Sorrel's Long Journey to Love Ch. 13

Upstairs, while two disgruntled orderlies ambled off back to work and an otherwise nondescript nurse sat on a commode collecting data on the phone, Dr. Kellerman, head of medicine and personnel for two 'special' facilities was making plans. He called the hospital garage, then the secret CIA warehouse, and ordered the supplies that would be needed for this unique, one time, rushed operation.

With those phone calls completed he returned Florence Henderson's call, and arranged a meeting between her and him for the day after the next. This being a Tuesday, he and she would meet Thursday at 4:00 p.m. in one of the rooms at the CIA branch office in the suburbs just north of the nation's capital. If all went according to plan by the time he met to confer with Ms. Henderson, the woman they were both interested in would already be aboard a plane bound for a country in northwestern Africa. Whatever conversations they might have would be moot. The woman, Sorrel Sullivan, or whoever she was, would already be headed for interrogation and eventual oblivion.

A few hours later Florence was busy talking to her erstwhile employer Fletcher Hanson. Fletcher was to meet three men the next morning, Wednesday morning. They would provide him with a large black van. In the van they would have placed a smallish black metallic box. On Thursday, not later than 3:00 Fletcher was to deliver the 'filled box' to a waiting private jet, sited at the end runway three at the Dulles International Airport west of the Washington D.C. There, at the airport, he was to be met by three men, all CIA, who were to take the box from the van and load it on the jet. Florence explained; if Fletcher missed the flight, or was delayed in any way Sorrel's life would be worthless. This was to be the most important delivery of his life.

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The next day, back in Hadamar the older nurse made her rounds alone. She told the younger girl, since there was little to do, she could go home early. The older nurse, unencumbered by her companion made for Sorrel's cell.

The older woman unlocked the door to Sorrel's small room and went in. She saw Sorrel uncomfortably lying awake. She wondered if the woman had slept at all the past two days. She walked over and unlocked the cage enclosure. The night nurses had seen to Sorrel's personal concerns so there was no worry about any bathroom needs. It wouldn't have mattered; the older nurse was on hand for a far more important mission.

She lifted the metal cage grate, and helped Sorrel struggle to the side of the bed, "Good day to you. This is going to be the second biggest day of your life."

Sorrel looked at her, "Something's bigger?"

The nurse replied, "Tomorrow, but first we have to get you ready."

The nurse helped her down, and seated her in a wheelchair, "I'm going to wheel you down to the bathroom, clean you up, and prep you for the biggest trip of your life."

Sorrel wasn't curious at all, but asked anyway, "Where am I going?"

The nurse smiled, "It's a surprise."

From there the nurse took her to the bathroom. Using the Allen wrench she unshackled her ward, and showered her off, careful to clean and scrub every tiny area of flesh. She redressed her in a simple shift, unlike the uncomfortable metallic armored apparel she'd been forced to wear earlier.

She ordered her to kneel on a towel while she slowly, very carefully, even tenderly combed out her hair, and put it in two tight braids which she tied off with narrow strips of string. Then she took the two braids and tied them together behind the woman's head.

The nurse turned her around. Sorrel was as clean and as fresh as a newborn, and her hair was done in two snug little braids. The nurse believed, and correctly, the woman she was looking at was absolutely adorable.

She told Sorrel, "I'm sorry. I wished there was something I could do about the eye. It's still pretty dark. I think the discoloration will probably last three or four more days, but I don't think you'll really mind."

She returned Sorrel to the wheelchair, wheeled her back to the same room, re-shackled her, but this time did not enclose her in the caged bed.

She said, "I suggest you try to get some sleep. You'll need all the rest you can get, because tomorrow is going to be a very busy day."

Sorrel felt a lot better, cleaner, and less awkward in the more comfortable shift, "What happens tomorrow?"

The nurse gave her a small smile, "Everything." She briefly placed her left hand on Sorrel's right cheek, "Till tomorrow." She quietly left.

