Sorrel's Long Journey to Love Ch. 03

Fletcher had a lot on his mind as he curled up in the bed that rested along the wall of the small bedroom sandwiched between the laundry room and the library. He'd been sleeping downstairs for nearly two years; ever since his wife died.

He lay there on his side in the half light coming from the kitchen. Beside his end table was a picture he and his wife had taken shortly after their youngest was born. She was cradling the youngest, the middle child was standing between them; his right hand on Fletcher's left knee. Marion, their oldest, was standing beside him with her left arm resting on his shoulder. This was his all time favorite picture. His wife had died of brain cancer one year and nine months ago. He missed her so.

He rolled over on his back; cupping the back of his head with his left hand, he used his right hand to wipe off the tears. He remembered how brave she was. He hated God.

Fletcher thought about the woman upstairs. She couldn't have done those things. But she had. He didn't like what they were planning to do to her. It was unspeakable. Maybe it would be better just to expose her, embarrass the company, let the chips fall where they may.

His brother Warren had been the one to devise the solution to Sorrel. Warren was forty-seven whereas he, Fletcher, was thirty-five. Warren and Mildred his forty-two year old wife had two children, but their kids were gone; off to college. Fletcher's kids were still in their early adolescence, still at home, active in school, and very much aware of everything that went on at home and at his office.

He'd already had trouble keeping his daughter away from the luncheon. Marion had met Sorrel once, though he doubted Sorrel remembered her. She had been very much taken with the young businesswoman. He couldn't figure it out, but she'd gotten wind of Sorrel's difficulties, and ever since had been trying to finagle more information. He knew what his daughter was up to. She had this rescue mentality, if someone needed help she was going to find a way to get involved.

The fact Marion was so inquisitive and helpful wasn't the problem. The problem had to do with the way Warren and he had agreed to solve the Sorrel dilemma. Fletcher's children loved him, and they were still young enough to believe he wasn't capable of some of the really bad things other people did. The decision he and his brother had reached regarding Sorrel was absolutely savage. He was fearful of his children ever finding out what Sorrel's fate was going to be.

Fletcher had no pity for Sorrel. She'd earned whatever she got. The concept of punishment didn't trouble him, but the punishment, or he should say the solution, was something he'd never want his children to find out about.

There seemed to be another problem now too. He was convinced Sorrel was guilty. She'd done everything she'd been accused of. However, a confession would have been nice. All this crying and hysteria was just too genuine for him. Yes she was guilty, and yes she was going to get what was coming to her, but maybe he ought to slow things down a bit.

Fletcher couldn't get to sleep. He kept tossing and turning. The method of vengeance they'd planned had seemed so foolproof. The only other person who'd been made privy to the plan had been Florence. He'd been surprised; at first she'd been appalled by what Warren suggested, then she'd warmed to it. By last count one would have thought the plan had been her idea all along.

Florence was a plain woman. She was Warren's age, forty-seven. He wondered if she and his brother had ever had a more personal relationship. Sometimes when they looked at each other he thought he saw something. Florence had never married. She was no beauty, but he knew she'd had her chances. He was half convinced there was more to her zeal than just a righteous desire to destroy the woman sleeping upstairs. She'd be on hand in the morning. He hoped he'd be ready. He knew Florence's role required no small amount of cruelty.

Sorrel was curling up in another bed, an entirely different one from where she'd been the night before. It was all like some bad dream. Maybe she'd wake up and things would be different. She knew better. That man downstairs hated her.

The morning broke with a loud thud. Ms. Henderson was pounding on Fletcher's front door. Mary, still sleepy from the night before, groggily answered the door, "Oh. It's you." Mary responded when she saw who it was.

Ms. Henderson announced, "Yes. It's me. I'm here to check on the whore. Where is she?"

Mary yawned, "Who? You mean Sorrel? She's still asleep."

Ms. Henderson stood at the door tapping her foot, "Well get her up."

Mary yawned again; the second time more for affect than the need to get more oxygen, "No. She gets to sleep in as late she wants today. Come on back to the kitchen and I'll fix us both a cup of coffee."

Ms. Henderson wouldn't be put off, "I need to see the white trash Sorrel."

Mary ignored the comment, "Do you like cream in your coffee?"

Ms. Henderson glared at Mary, "I want to see the woman!"

