(story continues from The Sex Dolly Factory 5)
Part 6: Karma
Ten years ago… All businesses have their ebbs and flows. One day you’re selling things like there’s no tomorrow, then, suddenly, tomorrow comes and you don’t sell a thing. Any one who tells you that a business can be predicted to run a profitable way is either trying to make you buy from them or is a paid consultant. No business can constantly preform at a top, profitable level for an infinite amount of time because time is the enemy. Times change, fads change, demand changes, and many businesses are left in the dust of history. The ability to change with the times isn’t the answer. The answer is to make the times change in your favor. Abigail Gillen is one of the most capable businesswomen around, but even she couldn’t save the local family owned toy factory from going under. She was hired as a turnaround expert after she saved an auto parts chain from drowning in debt, and started to make it into one of the largest retail chains in the country. She was unceremoniously released from her contract and replaced by her male assistant, and soon to be ex-husband, right before the big expansion simply because she was a woman and he felt he deseved the job. When a few compromising private photos of her were leaked to the board by her husband, who, incidently, took them himself, she was let go without any mention of a severance package. He replaced her at the helm, and she took everything from him in the subsuquent divorce. The first job she took after the divorce was with ‘Funnystuff Toys,’ a small toy manufacturer in the midwest United States. The owner, Phil Owens, was a shareholder with the auto parts chain she worked at before, so he was acutely aware of what she did for them, despite what her ex had done to her. He gave Abigail free reign in her contract to do whatever she wanted if she could turn the factory around. Also included were several thousand shares of stock as an added incentive to do good. Abigail wasted no time when she got to town, immediately going to the factory from the airport, wanting to see what she had got herself into. The factory was in a fairly large undescript building in the back of an industrial complex. This factory was built over 20 years ago, replacing the old factory that stood for almost 100 years across town. It became more cost effective to build a new factory than completing necessary upgrades and vital repairs on the old building. The building looked like a big concrete box with only two glass doors showing the way in. To the right was a fifteen car parking lot for management and visitors separated from the general employees parking lot by a road leading back behind the building. There were no discernable windows that she could see, but there were a few large ventilation pumps on the roof. She pulled her car into the first vacant spot in the smaller parking lot and the first thing she noticed when she got out of her car was the lack of any noise. You’d figure a factory would have some machines grinding away and echoing around the building, but there wasn’t a sound. A few birds singing and a light breeze flowing through some bushes by the road let her know that she hadn’t lost her hearing. Abigail opened the trunk on her stupid rented car and picked up her briefcase. (She couldn’t wait until the delivery service showed up with her Mercedes!) She closed the trunk and headed for the front doors without hesitation. It was almost 3 PM local time, and she wanted to see firsthand how the factory was being run before everyone left for the day. When she walked through the doors, she couldn’t believe what she saw. The doors opened into what looked like a large toy store, with the entire center of the room filled with boxed toys stacked like it was Santa’s workshop. There was no front desk to greet visitors or vendors. Instead, the exterior walls were lined with desks, and each desk had a person at it feverishly talking on their phones to someone. There weren’t any partitions between the desks, so everyone’s conversations congealed into one continuous squeal. Abigail walked around, oblivious to everyone else there, and tried to listen to what each person was doing. Of the seventeen people there, it sounded as if only three were making calls related to work. “Hey, you!” Abigail heard someone yell from behind her. She turned around to see a tall, well built man with dark brown hair standing at a desk against the wall pointing at her. Once he got her attention, she started walking towards her. “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked when he got close enough to her. Abigail wasn’t a short woman by no means, but the man was still about six inches taller than her, and about ten years younger. He had broad shoulders and a thin waist, with the build of a linebacker. “I’m Abigail Gillen,” Abigail said as she reached out her hand to the man, “I’m here to see Phil Owens. I wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow, but I wanted to get a jump on things if I’m going to help this company.” The man almost stood at attention once she said her name. He took her hand gently and gave it a comforting shake. