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The mannequin just stood there, staring down at me, impassive and immobile.Eventually I gave up, disentangled myself from the mannequin and stood up. What now?Just then I noticed that one of the doors was ajar. My heart leapt up. Was I free?It was the wrong door. I opened it up and saw a toilet and a small shower. Well, it was certainly better than soiling my cell, I reasoned. I stepped into the bathroom and by force of habit I closed the door behind me.|Click| It locked behind me. Of course.||TRAINING ENGAGED|| Intoned a voice from a speaker in the ceiling. ||LEVEL 2, CLEANING||"That's just great," I muttered to myself. I sat on the toilet and did my business. It flushed automatically.When I opened the shower door, I stopped short. There was no water nozzle, no faucet or hot and cold controls.Instead, there was a rack.That's the only possible description. It was a big open square, like a huge picture frame sticking straight out from the wall. At the top were wrist cuffs. At the. Anyone who has met me in the last eight years knows me as Ben, a fact not lost on my wife.I was the dutiful son for the first 22 years of my life. I excelled at sports and academics in high school and dated all the right girls and joined all the right clubs in college. I was being groomed to succeed my father – who had succeeded his father – at the helm at Wallace, Reynolds and Myers, the top law firm in the little corner of the world where I grew up.It wasn't until my internship after my second year of law school that I looked around and figured out that I wanted no part of the life my family had set aside for me. I saw frazzled men and women in their late 20s and early 30s who'd already lost a marriage or decided against one in the name of their sacred career. I saw people working 100-hour weeks and 30-day months and 52-week years. I remembered the fact that my father had never been to a single game or play in which I'd participated. I recalled that he'd missed my graduation from.
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