Mary stared her down, "No. You can't see her. She's asleep. When she wakes up I'll let you see her." Mary withdrew the offer of coffee, and slammed the door shut in Ms. Henderson's face.

Ms. Henderson stomped back to her car, found her cell phone and called the Colonel, "Warren?" Ms. Henderson said, "I'm up at Fletcher's to check on that Sorrel woman, and no one will let me in."

The Colonel hadn't expected to be awakened so early but answered, "Wait a minute. I'll call my brother." He hung and called Fletcher.

Shortly the phone rang in Fletcher's bedroom, "Fletcher." The Colonel started, "I just got a call from Ms. Henderson saying you won't let her in to see Sorrel. What's going on?"

Fletcher answered his brother, "Come on Warren I only just woke up myself. I just got wind of it." He offered some explanation, "Florence had started ordering Mary around. You know how that plays around here, and frankly Colonel, I think Mary has taken to Sorrel. You know if that's true then Florence isn't going to get much traction around here. Don't worry though. I'll go downstairs and let her in."

Warren answered, "This is your responsibility. We agreed on a plan, and I'm trusting you to take care of it."

Fletcher answered, "I will take care of it, but in my own way, and not with a lot of interference from Florence."

Warren wanted to get back to sleep, "Florence has her job to do. Just handle it." He hung up.

A few minutes later Fletcher was at the front door beckoning for Ms. Henderson to come on in.

Ms. Henderson left her car and made her way to Fletcher's front door.

Fletcher gave Florence an enigmatic smile. He knew there had been problems between Florence and Sorrel. He just never understood why. He'd been awake most of the night trying to think this thing through. Sorrel was guilty. He was sure. Still, he wanted to take this thing slow. She needed to be brought down. She needed to be hurt, ruined even, but he didn't want to push too far too fast.

Fletcher had studied Sorrel's file. She seemed more delicate than determined, more likely to sacrifice for the company than undermine it. He saw the evidence against her. She was caught. She was a conniver, a manipulator, and a charlatan of the worst order. But somehow her history leading up to this was a model of dedication and self deprecation. He thought. 'Let's punish her, put her through the grinder, but there still might be something salvageable.' He hadn't mentioned this to anyone. Certainly not to Florence, and he wouldn't either. If he was wrong, and she was as despicable as things looked he didn't want to look like some moonstruck fool. He smiled to himself. 'She is mighty pretty.' He spoke to Florence, "Come on in. We're all about to have some coffee."

Ms. Henderson didn't hesitate to come inside this time. She looked about the room, "Where's the woman?"

Fletcher told her, "Sorrel's still asleep."

Florence responded, "Get her up."

Fletcher stopped her dead, "Florence just hold up a moment. This is my house, and Sorrel had a rough night. We're going to leave her alone until she wakes up. See here. We have the rest of her life to torment her, and torment we shall. But this morning we're going to let her sleep. Let's give the condemned woman one last good night's sleep."

He stepped forward a little, "You got it?"

Ms. Henderson answered, "The Colonel won't like it."

"So what! She's in my house, in my care. I'm the one responsible for her until the firm decides." He paused, "Decides to get rid of her." He regrouped, "She may belong to the firm, but she's mine until I say otherwise. Now come on back to the kitchen and have some coffee."

There wasn't much Florence could do at the moment. Later she'd call the Colonel. The Colonel would get the woman out of Fletcher's and into an environment where she could be properly chastised; where the procedures they'd agreed upon could be implemented.

For the next forty-five minutes Fletcher and Florence sat and chatted in his kitchen. To say they chatted was an error. Florence spent most of her verbiage discussing ways to torment the woman who was still upstairs. Fletcher didn't disagree. He only said that she deserved a decent night's sleep owing to the trauma of the previous day.

Florence kept pointing to the concept of constant unrelenting punishment right up to the final action.

Fletcher viewed the woman upstairs as still being a valuable human commodity whose health was as important as her suffering. According to Fletcher she had tried to swindle the company. Now that her intellectual value had dropped off the table, it was still in their best interest to protect her physical value for as long as possible, or until the final solution, or some final solution, was acted on.

As their conversation wound down they'd agreed to disagree. Florence was all for continuing pain and humiliation. Fletcher was more for long term chastisement coupled with the possibility of long term profit, or the remote possibility of some kind of redemption.

