’‘They ain’t all our daughters.’Missy, 6 and way cuter than she realized, came in late, started to sit.‘Missy, taste.’‘I don’t … ‘...he slap echoed like a shot as her head snapped around.‘Wrong. Taste.’Tears flooding, Missy fingered herself, brought me the taste: Pee, girl juice, wet.‘Char outside?’Trembling, Missy nodded.‘You know the rules. Bring her in.’Char, 7, was Missy’s friend, knew a little of what we did.They returned.‘Missy, taste me Char.’Turning to Char, Missy ran her fingers into. Fortunately, the only resource itrequired was light and the few fiber optic skylights delivered some freelight twenty feet below. For at least part of the day until the sunpassed low in the sky, they had some dim light that passed through theclouds. As part of Ashley's daily routine, she would wake up and recordeach new day counting up to that 730th day, in which they could leavethis miserable place and breathe fresh air again. Earlier in the day shehad marked in red pen December 21. It was. More

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