The next day, Thursday, Fletcher was up early. He'd acquired the black van and the metal box. He loaded the box as Florence had instructed, drove to Dulles International, and sat in the van waiting for a call from Florence.

Around 11:00 a.m. that same morning two orderlies and the same day nurses arrived at Sorrel's room. The orderlies were pushing a large flatbed cart. Resting on the bed of the cart was a smallish black metallic box.

They opened the door to Sorrel's cell. The older orderly, looked at Sorrel, "You! In the box!"

Sorrel looked at the box. She looked from the orderlies to the nurses, "No!"

The older nurse gave Sorrel a tiny smile, "No dear. Do as you're told. Get in the box."

Sorrel didn't know what to think and for a second what to do. She certainly knew if she put up a fight they'd cram in her anyway. She gave the older nurse an inquisitive look, but got no more clues from her. She slowly, resignedly, climbed in the box.

The younger orderly, reflecting on a lost opportunity almost angrily slammed the box lid shut. The older orderly snapped the lid shut, and hitched it with a padlock. He looked at the nurses, "OK, off we go."

Together the orderlies, two nurses, and Sorrel ensconced inside a small uncomfortable container made their way down the hall to the elevator, and outside to a waiting back van. As the orderlies loaded the van with the box, the nurses returned to the inner chambers of the sanatorium.

As they stepped inside the older nurse spoke briefly, "I'm feeling sick. I have to use the bathroom. I'll catch up with you."

The younger nurse looked at her colleague with concern, "You want me to come with you?"

The older lady replied, "No, I just need to evacuate."

While the older nurse retired to the restroom, the younger nurse and the two orderlies set off in a desultory little caravan back upstairs.

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Florence answered the telephone and listened to the message. She thanked whoever it was, hung up, and made two calls of her own. First she telephoned an old friend from her younger days; someone she once might have had a relationship.

Then she called Fletcher.

Reaching Fletcher she told him, "Wait twenty minutes, and then drive to the indicated location at the airport. Deliver your product and leave immediately. Call me once you're safely out of the airport." She heard Fletcher on the other end of the line respond, and then hung up.

Florence checked her watch. She had a cool two hours before she was scheduled to meet with Dr. Kellerman. She went upstairs and took a quick shower. She had her clothes already laid out. She wanted to look her very best for today's meeting.

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On the seventh floor of Hadamar Dr. Kellerman and his associate, the doctor who liked to perform lobotomies, looked out as the black van pulled away. Kellerman looked at his equally sadistic friend, "Well she's on her way."

The sadistic surgeon asked, "Do you know where she's going?"

Kellerman gave his friend an evil grin, "She's on her way to hell. She's on her way to hell."

The other doctor, a medical man with degrees from the most prestigious American universities smiled back, "So be it."

Around 12:00 noon Fletcher drove to the end of the runway. He nervously waited while three men, all dressed in dark blue suits, white shirts, and dark ties, approached and asked for the keys to the back of the van. He obliged. They stepped to the back of the van and loaded the box on a flatbed cart.

One of the men returned to the front of the van and asked, "What, Josh couldn't make the trip today?"

Fletcher was taken aback. He hadn't expected any questions, "No he's on another operation."

The man asked, "You have the key to the trunk. We usually like to look to make sure we have the right cargo."

Fletcher had no key, "No I guess Josh still has it."

The man replied, "No matter." Then he added, "The trunks really light; must be a woman or a child."

Fletcher gulped. He'd only put in two fifty pound bags of potatoes. He hoped the man didn't see how his hands were shaking, "It's a small female."

The man commented, "Too bad."

Fletcher's curiosity was just too much for him, "Why? Where's she headed?"

The man gave Fletcher a querulous look, like he should have known better, "You're new aren't you?"

Fletcher caught the inflection. He nodded.

The man responded, "Never ask." He tipped his hand to the side of his head, "Now get out of here."

