Afternoon was, again, time for group therapy. Claire and Myst sat with the other residents of their ward, while Laura called on each patient in turn.

She turned to the youngest one, who looked to be only about 18. She was wearing a drab gray robe over a hospital gown covered with dull, muted purple polka dots. She had hospital-issue socks on her feet, the color of brown mud. Her brown hair was streaked with orange highlights that looked like she'd done them herself in a dorm-room sink. She looked anxious, agitated.

"Nicollette," said Laura, "why don't you tell us how you are doing?"

"It's Nikki," the girl corrected. "And I don't know why I need to be here. You know I'm only here because I keep fainting, and losing my balance and falling down. I have medical problems, I don't have a mental illness. Why would I need *this*?"

Laura ignored the very reasonable question.

"Ladies," she addressed the crowd not the individual, "can anyone name the problem with Nicollette's outburst just now?"

A voice said, "it's too much like *right*."

Everyone turned to see who said it. It was a girl with very light bleach blonde hair, wearing striped pajamas and slippers.

"We do not need that kind of attitude, Anna," snapped Laura.

Claire recognized both Nikki and Anna from Myst's drawings. Claire thought that Anna looked like a blonde version of Myst. And she had the same protective streak, the willingness to go to bat for someone else, like she just did for Nikki. *Oh poor Nikki! So young to be trapped in this place, for what sounds like even less of a reason than mine*, Claire thought.

Beside her, Myst uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, fidgeting the way she always did when Laura had the floor. One slipper had already escaped; she flicked the other into the air, caught it, and slid it back on. Claire was learning to read her: the more Laura talked, the less still Myst's feet got. Laura shot her a warning glance, then resumed.

"How about you next, Claire," said Laura as if she could tell Claire was thinking about something. "You've been here for 24 hours, Claire, have you had time to think about your situation?"

Claire just stared at Laura, not sure what to say.

"Claire, we can't help you if you don't open up. What's bothering you?"

"Just...," Claire really wanted to repeat everything she'd been telling everyone since the previous afternoon, but she realized it would do her no good.

"I get it. Too uncomfortable to open up. Too scary. We've got something to work on! Maybe, today, start with something positive. What are you *thankful* for?"

"I... uh...," Claire tried to think of something good and the only thing she could think of was how Myst treated her, but she also did not want to call Myst out in a way that would single Myst out for more trouble. "I'm thankful for my fellow patients. When I got here I felt so alone..."

She couldn't go on. She hung her head, trying not to cry.

Myst slouched deeper in her chair, her bare foot now propped on her knee. The robe slipped off one shoulder. She didn't bother to fix it. She glowered at Laura.

A patient knelt beside Claire before she even realized the woman had gotten out of her own chair. "You're not alone," she said, holding Claire's hand. "I've *been* you. I know what this is like." The woman did, indeed, look very much like Claire, or what Claire imagined herself looking like in about five years. "I'm Nancy. I've been here forever. You can talk to me any time you want."

"You can also talk to me," said a pale, freckled woman who looked to be in her thirties --- and also looking like she hadn't slept in a week. "Marija. *Doctor* Marija."

"You're a *doctor*? Here?"

"No, sweetie. I'm a pediatrician. I'm a patient here."

Claire wondered *how* such a person ended up a patient here. She imagined Anna saying it was because Marija "cared too much."

"*Pobrecita*!" said another woman leaning in, about the same age as Marija, "I'm Elena. If there's anything I can do..."

"Pobre--- what?"

Elena said softly, almost whispering, "it means *poor little thing*."

Claire felt very accurately labeled.

"Ladies! Return to your seats! The welcome wagon can operate in your free time, we have others to get to."

Myst shifted again, now sitting sideways with both legs draped over the arm of her chair, one foot kicking idly at the air, the robe barely hanging on. *It's a performance,* Claire realized, *every inch of it, and it's aimed at Laura.*

"Misty! Can you *please* sit up properly? We are trying to have a meeting here!"

Claire glanced at Myst as she straightened. They exchanged a quick grin. Claire nearly laughed.

And then --- a shift came over the room.

As she looked at Myst, she saw her as she'd been in the crayon drawing: dressed all in black, confident, beautiful. The camisole, the miniskirt, the fishnets, the polished boots. The silver cross around her neck catching the fluorescent light.

