It was Tuesday. *Towel Tuesday*, Claire said to herself, looking at the clean but threadbare towel that Pam had dropped off in the room before taking Myst away for her meds. But the real significance of today was something she was not able to even think about this morning. Today was the day of her first weekly examination by the Doctor.

Officially this meant he was going to reassess her condition, see if her medications needed to change, and potentially make decisions about whether and when she could go home. But after what Myst had told her, Claire did not think this last one was going to happen any time soon. If what she had been told about the Doctor was true, she did not want to see him. She did not want to be seen *by* him. She did not want him looking at her, touching her. The very thought of it was like a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach.

After a considerably longer than usual wait, Pam returned with Myst, looking sweaty and shaken, as usual.

"Your turn, Claire, honey," Pam intoned calmly as if today was just a day like any other day.

Claire followed Pam out the door, down the hall, her bare feet padding softly on the worn out old carpet. Then, the beep of Pam's electronic ID card on the door to the medical wing. The carpet was replaced by cold, hard, stone tile. Claire shivered. After having walked this way every day, her poor feet knew it by heart. But just when her muscle memory told her to turn left into the same room 423 she'd been going to all week, Pam continued walking without saying anything. Clearly today's events were going to take place in a different room.

They passed more doors, and turned left down a hallway that Claire had never been in before. It had the same brick walls as the hallway that she'd just been in, only it was darker because it had no windows. It was lit not by the ubiquitous buzzing fluorescent tube lights, but by bare lightbulbs in industrial-looking metal receptacles that looked like little cages. Obviously this hallway had been built long before electricity was any sort of concern, and the lighting installed much later. Some of the lightbulbs were flickering like candles, some of them were out altogether.

"I'll have to tell Billy to change these," Pam muttered, half to herself, half out loud. Claire shuddered, she did not like to be reminded of the existence of the janitor.

This hallway smelled different. The other, sunlit hallway, had smelled like something --- paint, possibly --- baking in the heat of the radiators that sat below the windows. This hallway had no windows and no radiators. It was colder. Compared to the air in the sunny hallway, it felt like walking into a cave. Yes, a cave had this same cold, clammy air. Claire remembered this from when she had been on a cave tour when she was a little girl, with Liz, and Mom and Dad. She stopped. She did not want to think about her parents now. She did not want to imagine what they would think if they knew she'd ended up in a place like *this*.

Finally, through a door that was marked 418, and into an exam room. This room was larger than the usual one, with high ceilings. It looked older, like it was original to the old brick building rather than shoehorned in later in a renovation. One wall was filled with high windows, arched at their tops, protected like every other window in this hospital with heavy iron bars. The light coming through these windows seemed to be the only light in the room. As usual, the door closed with a click and Claire knew she was not getting out of the room without someone to let her out.

"Just a minute, sweetie," Pam said, directing Claire's attention to an ancient-looking exam table parallel to the windows. Its legs were metal, and its top was surfaced in black... leather? It looked like leather. Pam sprayed it down with some kind of disinfectant, and wiped it with a paper towel, but did not cover it with paper. She patted the surface with her hand to let Claire know it was time to sit down.

The table was just low enough to sit on unaided if Claire hopped slightly. Which she did, as she did not want to ask for any help. Her gown, of course, came open in the back and her bare skin smacked against the leather surface. She did not like the feeling of it. It didn't feel medical. It felt more like, she thought, like being in a dungeon in some medieval castle.

She thought of the things Myst had told her about, and shuddered again.

Just then she heard a noise coming from an unexpected side of the room. She turned to see another door, not the one she'd come in by, opening.

And there he was. The Doctor stepped into the room, and stood next to the exam table.

His blue shirt looked crisply ironed, beneath his gleaming white lab-coat. His shoes were polished brown leather. He had a stethoscope around his neck. His short brown hair was neatly combed. As usual, the only sign of any chaos was his stubble. Claire tried not to, but she couldn't help imagining what it would feel like to touch that man's face. To feel the stubble scrape across her skin like a wire brush, accompanied by his hot breath. A third time, she shuddered. She thought she caught herself doing so audibly this time.

"Leave us, Pam," he said, "I'm going to take care of things *personally* today."

"You don't need me to stay, Doctor, to assist in the exam?" Pam asked.

"I've got it, Pam," the Doctor said again.

Pam placed her hand on Claire's shoulder and said, "I'll be back to get you soon, sweetie. Be a good girl for me while I'm gone," and left. The door locked itself behind her.