Fletcher didn't look up. He put the van in drive and spun around. He wanted to be as far away from these men, this plane, and this airport as he could get. For some reason he couldn't fathom, by the time he reached the parking lot and the exit ramp he was crying; crying like a baby.

Florence pulled into the CIA branch office parking lot, got out, and walked in. There ready to greet her was Dr. Kellerman.

After a few modest pleasantries Florence asked, "I need to acquire the woman Sorrel Sullivan."

Dr. Kellerman gave her a plastic smile, "I'm so sorry. She's been relocated already."

Florence, pretending to look shocked, asked, "Where is she?"

Kellerman, smiling smarmily, answered, "Out of the country."

Florence responded, "Oh no! You couldn't have, not already?"

Kellerman answered, "Sorry ma'am. She was a priority subject. Her immediate removal was imperative."

Florence pretended to lose control. She broke down into sobs.

Dr. Kellerman, always a gentleman, offered his handkerchief, "I'm so sorry. But she was a priority person. That's how it goes."

Florence couldn't be consoled, "I can't stay." Crying big crocodile tears she fled the office and returned to her car.

Even while Dr. Kellerman was trying to console poor Ms. Henderson, a convoy of three large Cadillac SUVs had pulled a black van to the side of the road.

As the male passenger sitting beside the driver went to get out of the van he was accosted by two men who unceremoniously threw him to the ground.

Two other men pulled the driver from the van.

A fifth man demanded, "I need the key to the back of the van, and I need the key to the box you have in the back."

Josh, the driver, answered, "I'm sorry..."

That was one sentence he never completed. A swift kick in the groin followed by several healthy punches in the face were all the persuasion he needed. The keys the man had requested were made available.

One of the men opened the back of the van. Another climbed in and, using the key unlocked the padlock and lifted the top of the trunk. He looked down inside.

As he gazed in he saw a diminutive young woman with a black eye wrapped in an army blanket, hands and feet shackled together, and Styrofoam packing material strewn all about. He gently reached in and lifted her out.

As he carefully pulled the terrified young woman from her dark little prison he smiled, "You're Sorrel Sullivan?"

As yet she still had no idea she was being rescued. She nodded her head fearfully.

The man gave her a reassuring smile. He said, "With compliments from Fletcher Hanson and Florence Henderson, let me be the first to welcome you back to the land of the living."

It was all she needed. She burst into tears, tears of the most profound joy. She was saved!

As Fletcher drove along the Interstate that encircled the capital he got a phone call from Florence. She gave him directions to a Ramada Inn on the north side of the city where he was to find Sorrel. She recommended he keep here there for at least a day to make sure she was somewhat recovered. He agreed.

It was already 4:30 when the phone rang. All the kids were home. Robert and Richard were upstairs doing their homework. Marion was downstairs keeping an eye on Peter and Little Sorrel. Mary was in the kitchen with Byron with little more to do than wait. No one knew anything.

Mary picked up the phone, "Hello?"

It was Sorrel on the other end of the line, "Hello Mary, it's me."

Mary started crying, Marion, Little Sorrel! Get the boys!" She looked at Byron, "She's safe!"

All the kids were downstairs. Mary put the phone on the speaker so everyone could hear.

Sorrel started, "I'm out. I'm safe, and I'm here with your Dad. We'll be home later tomorrow. But like I said. Everything's fine. We're all safe."

She could hear the cheering on the other end of the line. She heard her kids, all of them shouting. They were shouting crazy stuff like, "I love you mom. I miss you. Come right home."

Sorrel handed the phone to Fletcher. He made a few stupid comments, and promised to bring their mother home first thing tomorrow. Then he hung up. The noise, the joy, the cacophony of happy noises was just too much. He started crying again.