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Gillen,” the man replied, “I’m sorry for the gruff attitude there. I’m Eric Biggs, sales agent. I just left a long stint the Army, and I’m still not used to civilian life. I’m used to giving orders, not taking them. I’m also used to being protective of my surroundings. I tend to question the appearance of new people wandering around here.” He gave Abigail a warm smile as he released her hand. The cute smile from the man candy warmed Abigail’s heart, among other things, and she gave a blushing smile back. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she replied, “At least someone here noticed the change in the scenery. Is Phil here?” “No, he isn’t.” Eric said with some dismay, “He had to do some running around, getting things ready for you tomorrow. Is there anything I can do for you instead?” “Well, I was hoping to take a tour of the place and see what I have to work with. I also wanted to take a look over the corporate financials, give me something to do tonight over dinner. I guess it will have to wait.” “Not necessarily,” Eric replied with a smile, “Mr. Owens keeps all of that info in his office. I have the key to let you in. He told us that you are allowed to do whatever you need to get this place running again, so I can’t see any harm with opening a door.” “And you have a key to his office because…?” Abigail asked suspiciously. “Oh!” Eric chuckled, “In the Army, I worked in intelligence and security. My first week here was updating their security system and alarms. I have the keys to almost everything here. During the day, I sell toys. At night, I fight crime!” Both Abigail and Eric laughed. No one else in the room laughed; no one else knew that there were two people having a conversation in the middle of the floor. “May I suggest you do the office thing first? It might be better if you take the tour with Mr. Owens tomorrow, in case you have any questions.” “Good idea, Eric,” Abigail replied, “May I call you Eric?” “Sure, Abigail, as long as you don’t mind. This way, please.” Eric directed Abigail towards an open hallway on the right side of the room. As they walked towards it, Abigail was finally hearing sounds of machinery moving. Eric led the way down the hall to a door on the left. A set of double doors were at the end of the hallway, the same direction the machine noises were coming from. Stopping at the single door, Eric unlocked it. Eric opened it wide so Abigail could enter alone. This room was a rather large and opulent office, complete with a small bar, refrigerator, sink, oak table with eight chairs, large oak desk, and several expensive figurines and paintings all over the shelves and walls. There were three filing cabinets against the wall behind the desk. On the desk was the only computer she had seen so far in the place. To the right was what looked like a full bathroom. After Abigail fully entered the room, Eric pulled it closed behind her. “I’ll be at my desk if you need anything,” he said before shutting the door. Abigail walked over to the desk and put her briefcase on the floor to one side. She sat down to a stack of disarrayed scattered across its top. She skimmed over each paper as she arranged them, and she already was getting a bad picture of everything. Most of the papers were overdue bills and past date invoices. Others were from law offices, requesting information about one thing or another. One was a safety warning from the Better Business Bureau, requesting an immediate recall on one of the company’s toys. All of this information was distressing enough, but she was more upset with what she didn’t see: There was no papers showing any form of income or employee wages. She turned around and started opening the file cabinets. All of the drawers were half empty. The only files she was able to find were about how much money the company owed and to whom. There were no files on any of the company’s sales at all. No files on the company’s federal, state, or local taxes. She did find the files on all of the current employees, however all of the pages pertaining to their salaries was missing. Also missing was any information of a pension plan or unemployment taxes. Abigail slammed the last drawer of the filing cabinet she looked into in anger. She had been in business for a long time, and she knew what was going on. Phil Owens was stealing from his own company, and he took all of the files on the company’s income and employee salaries to doctor them before Abigail could see them. He brought her in to either try to save the place, make it look like a sound idea to close up, or, worse yet, use her as a scapegoat to hide his embezzling. Without the missing paperwork, she couldn’t figure out exactly what he had planned, but no matter what, it didn’t look good for her. She was wracking her brain on what to do, but then she saw the computer. Since it was the only computer in the place, she figured he would have all of his sensitive information stored there. She sat back down at the desk and turned it on. It was an older one, only 156 gigabyte with a 750k processor, and it took a little time to boot up. While it did that, she started looking through the desk for either computer disks or any other information about the businesses income. She found a few, but their