"That's right, Claire," the Doctor repeated, "be a *good girl* and this will all be over quickly." Claire did not like the emphasis he placed on these words. "We will begin a physical exam."

He began with the stethoscope. As usual, the diaphragm was placed on her back, on the bare skin of her back where the gown was open. As usual, the stethoscope was very cold. She jumped slightly.

"Relax, Claire. Breathe."

As Claire slowly breathed in and out, the instrument was moved around on her back. First higher, and then, to her horror, lower. *How much lower is he going to go with that?* she thought. She did not like the idea of him being back there, with the gown open, and her... no, she wasn't going to think about that right now.

The Doctor moved the stethoscope to her chest. He pulled on her gown to pull it down loose off of one shoulder. It seemed in danger of falling off completely, and she instinctively moved her hand up to hold it on. As she did so, her hand briefly brushed against his. She felt the warmth, the steadiness. Her own hands were trembling.

Without saying anything, he took her hand in his and guided it away from the gown and back down to the table. The gown slipped slightly but stayed on. He moved the scope lower, as far down as the gown's current position exposed her, and then pulled the gown back up onto her shoulder to cover her completely.

"Good," he said, writing something and tapping the pen against the clipboard.

"Sit up straight," he said.

The Doctor took Claire's left wrist, and felt her pulse, timing it using the second hand of his watch. With all of her power of concentration, she'd willed her heartbeat to remain normal. It was no use. She could feel her heart racing the whole time. She couldn't see what he was writing on the clipboard, but she knew it was going to show her heart was beating way too fast.

He placed the blood pressure cuff on her arm, and began to inflate it. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly and calmly, to avoid a high blood pressure. The cuff inflated until it was so tight she could barely stand it.

"Good," he said again, as he deflated and removed it. Claire didn't know what could possibly be good about it.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and said, "lie back on the table for me."

Carefully, minding the hem of the gown like it was a matter of life and death, Claire lifted her legs and swung her bare feet up onto the table, and then, finally, leaned back until she was flat on her back on the hard, smooth, leather surface.

She was briefly relieved that her back, with the open gown, was now safely against the table.

"Place your hands above your head, and keep them there," the Doctor said calmly.

Claire was terrified of what this might do to the gown, which seemed like it was just barely long enough, as if the slightest upward pull might cause it to not be long enough at all. She hesitated.

The Doctor waited, silently.

After a few tense seconds, she moved her hands up behind her head. The gown stayed where it was.

Another moment of relief! She wondered what new horror lay in store, to knock her back out of this brief calm.

Without warning the Doctor began poking and prodding her side with his hands. It didn't hurt, it just felt odd, as this kind of thing always did.

"Any pain here?" he said, pressing at a spot that Claire assumed was some internal organ.

"No," she answered with a tense, squeaky voice.

He moved his hands around, pushing into her sides and belly in several other spots. Every time she wanted to squirm.

"Excellent," he said, stopping to write on the clipboard yet again.

He stepped down to the foot of the table, where her bare feet waited, cold in the room's chill air.

*What now?* she wondered.

Then he reached for her ankle. He lifted her foot slightly, rotated it, examining the joint. The feeling of someone touching her bare feet was unusual, unnerving. Instinctively, she flinched.

"Pain?" he asked, pressing his thumbs along the sole of her foot. "Any swelling here?"

"N-no," Claire said, not sure how much longer she was going to be able to hold still for this. It didn't hurt or tickle, really, but the desire to pull her foot away from him was strong and growing.

He repeated the process with her other foot. Somehow, she remained motionless.

"Good," he said again, making another note.

He grabbed Claire's right leg and pulled it up off the table, until it was nearly vertical, then slowly flexed the leg at the knee until the calf was parallel to the table. He held it there momentarily then moved the leg around in its socket, carefully observing the motions. The bottom of the gown shifted constantly as he was doing this, moving up and down and back and forth.

*Oh no, oh God, oh no, put my leg back down, he can see...* Claire thought, but couldn't bring herself to complete the sentence in her head.

The Doctor, however, appeared uninterested in what the gown was doing, and paid attention only to the leg.

He placed the right leg back down, slowly, onto the table. The gown fell back into place. Claire could breathe.

With an agonizingly deliberate pace, his footsteps echoing on the floor, he walked around to the other side of the table and did the same thing to her left leg.

"All very good," he said, picking up the clipboard and scratching some more with the pen.

