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shiny, black shoes. They played on seesaws and merry-go-rounds and swung on swings, and intermixed among them were more adults, this time dressed like adults albeit in full period costume. Men wore the distinguished trousers, vests and jackets of Victorian men some two hundred years out of date. Women wore either the gray garb of impeccably dressed governesses or the much fancier gowns of Ladies of A Higher Station. Despite having flung herself out here hard enough to make the door slam and rattle against the doorstop, almost no one noticed her. Those who did, however, stared, making her feel so very conspicuous in her jeans and simple white blouse.
    Chelsea hugged her envelope as if it were a shield. She was about to go back inside when a sudden commotion across the playground drew her attention. A gentleman had caught one of the young men in short pants by the ear and was leading him, kicking and fussing, off to one of the benches set up along the Castle walls. Before Chelsea could react, he stripped the young man of his belt first and then his trousers, and promptly up-ended the “youth” over the back of the bench. What happened next nearly wrenched a scream out of Chelsea, though it wrenched more than a few out of the young man. He was thrashed, the whip and snap of his own belt as it licked across his naked buttocks carrying across the playground almost as clearly as his shouts and wails.
    Dear God…she was in a crazy place!
    Chelsea stumbled back inside and quickly helped the spring-controlled door close faster than it was inclined to. Though it did block out the whipping sounds, the rapidly disintegrating shouts, then pleas, then wails of the man on the receiving end still permeated through the door.
    Her stomach quivered—a very odd shivering sensation that she didn’t know how to describe. Fear came close, but she wasn’t really afraid, at least not anywhere except for down deep in her tingling, tightening stomach. No, this felt more like something else—apprehension, excitement and…and something she really didn’t want to examine too closely because feeling that in this particular moment just wasn’t right.
    A grown man in little boy clothing was being tortured—beaten—just outside this door with no one doing anything to help him and here she was, her heart racing, as short of breath as if she’d run a mile in a minute, feeling tendrils of—of something best left unacknowledged, swimming around inside her. She hugged her envelope, pressing it hard across her stomach in a vain effort to squeeze that shivery feeling into frozen submission.
    The sound of those wails had reduced. Chelsea didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t stop herself. She snuck back out on the landing just far enough to see for herself that the whipping had stopped. The two men now stood, the gentleman with his arms around the youth, stroking his hair, comforting now that discipline was done. Chelsea could see his mouth moving, but she was much too far away to make out what was being said. It wasn’t for her ears anyway. This was all for the young man, who nodded and hiccupped, sniffling while he reached back to rub his bare bottom, his trousers still a puddle of forgotten fabric around his feet.
    Chelsea crept back into the Castle, pulling the hydraulic door closed between her and the crazy outside world all over again. She rubbed her stomach, clutching and re-clutching at her stolen envelope and her meager Wal-Mart bag, willing that confusion of sensations to still.
    “Hey there, baby girl.”
    Chelsea jumped, slapping a hand over her mouth to keep back her yelp of surprise—first for being startled and then again when she saw the truly massive man coming towards her down the hall. He was tall, broad, with muscle stacked upon muscle and big, bold-white letters “Castle Security” emblazoned across his black shirt.
    Oh…crap…
    “Don’t be afraid,” he said with a gentle, friendly smile. “Come here, sweetie. I just