Lucy couldn't move. Like a broken doll she was forced to lay perfectly still, arms bent at odd angles, legs up against her chest, stuffed sideways so she would fit. Her eyes were open. Wide open. It was dark, but she could still somehow see. She was wearing her blue smock and apron. She could feel the pins digging into her scalp and knew she must be wearing her bonnet, though she couldn't reach up to check for herself. She was either paralyzed or too cramped to move.

She lay ...