labels didn’t point to financial information. One of the drawers was locked. She thought about breaking it open, but when she saw the request for a passcode as the first image on the computer screen, she had a better idea. She went and fetched Eric. “Eric, can I see you for a minute?” Abigail asked as she poked her head out of the hallway, “I need your help back here.” Eric looked up from his phone and motioned his hand to her, signaling the give him a moment, then he went back to his phone call. “Jim, can I call you back?” he said into the phone, “I have another fire to put out…. Yeah…Yeah… Tomorrow, about ten…Thanks… Give my love to Sue and the kids.” He hung up the phone and joined Abigail in the hallway. “How can I help?” he asked. Abigail quickly but quietly took him by the arm and almost dragged him back to Phil’s office. Eric put up little resistance, although he did have a confused look on his face. She turned around and pushed him into the office, then looked down both ways in the hall to see if anyone was looking, then entered the office as well. She quickly closed the door and locked it. “Did you put any security cameras in the hallway or this office?” Abigail asked in a stern voice, “Any microphones or silent alarms on any of the drawers in here?” “What? Well, no,” Eric stammered, “What’s this all about?” “How about this: Did Mr. Owens carry out any boxes from this office yesterday or today?” Eric didn’t even have to think about this. “He had some of the guys from the dock carry out about twelve boxes from in here and put them into a truck earlier today,” he replied, even more confused than a few minutes ago, “He said he was moving some of his art collection back home.” “Take a look around this room,” Abigail ordered, “Tell me what is missing that was here yesterday evening.” Still confused, Eric did what he was told. After about a minute, the confused look disappeared and was replaced with enlightenenment. “He didn’t take anything from here,” he said, “He took something else. He was hiding something. From you. He removed files of some kind. He’s stealing, isn’t he?” “Gold star, Eric,” Abigail enthusiastically said as she pulled him to behind the desk, “I have to know what files he took, and they might be on this computer. Also, one of the desk drawers are locked. Do you think you can help me with both of these?” “With pleasure,” he replied as he stooped down to the locked drawer. It was mere seconds and he had the drawer open. “Wow, I’m impressed,” Abigail said, “I’m surprised you didn’t go into the CIA instead of working here.” “They tried recruiting me,” Eric replied as he sat down in front of the computer, “But I was tired of traveling the world, fighting ‘The Good Fight.’ Besides, some of the CIA’s clandestine operations weren’t too appealing to me, so I figured it was best to just walk away. Give me a minute and I’ll have this silicone cracked in two.” He started typing furiously on the computer’s keyboard as Abigail started looking through the now opened drawer. What she found sickened her to her core. She pulled out three bank statements, all drawn on different banks. One was the business account, which barely had enough money in it to cover an ice cream truck’s weekly expenses. The next one was Phil Owens personal account, which had almost thirty million dollars deposited. The third was Abigail Gillen, with fifteen million dollars deposited. There was also a receipt from a bank that held the employees pension, showing that the account was closed and that a cashier’s check for thirty-five million was made payable to Abigail Gillen, CFO of ‘Funnystuff Toys, Inc.’ She now knew that she was going to be the scapegoat. “I was afraid of this,” Abigail said out loud, not realising it. “What?” Eric asked as he was still typing. He leaned over to her to see what made her make that remark. “What did you find?” “Here,” she replied, holding out the bank statements and the receipt, “Take a look.” He stopped typing and studied the documents. “That’s one hell of a signing bonus,” he commented as he glanced them over. “I just got into town this afternoon,” Abigail replied as she stood up, “All of these bank accounts were set up three days ago, and those are not my signatures. I’m being set up to take the fall, while he skips away to an extradition-free country.” Eric went back to his typing, and, suddenly, he stopped when the computer made an audible ‘Boop.’ “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Eric coldly replied as the screen started filling up with various files and internet shortcuts. He rose from the chair so Abigail could sit down. Breaking into locked things was his forte, but he had a feeling that computer programs was her arena. And he was right. Within five minutes, she had found all of the information she needed, and she was pissed about everything she read. “Wow,” She gasped, “He’s been embezzling for decades. Only one third of the net sales went back into the business. Everything else went to an offshore account. He has almost eighty million dollars sitting in Panama, and a pending transaction for the funds from this account.” She waved the bank statement in his name over her head. “My God,” Eric whispered angrily, “We have to stop him. What