Gregson stopped the Jeep. The lighthouse loomed above them, like a chess piece that could only be moved by God. The door in the tower whispered to them, as waves smashed into the rocks.

“Down below—I suppose,” Gregson said. Who wants to go first?”

“You have the flashlight,” Murphy said.

“That’s right. Good call. Back me up with your gun, and girls—back me up with… I’d better not say.”

“Oh, we will,” Cindy and Samantha giggled.

The circular staircase went up, and down. Gregson preferred going down. It was less work, and his stamina lasted longer.

It was like descending into a dungeon, but then, the lights became bright, and the elevator music was boring, and the drill was unmistakable.

“Are we in a dentist’s office?” Gregson asked.

“No, buddy. This is where great art is created.”

There were mirrors, lining the hallway. Cindy and Samantha kept flexing their silicon, to see who was perkier.

“It’s not fair. We were made the same.”

A soft voice seasoned the hallway like salt—it was as sweet as sugar.

“Leave your troubles at the door.”

“That’s not the Governor’s voice. It sounds feminine,” Gregson said. Then the hall of mirrors opened-up into an auditorium, with a well-endowed woman strapped to an examining table.

A doctor in a medical jacket stared at them through three different magnifying glasses. She was skinny, with bony fingers.

“Can I help you?”

“Where’s the Governor?” Gregson asked.

“He’s away on business. You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“This is one of the missing women,” Murphy said. “See.” He showed Gregson her photograph.

“What kind of surgery are you doing here?” Murphy asked.

“Breast reduction.”

“What kind of man would want that for his fiancé?”

“A male feminist. Mamery syndrome is real. The back just can’t support the weight,” the female doctor said.

“Oh—my word. What is this world coming to?” Gregson asked to nobody but himself. “I’m going to have to put you under arrest. To hurt those babies would be a crime.”

“Look!” Murphy whispered. A drill was exiting the patient’s skull. Her brain was plugged-in like a USB.

“Are you doing brain surgery?” Gregson asked.

“Of course not.”

In one of the mirrors, Gregson spotted the Governor, holding a machine-gun.

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