Ultimately the differences of opinion between Florence the comptroller and Fletcher the brother of the CEO settled on Sorrel's physical circumstances. To Fletcher Florence's position bordered on the sadistic, the wrathful. Florence wanted the worst kinds of things; like body modification. She wanted a breast enlargement, modification of the girl's labia, facial surgery, piercings, even branding.

Fletcher wasn't averse to some modest body modification. In his more perverse moments when he was happily married he'd thought his wife might get a belly button piercing, but on or in the vagina, nipples, tongue, and cheek piercing had been out of the question. Fletcher had never been averse to an occasional Henna tattoo. Those tattoos could be highly visible, and highly erotic, but were only temporary. He and his wife had talked about and laughed about that stuff, but they had never acted on it.

His point with Florence was once a tattoo or branding had occurred, and later it was perceived as a mistake it couldn't easily be fixed. Regarding vaginal or breast modification Fletcher was adamantly opposed. He considered those kinds of things not as enhancements but a forms disfigurement, and possibly medically harmful. Last, he viewed any changes to Sorrel's face as being grossly wrong. In his opinion her face was perfect as it was, and he would not entertain any thought of harming her in that way ever. The whole idea of physical change like Florence planned was horrid. It made no sense, and it did nothing to help the company, and could harm them when they did the final thing. In short, the woman upstairs wasn't a whore, she wasn't an animal, and she wasn't going to be turned into either.

Fletcher tried to explain to Florence people like he and Steve had children. Fletcher and his wife, while she lived, had worked assiduously to protect their children from the ugly things in society. Sorrel might be contemptible, but to defile her would make them no better, worse even. What if they hurt Sorrel so badly as to permanently change the way she looked, and his children found out. They would think he was a monster.

However, they both agreed on many other things. Both thought Sorrel was capable of working in any physical setting from a resort to the boardroom. Florence wanted to make her into a whore. Fletcher disagreed. He believed making her give away her body to satisfy the vengeance of the company was not only cruel and unusual it was stupid, but he saw nothing wrong with making her earn her keep. Fletcher knew he had an odd set of morals. They could use her appearance to help close deals, but not to satisfy some client's sordid sexual interests. To Fletcher she would make great eye candy, and that's all, at least till the final act.

In the final analysis Florence, along with maybe Mildred, the Colonel, and Cynthia were out to destroy the girl. Fletcher believed Charles, Pearce, and Steve, were only interested in making money without crippling or destroying the property. Hell, he thought, 'no one really knew what the plan was anyway.'

Around 10:00 Mary came into the kitchen and announced Sorrel was up and getting dressed. She'd be down in a moment.

Mary had gone upstairs and finally awakened Sorrel. She and Sorrel had a brief talk. Mary made her look out the rear of the house. Sorrel saw her automobile. Mary explained, "That's your car. Fletcher doesn't want you to lose it. In his opinion there will be times when he might need you to drive somewhere. Using your own car is the only logical option."

Sorrel listened to Mary. It seemed when Mary spoke about Fletcher he became a little more human. Mary clearly had affection for the man. Sorrel liked Mary. Mary must see something in Fletcher nobody else saw. 'Could it be the man who had urinated on her yesterday wasn't quite the monster she thought he was?' That gave Sorrel reason to pause, but only for a second, 'No, he was a monster.'

Mary helped Sorrel dress for her appearance before Ms. Henderson. In the attic bedroom was a dresser, and inside the dresser was an assortment of clothes that Ms. Henderson had personally selected. It was Mary's duty to help keep the peace, and this morning it meant choosing something Sorrel would certainly hate, but Florence would expect.

Mary pulled out a small plastic bag. In it was the outfit Sorrel would greet the day in. As Sorrel opened it her heart sank. First it was pink. Second it was made of some soft silky material with some kind of acrylic lacquering. From top to bottom the outfit looked awful.

There was a frilly little blouse with a frilly peter-pan collar and lacy puffy capped short sleeves. The buttons were pink mother of pearl, and too small for the holes. The blouse only came down to just above her midriff. The button-holes and the bottom edges of the blouse, as well as the collar's edges and the sleeves edges were embroidered with bright pink ruffles.

The bottom was a skirt not too different in shape from what she'd been given to wear the day before. However it was grossly over pleated and barely came down to mid thigh. There were panties but they were so frilly and ruffed as to be silly.