can we do?” “Technically nothing but go to the police,” Abigail replied as she sat and thought for a few moments, “But I hate technicalities. Give me a few minutes.” She started typing feverishly herself, like a woman possessed. Eric tried watching the monitor as she zipped from one screen to another over her shoulder, but soon got dizzy. He had to take a step back and regain his senses. This was the second time in little over a year that a man was trying to screw her over, and, this time, she was going to fight back hard. She wasn’t about to be abused in a business setting again, and Phil Owens was going to feel the brunt of her anger. “There, that will fix him,” Abigail exclaimed after her thirty minute typing marathon. She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms triumphantly. “What did you do?” Eric asked as he leaned back over to look at the screen. All he saw was a Panamanian bank main menu screen. “I took all of the money he hid in Panama, all the money he had in the business account, and all of the money he had in this personal account and hid it somewhere safe. Just for fun, I also tracked down any other bank accounts he or his immediate family had and emptied them as well. Then I deleted all of the accounts at their banks. Right now, there is $120 million hidden in various banks around the world, and I’m the only one who knows where.” “Awesome!” Eric cheered as he gave Abigail a congratulatory slap on the back, “Now, to get rid of the evidence here. Here’s my lighter. Take this bank information into the bathroom and burn it. I’ll erase the computer’s hard drive. I have a friend who can follow up on erasing the internet traffic coming and going to this computer for the last seven days, just to be safe. Now, not trying to sound self concerned, but what about the employees and payday? Will they still have a job?” “Most likely not,” Abigail said as she walked to the bathroom with the papers, “But I’ll make sure that they’ll still get paid, reinstate their pensions, and give them a terriffic severance package. Just by seeing the accounts payable I know that this business is dead.” She lit the papers on fire and dropped them into the bathroom sink. She looked in the cabinet under the sink for a towel to clean up the ashes, but instead she found a pile of skin colored latex rubber. Thinking that it was an odd colored raincoat, she pulled it out, wondering who stuffed it down there. It seemed like it was a long overcoat from the amount of pulling she did. It wasn’t until she grabbed a handful of blonde wig that she realized it wasn’t a raincoat at all. “Eeek!” Abigail squealed in revulsion. Eric ran to the bathroom, thinking she had burned herself. He hurriedly looked into the bathroom and saw Abigail standing over a woman’s skin, sprawled out on the bathroom floor. He was speechless, so was Abigail, and he knelt down to take a better look and possibly identify the victim. He took hold of the pile’s ankle, gave it a squeeze, then laughed. “What’s so funny?” she asked angrily. “This is one of those blow up sex dolls!” he laughed, throwing the piece of latexback to the floor. “A what?” “An inflatable girl sex doll. You know, for when a loser is horny but can’t get a date? They buy one of these, blow them up, and have sex with the three holes in it. They come in all styles, sizes, races, and skin tones. I think they’re disgusting, but they’re a very big business. High quality dolls run into the five thousand dollar range.” “Really?” Abigail wondered aloud. She figured this might require some research, but if this perversion is big business, then why don’t she get into it? She has always worked for other people and almost every time it didn’t work out. Thanks to this Phil Owens jerk, she now had some serious starting capital and enough leverage to force him to sign over his factory for a bargain price. She couldn’t retain all of the employees, and she really thought that she shouldn’t considering their preformance when she first walked in, but she could go through what remained in their files to pick out the possible ‘Diamonds in the rough.’ There is one thing she had to do before she did anything else. “Eric, come tomorrow, no one here will have a job. You’ve helped me out here and gave me a lead on a possibly lucriative business opportunity. How would you like to work for me as the head of my security department? You will not have to answer to anyone but me, and I can guarantee your salary will be at least three times as high as it is right now, possibly more. Interested?” ********************************* This year, Saturday afternoon… Becky and her love dolly Keisha were driving over to Abigail’s house for dinner and to watch their online auctions end. Two weeks ago, Abigail put up some of the grade 2 sex dolls that were not selling, just to move the older stock out. She also listed Charlene, the hermaphrodite doll that she and Becky made from the one thief that they had caught almost a month ago. She originally thought about keeping it, but the novelty wore off quickly, and she wanted to see how much a doll like that would sell for. If it sells well enough, they would definitely make more. They arrived at Abigail’s just after 3 PM. Becky pulled up to the garage, intending to pull her car inside. It was still daylight, and she didn’t want any of her friend’s neighbors seeing the latex shine of her lover. It may cause some ‘issues’ with the neighborhood block commission. She honked her horn when she pulled up to the garage door, and, after a minute or so, the garage door rolled up. She pulled her car inside and parked next to her friend’s Mercedes. The garage door was already lowering when the two of them climbed out of her car. “Can you get the wine, please?” Becky asked Keisha as she pushed the button to release the trunk, “I’ll get the paperwork.