He went over to a nearby cabinet, pulled open a drawer, and produced out of it a drop-cloth, like a bedsheet but of similar material to her hospital gown. He partly unfolded it, so that it was still a double layer, and placed it over her, covering her from the waist down to her knees. This was a surprising act of mercy. But why hadn't he done it already?

He started now to pull at the hem of her hospital gown, pulling it upwards. Her right hand reflexively started to move down to put it back down, but he caught it and moved it back up behind her head.

"Hold still," he said quietly. "This is for *your* modesty, Claire."

He pulled the gown up, until it had exposed her bare, trembling stomach. He pulled the drop cloth down slightly, baring as much of her abdomen as possible, including the upper parts of her hips. There she lay, wondering what he would do now. More poking, more prodding?

To her surprise he took up the stethoscope again, and placed it on the skin of her belly, and moved it around to several places, listening to each one for several seconds. What he was listening for, she could not guess.

"Mmm-hmmm," he said to himself. He pulled the gown back down, and pulled the cloth back over it. The combination of gown and drop-cloth now covered her completely again. Again, a sigh of relief. He took the clipboard and wrote something down.

"Now, Claire," he intoned, "why don't you roll over on your belly?"

Without saying anything, Claire complied. With as much grace as possible, which she imagined was not much, she turned over on her belly while the Doctor held the cloth to prevent it from wrapping around her.

Her face was now pressed against the leather table, her head resting on her own hands. The chill air of the room now directly touched her on her back, where the gown was open. She could feel this all the way down to the small of her back, where the drop cloth was still protecting her. Briefly, she caught herself feeling gratitude.

There was an uncomfortable amount of silence, while the Doctor fiddled with something on the table. She could not see what he was doing, with her face down on the table. She turned her head as much as she could to look, and saw it. The Doctor was holding a thermometer. A glass one. The same kind Pam used.

Claire stared at it, as the Doctor lubricated it. She should have known this was what he meant by "personally." He was going to be the one doing *that* to her. Her mind had blocked out this obvious conclusion from conscious thought. She re-buried her face in her hands, and tried to forget what she'd seen.

He patted her briefly on the small of her back, over the cloth, and said, "raise your hips up into the air for me, Claire."

Claire sat still and silent.

"Claire," he repeated, "be a *good girl* or there will be consequences."

Trembling, Claire pushed her backside up off of the table using her legs, until she was resting on her knees. She was now pointed up at an angle, still covered by the cloth. She could feel the air flowing up under the cloth from all sides. The air hit her inner thighs. *I've been sweating*, she thought, or told herself --- not wanting to think about what else it might be.

There was another awkward silence, and she knew what was about to happen.

*Oh no oh no oh God he's going to...*

She felt the cloth move as he pulled on it. Then she felt it slide off her, and the chill room air hit her now, unbroken from her back to her legs. This was it. The moment he could see everything. She was exposed. She lay there, her face in her hands, and worked hard to not cry. She was used to Pam seeing her exposed like this, but this was worse. This was *him*. Not just that it was a man, but that it was *this* man. This man she'd heard things about that she still could just barely believe. She lay there trembling, her hindquarters bared and presented to this man as if for... she did not want to finish that thought. She shrugged, shook it off.

The feel of the air flowing between her legs told her everything she needed to know. Everything was out in the open, visible. For some interminable seconds, she lay there motionless, on display.

He parted her buttocks with one hand, and spread lube --- cold lube, straight from the bottle --- on her. She recoiled from the feel of it. She felt a finger circling, spreading it. Then, imperceptibly at first, and then definitely, insistently, a gloved and lubricated fingertip pushed its way in.

Claire's mind raced, recoiled at the feeling of someone, anyone, touching her *there*, of anything, anyone, anything that was part of anyone, being *inside her* there. The finger was only in momentarily. It popped back out as quickly as it had been inserted.

"Oh..." Claire let out a gentle gasp of surprise at the feeling of the finger going out of her.

"Shhh! Just making sure you are good and ready for it, Claire. Here it comes...," he said, and patted her on the buttocks. Then inserted the heavily lubed thermometer.

*Oh God this is always Hell it's in me it's in me I don't want it get it out...*. Her mind raced. No one said anything while he used his watch to time the thermometer. *Oh please oh please take it out*. Then it was out.

"Baseline," he said, and then, "stay in this position for your medication."

