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Description
The Incarcerated

The door of the cell flew open and a large, well-built man entered struggling with his straitjacketed charge. With a grunt he flung her ineptly-kicking form across the room where she bounced off the wall-padding onto the floor.
She struggled vainly to get up, gasping and gurgling inarticulately. Though devoid of her reason tears ran from her eyes at her awkwardness and the situation she was in. She grunted at the effort of sitting upright without the use of her arms, evoking a malicious grin from Dent as he viewed her ineffective struggles. She was tightly ensconced in the jacket's rough canvas embrace and the orderly had the same expression of gleeful superiority on his face as he had when he was a child, watching his turtle's torment after he'd flipped it onto its back. He stifled a peculiar high-pitched giggle in his sadistic voyeurism.
With a final exhalation of breath she see-sawed herself into a sitting position and cast him a defiant glare from her hunched position.
"Ooh, I like you honey-I like you a lot," he oozed, "...but you've got to understand who's in charge around here..."
The brunette made a sound that was almost a growl and the grin fell from his face. Lashing-out he hooked his foot under her knees, flipping her onto her back again. Dent snorted at her cry of despair-the memory of ants dying as he'd poured boiling water into their nests flicking through his mind. Watching her struggle anew, he borrowed a quote from 'Cool Hand Luke';
"What we have here is a failure to communicate!" He sniggered as he planted his foot in her stomach, "How many more times must I show you who's boss?" The pressure on her midriff increased as did the width of his grin-
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?"
Dent whirled around to be confronted by Doctor Hemingway-a sour-seeming but decent human being;
"I er, I was having some trouble with this patient sir!" Dent said quickly.
"That's no excuse for brutality man!" The smaller figure closed-in on the larger one, "I've heard some nasty stories about you, Dent." He growled, "I don't like them at all..."
"But-"
"No buts! I don't think you'll be here much longer Dent," Hemingway continued, "...as staff anyway-now GO!"
Dent bristled, the knuckles of his fists whitening. Silently, he turned to leave but was stopped by his superior's palm on his chest;
"I do hope you aren't going to leave her like that?"
The two men glared at each other for what seemed like an age. Dent was used to violence, knew karate, knew he could get the better of the older, slightly built man but the though of losing another job (one he only held onto by the skin of his teeth!) cowed him. He turned-back to his erstwhile victim, the sight of his approach making her tense-up but he merely hoisted her up, onto her bed. Under the pretense of checking her restraints, he leaned-in close and whispered;
"I'm here twelve hours a day. He's not-I'll be back!" Dent wasn't even sure if she understood but he hoped so-that's what threats were for, after all...

Description
The Incarcerated

The door of the cell flew open and a large, well-built man entered struggling with his straitjacketed charge. With a grunt he flung her ineptly-kicking form across the room where she bounced off the wall-padding onto the floor.
She struggled vainly to get up, gasping and gurgling inarticulately. Though devoid of her reason tears ran from her eyes at her awkwardness and the situation she was in. She grunted at the effort of sitting upright without the use of her arms, evoking a malicious grin from Dent as he viewed her ineffective struggles. She was tightly ensconced in the jacket's rough canvas embrace and the orderly had the same expression of gleeful superiority on his face as he had when he was a child, watching his turtle's torment after he'd flipped it onto its back. He stifled a peculiar high-pitched giggle in his sadistic voyeurism.
With a final exhalation of breath she see-sawed herself into a sitting position and cast him a defiant glare from her hunched position.
"Ooh, I like you honey-I like you a lot," he oozed, "...but you've got to understand who's in charge around here..."
The brunette made a sound that was almost a growl and the grin fell from his face. Lashing-out he hooked his foot under her knees, flipping her onto her back again. Dent snorted at her cry of despair-the memory of ants dying as he'd poured boiling water into their nests flicking through his mind. Watching her struggle anew, he borrowed a quote from 'Cool Hand Luke';
"What we have here is a failure to communicate!" He sniggered as he planted his foot in her stomach, "How many more times must I show you who's boss?" The pressure on her midriff increased as did the width of his grin-
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?"
Dent whirled around to be confronted by Doctor Hemingway-a sour-seeming but decent human being;
"I er, I was having some trouble with this patient sir!" Dent said quickly.
"That's no excuse for brutality man!" The smaller figure closed-in on the larger one, "I've heard some nasty stories about you, Dent." He growled, "I don't like them at all..."
"But-"
"No buts! I don't think you'll be here much longer Dent," Hemingway continued, "...as staff anyway-now GO!"
Dent bristled, the knuckles of his fists whitening. Silently, he turned to leave but was stopped by his superior's palm on his chest;
"I do hope you aren't going to leave her like that?"
The two men glared at each other for what seemed like an age. Dent was used to violence, knew karate, knew he could get the better of the older, slightly built man but the though of losing another job (one he only held onto by the skin of his teeth!) cowed him. He turned-back to his erstwhile victim, the sight of his approach making her tense-up but he merely hoisted her up, onto her bed. Under the pretense of checking her restraints, he leaned-in close and whispered;
"I'm here twelve hours a day. He's not-I'll be back!" Dent wasn't even sure if she understood but he hoped so-that's what threats were for, after all...