyon... and out into the miles and miles of virtually roadless desert... if she had the key to this door.

On the seventh try, Delores found a key that worked, and pulled the heavy door open.  Bondage table, bondage chair, numerous other things too horrible to be called furniture, the whipping post... no Jessie.  She rushed to the outer door of the sleeping cell, and was relieved to find the key to the main door fit this one as well.  She opened it, and... no Jessie.  Where can she be? Delores wondered, stamping her foot impatiently.  We have to go!  She closed the sleeping cell door and turned back towards the main door.  Maybe she's chained in the cave with all the bats, Delores considered as she walked across the chamber, or maybe tied at the bottom of that deep shaft at the far end of the West tunnel, or...  What was that?

Delores turned. The coffin cell! she thought.  I didn't look in the coffin cell!  She rushed to the small iron door set low in the wall, with its sinister, bas-relief skull, fumbled with her keys, unlocked the padlock, and opened the door.  Jessie was looking up at her, relief in her wide, blue eyes.  Delores pulled out the telescoping table.  "Pobre chica," she whispered, gazing at the many tight bands of rope binding the nude, prostrate teenager's body.  Jessie gazed up at her beautiful, smiling rescuer.  "Pobre chica," Delores repeated, then leaned close and kissed Jessie's forehead, her left hand in the teens tousled, red locks, the right caressing the prisoner's smooth, freckled shoulder.

Squirming in her bonds, Jessie whined through her ring-gag.  Delores unbuckled and removed the gag, then leaned close again and gently kissed Jessie's lips.  "I... I could see you through the eye holes," Jessie croaked, "and I... I thought you wouldn't find me.... and..."  Tears welled in the bound teenager's eyes.

"Hush, Little Fox," Delores cooed, gently wiping Jessie's damp cheeks with her left hand.  "The time has come.  I will get you away from here.  We will both get away from here."

"Where are the others?" Jessie asked.

"Others?" Delores asked.

"You know who I mean," Jessie answered evenly.

"I... I don't know," Delores said uncertainly.  "Somewhere."  Jessie frowned, squirming in her bonds.  "We don't have time," Delores complained.  "Drake... Señora Vic... They could find us at any moment.  We can send help back for the others... after we are safe."  Jessie shook her head.  "I have clothes for you in the bag," Delores continued.  "We have to get away.  We have to get away now!"

"No!" Jessie said emphatically.  "We're all getting away."