Sorrel and Fletcher stayed overnight at the Ramada Inn. He refused to leave her alone. He doted on her hand and foot, literally. He refused to let her do anything. He bathed her. He gave her a full, though perhaps amateuristic, body massage. He rubbed motel lotions vigorously over her chaffed ankles, wrists, and neck. He kissed every nook and cranny, every morsel of flesh, every corner of her body.

When he was finished lavishing attention on her poor tired frame, he lowered himself on her and they made love. He simply couldn't keep from touching her. It was as though he wanted very part of his body to have access to every inch of hers, and when he wasn't touching and fondling, he was talking, murmuring, praising, and whispering endearments.

Sorrel lay still and allowed him to caress her. She'd missed him so much; his hands, his breath, his warmth, his presence. For that single night nothing else mattered.

The next morning they awakened early. He left her alone for a few moments while he slipped out to the nearest Wal-Mart and bought her something to wear home, something he hoped she would find attractive. It turned out to be a slightly small pale blue sun dress, a pair of soft ballet shoes, and white socks.

He eschewed the purchase of any underwear. It might have been perverse, but he wanted her to be as available as possible for the drive back. He wanted to be able to touch her breasts, her thighs, her ass, and her pubis without hindrance all the way home.

She didn't care. She delighted in the attention. This was Fletcher.

When they got home they were both exhausted, but they found the whole tribe all wide awake and ready for bear. The kids smothered her in kisses.

They refused to let her go. Peter ran around and around. Robert and Richard had drawn pictures, and had made up a story.

Marion refused to leave her side. She held her hand, hugged her close, and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, all the while proclaiming her undying devotion.

Yet among them all it was Little Sorrel who wrung out the most tears, tears of joy. Little Sorrel didn't dance, or sing, or prance about; she just sat beside her mother, head on her arm, then on her lap. She kept quietly proclaiming, "Mommy I knew you'd be back. I knew you'd come back home. The angels, the angels told me all along. Now tell me the story of the fairy princess, you remember, the one who was trapped in the tower. Tell me about her again mommy."

And Sorrel told her the story of the fairy princess. She told it over and over.

An Epilogue:

They got Little Sorrel and Peter enrolled in school. They were right about Peter. He had a mild learning disability, but with time, patience, and lots of love and attention everyone was sure he'd come along.

It turned out Little Sorrel had special needs too. She was about two years behind her age group academically, but she tested as being in the genius range. With a few months of tutoring everyone was confident she'd be well ahead academically. All her teachers and all the psychologists were amazed at her potential. She had her mother's intellect.

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Spring had passed to summer, and summer started to wane. Sorrel's first husband, at Fletcher's behest, got a quickie divorce. The time had come to cross new thresholds, face new difficulties, and meet the new challenges life might throw at them.

They were all in the grove; Sorrel dressed in white. Marion was her maid of honor, Little Sorrel her flower girl. Fletcher was waiting at the end of the path dressed all in manly black.

It was hard to imagine. It all seemed so long ago. There had been a party. She'd been accused, defamed, peed on, humiliated, and driven home by a man who claimed he hated her. Humiliation had fallen to despair, then discovery, acquaintance and rapprochement. Rapprochement had led to affection, affection to love, and love to devotion. There had been fights, arguments, a kidnapping, a rescue, and reclamation. It had all happened so fast.

The music was about to begin. Flowers were everywhere; along the path, encircling the pond, beside the tiny memorial near the bench. Someone said they even spotted Ole Rupert. Everyone was there; even Florence with Warren in tow.

The sky was an azure blue. Bright white fluffy cumulus clouds decorated the horizon. There it was; that spasm again! She'd felt it for the first time earlier that morning! Yes this was a growing family; yes she, Fletcher, the children, friends, their first unborn child, and of course all the angels in their midst. But then; they had been there all along.

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A note from the author. I warned everyone this wasn't some standard sex story. Literotica has tons of them. I hoped you enjoyed it. Please leave a remark, a comment, or some suggestions.

Last, I fell in love with Sorrel somewhere along the way. I didn't really want to say good bye.