*Oh of course, now this...*

She closed her eyes extra tight, and tried to ignore the sensation of the suppository going into her. She trembled and shuddered as its large, greasy body worked its way in. She'd been experiencing this all week, but it was much worse with this man doing it. He was not hurting her, he was as slow and deliberate as Pam was. But having *him* see her there, see her *like this*, was worse. So much worse.

The first suppository melted away, and the second one was inserted. It seemed like it took forever to melt. She trembled, tried not to make any sound.

"Now," he said, "I will resume the exam."

*What? What else could he possibly...*

A heavily lubed finger was pushed into her.

*Oh God oh no somebody help me*

The finger slowly worked its way in, opening her up.

"Relax, Claire, let it in," he said.

Now it was deep inside of her. In the *inner sanctum*. He felt around inside there, for what he did not say. "Ahh... ahhh," she said involuntarily, trying not to start sobbing. His finger was in there. *His finger*. This man she had been trying for a week to appear composed and calm before, this man who alone decided her fate, this man whose motives she now seriously questioned. His finger was inside her, exploring her.

This could not be happening. This *was not* happening. Her mind was gone. She was not there, not in this room, not undergoing any of this, in her mind.

She was back in the cave, with Liz and Mom and Dad. Liz said "Dad! Julie! We are in a maze of twisty little passages all alike. No no, you guys, you don't get it. We are in *the* maze of twisty little passages. This is it, guys, this is it!" Claire had no idea what Liz meant. Dad seemed impressed. Mom had seemed amazed, looked at the cave, looked at Liz, and laughed. Why was this funny, Claire asked, and Liz and Mom explained...

And then she was back in the room, breathing. He covered her back up with the drop-cloth.

"Roll over, Claire. Sit up. The exam is over." The Doctor pushed a button next to a speaker on the wall, "Pam, we are ready to go now."

Claire wondered, what anything that had just happened had to do with her mental health, or how any of it was supposed to help the Doctor decide how much longer she needed to stay. *Myst is right*, Claire thought, *he's not even pretending to care about my mind, or if I'm sane or not. He's never going to let me out of here.*

Pam came back in, placed one hand softly on Claire's shoulder again, as Claire sat cowering under the drop cloth. With a rare note of genuine empathy, Pam said "Oh baby...," then snapped back to her usual attitude, "Come on, sweetie, let's get you back to your wing for breakfast."

* * *

Claire stared at her oatmeal.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Myst asked, finally breaking the silence for the first time since Claire had returned to her.

"No."

"Do you want to talk about anything else?"

"Not really."

"You sure? Tell me something from before. From before you were in the hospital, I mean. Tell me about your life *out there*."

"Well, I was thinking about when I was a kid, and my family went to visit this cave, down in Kentucky, and my sister Liz got all excited because this was the cave that inspired some old videogame. Well, sort of a videogame. It was all words, there were no pictures. She helped me play it later, on the computer she kept in her room..."

"Wait, your sister had a computer *in her room* with the *Internet* on it?"

"Well yeah but she was 17, and she did coding stuff on it. It was the past family computer that they would have thrown out, but Liz begged to keep it. Anyway, the game. There was a white house, and a mailbox, and caves under the house..."

"Ohhh! Ohh! Me too! I played that too! We had it on the computer at school, the old computer that sat in the corner of the classroom, the one with all the old games. I played the hell out of that game. How far did you get, Claire?"

"I was eaten by a grue."

"Me too! Claire, did you ever wonder what a grue looks like?"

"Not really."

"Well I couldn't stop wondering, until I dreamed about it. I was in the living room of that house and I saw a grue come climbing in the window, in the daylight, and I finally got to see it."

"Myst, the game didn't have any pictures."

"In my dreams it did! And anyway, the grue was furry, and he had a big goofy head with big round eyes, and his eyebrows floating in space not attached to his head, like in cartoons, and he had eyes that were smoky, half open, like he'd been smoking and he was up to something!"

"Myst, this is ridiculous, this isn't a monster, it's just some kind of goofy-looking cartoon character."

"Well he's my monster and he was cartoony as shit! And then I saw his claws. Big, long, pointy claws a foot long..."

"Okay, that's creepy now."

"Damn right, but it gets worse, he started talking and it sounded like an old crooner, like an old jazz guy or something, in an old Looney Tunes, he said *twenty three skiddoo kiddo*."

Claire was laughing, "No, he did not!"

Myst sang, "doo-be-doo-be-doo..."

"Myst! No, stop, you're making milk shoot out my nose!"