Death's Avatar (The Descent Series) by S.M. Reine

the way to the nearest
emergency clinic.

    An hour later, I
sat awkwardly in a gown on the exam table. The butcher paper
crinkled under my bare ass. I would have been mortified if I
weren’t convinced somewhere in my head that this was a bad dream,
and I’d wake up in my own bed with one motherfucker of a hangover
and a back as pale and unmarked as the day I was born.
    The doctor came in and PJ laid into him.
“About fucking time you sauntered in!”
    I shushed her with a wave, and she sat down,
but she continued to glare at him.
    The doctor seemed more interested in my
clipboard than me.
    “All right, Miss-“
    “Dree. Call me Dree.”
    “Okay, Dree. In a minute, I'll have a nurse
come in and examine you. We need to document everything, you
understand?”
    “I do.” I turned to PJ. “I'll be okay. Could
you wait outside?”
    She gave the doctor an appraising look that
told him she found him wanting, and then she left. The doctor sat
on a stool and finally looked me in the eyes.
    “How far we go is completely up to you. We
can treat you for injuries and not do a kit. I would recommend you
get an STD panel, but anything more is entirely your choice.”
    I seriously considered telling him I just
wanted to go home. Maybe take a sleeping pill or something. I’d had
a long day.
    But what if PJ was right? What if they did
rape me?
    “No,” I sighed, “it’s probably best to go
ahead and do it.”
    “Okay. I’ll come back when it’s done and
check on you.”
    I nodded. He left and was replaced by a
short Hispanic woman in scrubs She carried a tackle box in one
hand, and a small digital camera in the other.
    There really wasn’t anything to document.
Aside from the ink, there wasn’t a mark on me. I told her about the
woods and my trip back to the apartment, but I left out the part
about the tattoo.
    She seemed disappointed when I told her I’d
showered twice since then, but she tried to get something from my
fingernails and hair anyway. She probed a few other less pleasant
areas as well.
    She treated me like a victim. I guess, in
her eyes, I was.
    “Okay, Dree, we need to get some blood now
to do a few tests on it. Is that all right?”
    My heart rate immediately sped up. “I’m—a
little jumpy around needles. You might want to restrain me before
you poke.”
    She smiled indulgently. “No problem. Lie
back for me.”
    As I lay on the table, she fiddled with
something on the side. An extension with a Velcro strap pulled out,
and she secured my arm on it.
    “Ready?” she asked.
    “Is there one on the other side?” I asked.
“I’ve decked people before. Nothing personal, understand. I can’t
really control it.”
    She paused, gave it some thought, and ended
up securing my other arm on another extension. I lay there like a
crucifixion victim and stared at the ceiling.
    “How strong are those straps?”
    She laughed a little. “I’ve seen big, burly
men kick and scream and not get out. You’re probably fine.”
    “Okay.” I took a deep breath and looked
away.
    She dabbed my arm with disinfectant, and I
shut my eyes. I tried to think of anything other than sharp, pointy
things going into my flesh. I failed miserably.
    My vision went bright white the moment she
stuck the needle in. When the white faded, I was on the floor in
PJ’s lap. My arm was sore, and my gown was covered with blood.
    “Wha—?”
    “Jesus, Dree. You’re a hell of a fighter
with those needles. I would have come sooner, but I thought someone
had shot a dog. ”
    I saw the nurse nearby, unconscious and
bleeding from her temple. Doctors and nurses rushed around the
cramped exam room. I felt an immediate and jarring sense of
responsibility and said a little too loudly, “I’m sorry! I told her
I don’t like needles.”
    The rest of what I said was lost in sobs
against PJ’s chest. It was only then that I realized I wasn’t
moving right.
    “Why can’t I move my arms?” I asked.
    I heard a loud rip, followed by two