Claire looked around the room.

Her eyes landed on Nikki --- and for a moment she couldn't remember the hospital girl she'd seen a minute ago. That version was gone. In her place sat the Nikki from Myst's sketchbook. Claire blinked. The hospital version didn't return. Myst's version was the real one.

Anna, too --- she looked like she'd stepped out of a video, ready to record a tutorial on early-00s style.

"Myst," Claire whispered, "you need to draw them too." She gestured toward Nancy, Elena, and Marija.

* * *

It was the second morning Claire had awakened in the hospital, after another nearly sleepless night.

As on the previous day, Pam came in the morning to collect Myst and take her away for her medications. Once again, Myst returned looking dazed and sweaty. *Every day here is going to be the same as yesterday*, Claire thought.

"Claire," said Pam, "it's your turn sweetie."

"I'll be right here when you get back, *sweetie*," said Myst, with a sarcastic emphasis on the final word that made Claire grin. Pam gave Myst a sideways glance and then turned to go.

Claire followed Pam out the door. Pam led her down the hallway, through the common area, past the nurses' station, and to the door that separated this ward from the rest of the hospital. Pam swiped her ID and the door opened. Claire followed her through it back into the world she'd seen on her first day here.

Gone was the worn out old carpet, replaced by cold tile. Gone were the institutional cinder-block walls, replaced by ancient, medieval stone and brick. She had returned to the part of the hospital that felt like an old castle, or monastery. This was recognizably the section where the Doctor had conducted her exam when she arrived. This was, apparently, where everything "medical" happened. Including, it seemed, the medications she was about to receive.

Pam led her into one of the small exam rooms off of the hallway, and closed the door behind them. The door had a keycard reader on the inside of the room. Claire knew what this meant --- she would not be able to leave this room without Pam.

On a table in the room was a large envelope, the kind that offices use. On it was a sticker that read, "Special Projects / Patient #170422 / Class P-1 / Specification B." Claire did not know what any of this meant. It also contained a series of letters and numbers she couldn't understand at all, and a barcode.

Pam opened it. First she took out a medical bracelet.

"Here sweetie, let's get this on you. This one has your new information on it."

Claire had been wearing the same plastic patient's bracelet since the ambulance, that had her name, DOB, blood type, etc., on it. Pam took out a pair of scissors and snipped it off, it fell to the floor. She placed the new bracelet on Claire's wrist with a snap.

Claire looked at the label. It had no name, nothing recognizable, just the same cryptic information as was printed on the envelope's sticker.

"But," she dared, "it doesn't have my name on it."

"Oh sweetie, you're in our system now! We all know who you are. Now let's get started. Sit on the table, please, Claire. I'm gonna start by checking your vitals."

Claire sat on the table. Pam took out a stethoscope, and placed its diaphragm over Claire's heart, listened for a few seconds...

"Breathe for me, baby," Claire obeyed.

Pam moved the scope around to Claire's back, and placed the cold metal on her bare skin where the gown was open. Claire flinched.

"It's ok sweetie, now give me another deep breath... good. Now let's get your blood pressure..."

She placed a blood pressure cuff on Claire's arm, and inflated it. Claire always hated this part of a doctor visit. She was always afraid the test was going to show a high blood pressure, resulting in even more tests to investigate it. She held her breath, tried to calm herself as much as possible. She tried to clear her mind, rid herself of anxiety. She was never sure it was going to work.

Pam stopped to write some numbers down on a clipboard. She didn't tell Claire what the numbers were or what they meant.

Pam then took out a thermometer, and laid it on the table. A glass thermometer, the kind Claire had only seen in pictures. She opened a jar of something greasy.

*Is that lube?!*, Claire wondered. *What is going on? What is she doing?*

Pam began to rub the greasy substance *onto the thermometer*.

"Pam...," Claire mustered up all of her courage to ask, "what are you doing?"

"Oh honey," Pam said, "I'm gonna have to explain. You young'uns don't know about these things anymore. This is a *rectal* thermometer."

*Oh God oh God does that mean...*

"A *rectal* thermometer?" her voice was shaking.

"Yes, sweetie, and I'm going to need you to stand up and turn around. It doesn't go in your mouth, it goes..."

*Oh no oh no don't say it...*

"... in your bottom. Now get up and turn around for me."