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked back and opened the trunk. Inside, there was a ratty atashay case. “Yes, massuh, I’se live to serve,” Keisha sarcastically remarked. It has been transformed into an automotronic plastic doll for four weeks now, but it still resents the fact that it has to do everything Becky says, albeit she asks politely. It reached into the back seat to retrieve the bottle. Getting out of the car and now standing, it turned to see Becky looking at it frustrated. “Please, baby, stop acting like that,” Becky half begged as she removed the atashay case and closed the trunk, “You’re not my black slave maid. It’s starting to offend me when you talk like that. Besides dressing you in that maid costume the first time, have I honestly made you do something you didn’t want to do?” “Oh, let’s see,” Keisha replied, mockingly putting it’s finger to it’s chin and looking skyward, “Making me suck off one of my closest friends, and now making me sit while you sell him off in front of me?” “You didn’t suck him off,” Becky said as she came around the car to hug her dolly, “I stopped you before those luscious lips even got close to his dick. As for selling him off, well, you didn’t complain when we sold off your Asian friend, right?” “I hated Chang anyway. I was getting ready to put two bullets into his skull right before your knockout gas hit us. Good riddance to him, but me and Charlie, we’ve been through a lot. He was the closest thing I had to a best friend.” “He wasn’t a friend,” Becky whispered into Keisha’s ear, “He wouldn’t have got you into trouble if he was. Besides, you got me now. I’m going to be the bestest friend you’ve ever had. C’mon. Abigail’s waiting.” She gave her dolly lover a warm, passionate kiss on the cheek, then led her by the hand towards the house. Abigail met them as Becky opened the door into the kitchen. “It’s about time!” Abigail exclaimed when she saw them, “I thought the garage door got stuck or something.” “Nah, we just had a little discussion,” Becky replied as she put her atashay case on the cabinet inside the door. Keisha walked around her and handed the bottle of wine to Abigail. “Yeah. We were talking about how slaves have to be sold,” It said callously. “KEISHA!!!” Becky shouted in an embarrassed voice. Keisha turned and instead of seeing frustration in Becky’s eyes, this time her eyes were staring daggers. “Calm down, you two,” Abigail said calmly as she walked between the two of them. This argument was going on too long, and she had to do something civil before Becky did something she would regret. “Becky, are those the results of the AAD-623 test?” Becky was obviously seething, but she did comport herself before answering. “Yes, they are,” she replied while gritting her teeth, still staring at her attitude spewing dolly. “Please take them into the living room and prepare to give me a status on the results,” Abigail said in a soothing tone, trying not to talk down to her friend, as she put her arm around her shoulder and herded her toward the hallway leading to living room, “I need to talk with Keisha for a minute.” Becky picked up the atashay and angrily walked down the hall. Once she was out of earshot, Abigail turned to the latex animotronic. “I’ve been friends with her for a very long time,” Abigail began as she looked Keisha in the eyes, “And this is the first time I’ve ever seen her truly care for someone. She is in love with you.” Keisha crossed its arms in a defensive stance and tried to stare the taller woman down. “Oh, yeah?” Keisha replied in a demanding voice, “How can you tell? I’m the only one she’s ever forced a sex change on? Or turned into an appliance? Or electronically made to do her every whim, like a plantation slave? If she was really in love with me, she would be sucking my cock right now, instead of making me into a life-sized black Barbie doll!” “Yes, you have been forced into this change,” Abigail continued, “But you did break into our factory and you have seen too much. We couldn’t send you or your compatriots to jail and have the police look into our business. This is a just punishment for all three of you, as we see it. However, she is a lesbian. She didn’t become attracted to you until you were made into a female. She fell in lust with you, and had to have you. She wouldn’t be satisfied with having you as a normal sex dolly like the others, so she used her genius to make you as you are now: A walking dolly with full body motion and your own thoughts and opinions. She could’ve easily wiped away all of your free will and made you a virtual bimbo, but she didn’t. She wanted someone to