Though the skirt was at least opaque it was so filmy Sorrel would have to be very careful if she walked or tried to sit. There must have been 200 pleats. There was no belt, only a broad pink ribbon, about two inches wide that tied off in the back. The effect was a grossly large bow with long tails that hung down in the back.

Mary warned her to be careful and never sit down, "Always kneel so the bow in the back wouldn't be crushed." Accompanying the blouse and the skirt was a pair of high-heeled pink shoes that were tied off by large pink ribbons in the front. The heels weren't excessive, perhaps two inches, but the shoes were tight and uncomfortable. The shoes were abetted by a pair of thigh high acrylic nylons that were to be held on her legs with some sticky substance. Each stocking had a large pink bow at the front.

Mary applied Sorrel's make up for the morning. Her cheeks were liberally decorated with a bright pink blush, and her lips were equally decorated with the same tone of bright pink lip-gloss. Above and around her eyes the color changed from pink to light blue. It gave her a starkly different appearance. When Sorrel looked in the mirror she felt she looked more like a doll than a person.

Mary did Sorrel's hair in two pigtails. She tied each pigtail off with a bright pink ribbon. Mary finished Sorrel off by painting her fingers and exposed toenails with a soft shade of pink.

Mary stepped back. Sorrel certainly looked unusual, but the truth was, though the outfit was intended to be an embarrassment, she was really quite pretty. Mary said as much, "Sorrel you're supposed to wear this and feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. Still I'll be the first to say, it's not something to wear to the mall, but you do look ravishing. No, it's not mature. It's not appropriate for going out, but you do really look beautiful."

Mary was trying to be reassuring but wasn't sure it was working, "Now, here take my hand, and I'll walk you downstairs."

Sorrel accepted Mary's outstretched hand, and like a child, she allowed Mary to walk her downstairs. When they reached the first floor they turned the corner from the steps and saw Fletcher and Florence sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. Mary glanced over at Sorrel just in time to see her visibly pale and inadvertently shrink back. Mary squeezed her hand but said nothing.

From the kitchen Fletcher and Florence saw Mary and Sorrel. Florence spoke first up, "I see the whore is awake."

Fletcher looked at Florence, "Shall we go in?" Florence responded, "By all means."

As they walked in Fletcher got a good look at the woman he was supposed to destroy. 'What a horrible outfit' was his first reaction. 'All that stupid childish pink, Florence was such a sadist. He swore to himself, 'once this meeting is over she's to go right back upstairs and change.' He couldn't take his eye off her, 'God she was beautiful. Even in that get up she was beautiful. But this was wrong.'

The four all met roughly at the same time in the corner of the living room where the bulk of the furniture was.

Florence took a seat on the sofa. Fletcher sat in his lazy boy. Mary took a second seat on the sofa.

The older woman looked at Sorrel and said, "Come here and kneel on the floor in front of me."

Fletcher cringed. He didn't want to do this.

Sorrel walked over and knelt where she was told.

Florence started, "Fletcher and I have been discussing some aspects of your future. Would you like to know what they are?"

Sorrel glanced at Fletcher then quickly back to Florence. Looking down and away she responded, "Yes, ma'am."

Florence got it in gear, "We've been talking about some body modifications we're seriously contemplating. Are you sure you want to hear?"

Sorrel glanced at Florence and then over at Fletcher, "Yes ma'am."

Florence started to dig, "Lean forward dear and stick out your tongue"

Sorrel did as she was told.

Florence looked at the woman's tongue. Then she reached for it with her right hand and touched the top, "I think at least one piercing right about here would be good. What do you say Fletcher?"

Sorrel's eyes widened.

Fletcher thought this was sadistic, but looked grimly at Sorrel, giving no hint of sympathy or disagreement, "That's a possibility."

Florence; encouraged by Fletcher's response, pushed on, "Sit up and pull your blouse up."

Sorrel sat up straight from her place on the floor. She pulled her blouse up.

Fletcher gave out an involuntary gasp. Feeling self conscious for the woman he got out of his chair and turned away. However, still being a man he gave her one more backward glance. 'Gosh', he thought, 'those are beautiful breasts.' He looked away again. He felt himself blush; 'perfectly shaped, pear like, firm, supple. They had some kind of marks on them though, little dark brown marks, almost like freckles.'