Claire sat motionless, frozen. This was a new line. A new threshold. She'd been through a lot, but now, now this woman was going to insert this thing into... she could not even make herself think it! The closest thing she could say was...

"Back there?!!" Claire said in a loud whisper, as if she was ashamed someone would hear it.

"Yes, Claire, back there. In your rectum."

"W-why? Don't you have a normal thermometer? Don't you...," she was nearly in tears yet again.

"Doctor's Orders, baby," said Pam with resignation, "I don't decide these things. Now quit stalling. We can do this easy way, or the hard way."

"What's the hard way?"

"I call the boys in and they hold you down while I do this."

The only thing that could possibly make this worse would be having multiple people witness it. Claire thought she was going to faint, but she got up, turned around, and faced the exam table, resting her hands on it.

"Bend over forward, sweetie, put your elbows down on the table."

Claire obeyed.

"Now I'm gonna grease you up a little bit too," said Pam. She parted Claire's cheeks and rubbed a small amount of lube on her, back there.

*This can't be happening, this can't be happening*

"Relax, baby, while the thermometer goes in," said Pam as she slid the thermometer in.

Claire's mind was blank. This was an unimaginable occurrence, a fear that had been lurking in her subconscious, never to be vocalized. And now, here it was. It was real, and there was nothing she could do. *It* was in her. It was in her *back there*, where nothing was ever supposed to go. It was too much to be real, so for a moment at least, it wasn't. Nothing was.

"That's right, honey, hold still for me. You're being such a good girl," Pam reassured her. "Now I just have to hold this in for a couple of minutes..."

Claire said nothing. Claire *could* say nothing. She didn't really hear Pam. She wasn't really there.

Silence. For a merciful moment, all was silence.

Then it was out. Claire would swear she heard it make a sound when it came out of her.

Suddenly she could breathe. She was back in the room, and capable of speech again.

"C-can I go now?"

"No sweetie, now that I took your vitals, it's time for your medicine."

Claire turned her head to look at Pam. Pam opened another jar, and took something out of it. The pill, if it was a pill, looked impossibly large. *How can I swallow that?* Claire thought. *I can't possibly, it's too big I'll choke I'll...*

Her thought stopped. What if it wasn't a pill?

"Lean over the table again, baby," said Pam warmly, "this is a suppository!"

What Claire's mind had stopped short of thinking, was yet again the case. She leaned her head forward, tried to forget what she'd just seen.

"Here it comes," said Pam, as she slowly inserted the suppository. It was every bit as big as it had looked. Claire winced, and made a very slight utterance, the softest detectable squeak.

"Now this first one is for anxiety. It'll calm you down, make you feel relaxed, make you not so jumpy and on-edge all the time...," Pam said as she held it in place with her finger until it dissolved. It was gone. Unlike the thermometer, it was never going to come back out. It had been absorbed by her body.

"Ok I'll give you a second before the next one, let that one sink in," said Pam.

Claire said nothing.

"Ok, baby, here comes the second one. This one is an anti-depressant, to improve your mood."

*But I'm not...*

Before Claire could finish the thought, the suppository was in her, and she could not think about anything at all until it too was gone, swallowed up. Finally, it was all dissolved. Claire remained in position, breathing, having difficulty believing that everything that had just happened was real.

Eventually she asked, with exhaustion, "is that all?"

"Yes, that was the last one. For today. But I'm gonna have to ask you: you haven't had a bowel movement yet in the hospital, have you?"

Claire was too mortified to say anything. This was not a topic she was willing to discuss, not even now.

"I didn't think so. From now on I need you to tell me whenever you do, so I can put it down in your chart. Otherwise we may have to do something about it."

*Oh no. Oh no no no...*, thought Claire, Pam had said "from now on." Claire knew what that meant. This was now a routine. This was going to be a daily occurrence. This thought was too much to entertain. Claire did not entertain it.

* * *

Myst was waiting in the bedroom for Claire's return, sitting on the bed. Claire walked in the door, threw herself down on the bed next to Myst, buried her face in Myst's shoulder, and cried.

"Oh Myst... I can't... I can't even talk about it... it was too..."

"Shh...," said Myst, softly stroking Claire's hair, "don't talk, Claire Bear. It'll all be ok."