“Just a fortnight to begin with,” Zania’s mother suggested, and her Dad agreed, though never seeing her again would maybe have been a better deal with three more, sort of normal, daughters to bring up. “Let me see, John Mackinroe, nineteen ninety seven Wimbledon London?” Dr Leggit replied, “I really like those old quotes.”
“No,don’t be stupid Daddy!” Zania squealed but her Dad had already put his sugnature on the release form. He wiped the ash off the papers on his desktop. She tried to get to the food, it wasn’t easy with her hands tied, and it tasted vile, Museli, like black currants in building sand, and the drink, that was even harder to drink from her bowl. They had put her in re hab three times but it had done nothing for her. “That’s basic.”he explained. The piss demon reappeaed, there was no bathroom, nothing, floor was level, she hoped, because when she finally pissed it might run across the floor so she had nowhere to lay down. John and Mike held her while Dr Leggit removed the strait jacket and instead cuffed Zania’s hands with soft leather cuffs chained together real tight and put some on her ankles but with a longer chain.