love, and she hoped that that someone would love her back.” “Yeah, right,” Keisha argued, “She treats me like a doll. She buys me what she wants me to wear, makes me help her clean her house, makes me help around your factory, and most of the time tells me what to do in bed. When she goes out, she always takes me with her. I barely have any time to myself! Is that what love is supposed to be?!?” “Well, in a sense, yes.” “Okay, I’m confused,” Keisha said while shaking it’s head while taking a seat on a kitchen chair, “Explain this to me.” “Simple,” Abigail explained as she pulled another kitchen chair next to Keisha, “She buys you clothes that she likes because you probably never told you what you like. I heard you complain about the clothes you did wear before, but I never heard you ask for anything specific to wear, have I? She can’t get you what you want if you will not share the information with her. “House chores are something that every member in the family share doing. You most likely are thinking like a man, but the dirty dishes aren’t cleaned by elves who sneak into the house at night. Clean floors require a wet mop or a vaccuum on occasion. Clothing should only be worn one time in a week then be washed, not worn until they stand up by themselves. I can almost guarantee that she asks you to do chores, and doesn’t order you to do them. “She takes you with her everywhere she goes because she wants to spend time with you. Since most of her time is at the factory, that is where she takes you. She asks you to help while you’re there is for two reasons. One, she doesn’t want you to be bored. Two, she likes talking with you. She wants to get to know you, and the fastest way to form a friendship is by chatting with a co-worker. “As for your bedroom antics, have you tried taking control yet? I’m not saying you should tie her down to the bed and get out the candle wax or anything, but I am saying that you should try seducing her instead of waiting for her to tell you what to do. I’m not sure if this is a racial stereotype, and I apologize in advance if you feel like it is, but aren’t black men usually looking for white women to take control over and screw their brains out?” Throughout all of Abigail’s speech, Keisha sat there like a petulent child that was forced to listen to a Preacher’s lecture on evil. However, the last sentence she spoke caused the dolly to erupt with laughter. Abigail reacted with a smile of her own. “Okay,” Keisha giggled, “I’ll give you that one.” Abigail slid forward on her seat to put her hands on both of Keisha’s shoulders, making sure to have the doll’s attention. “Now I don’t expect you to fall head over heels with her the next time your eyes meet,” Abigail said with a soothing voice, “I would just like for you to give her a chance. She really is a sweet, loving girl. Talk to her as if she was your friend, not as if she was the warden of a jail. You might find out that you like her too.” “What about when she orders me to do something?” “I’ve only seen her order you to do two things over the past month, and one of those things she stopped you before you even started.” “Twice?” Keisha asked, “I only remember the blowjob. What was the other time?” “Shortly after that. You were so shaken up about the ‘almost’ oral sex you were being ordered to do, she ordered you to fall asleep to calm you down.” Keisha just sat there silenly, with a perplexed look on it’s face. “I don’t remember that,” Keisha responded, as it racked it’s brain for the memory, “She really did that?” “Yes, she did,” Abigail replied, “See? She cared for you back then, and she cares even more for you now. Do you think you can give her some slack for a little bit?” “Uh…Yeah…I guess so,” Keisha replied in a somber yet thoughtful tone. Abigail smiled widely then gave it a warm hug. “Thank you,” She whispered into the doll’s ear, “Let’s get into the living room before the little maniac sets something on fire.” Keisha giggled, then both made their way to the living room. Upon arriving, they saw Becky sitting on the sofa behind Abigail’s laptop with an incredibly stunned look on her face. She was staring at the screen wide eyed and mouth opened. She was gripping the screen tight enough to squeeze milk from a coconut. “Becky, what’s wrong?” Abigail asked when she noticed the shocked look on her friends face, and rushed over to her side. Keisha, surprisingly, also hurried to her with concern, and sat down on Becky’s right side. As Abigail sat down next to her, Becky turned towards her slowly as she handed her the laptop. Abigail, with a puzzled look on her face, wrestled the laptop from Becky’s death grip. She settled it onto the coffee table and opened the hinge wider so she could see the screen better. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the soft colors emanating from the screen, but, once she did, she too was shocked at what was showing. It was the online auction they listed their surplus dolls and the Charlene doll on. The other dolls sold at what they were expected to, but the Charlene, the sexy talking female doll with the built-in penis, sold for $900,000. “We gotta make more hermaphrodites,” Becky calmly whispered.
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