A labyrinth of pearl white halls and gray tile jut from each other. May is led down the center, into a quick left, right, left, then a mixture of angled turns by two medical orderlies. They wear pale pink scrubs with their names embroidered above the pockets, if only May could read them as they move. One, gangly and bored, flips through his clipboard with only an occasional glance up. The other, blonde and professional, moves with a purposeful pace that May struggles to keep. She's still waiting for Shaw Farms to become, well, a farm. Where were the animals she'd work with? Where was anything from the storybooks she'd read as a child?
The more serious of the pair finally halts at a door, and May staggers behind him. He waves through the glass panel. A brunette woman in a labcoat and a high ponytail leans into the hall as she grants them access.
"Good morning, Dr. McCarthy," he says.
"Morning, Webber." Her eyes crease with a smile above her medical mask. She nods at the taller assistant. "Finley."
Finley gives her a grunt and half a wave.
Webber scoffs under his breath, and turns back to the doctor with a shake of his head. "We're escorting the newbie. She's already signed the NDA and Shaw Jr. wants her screened as soon as possible."
Dr. McCarthy stifles a laugh. "I'm sure Mr. Shaw has good reason for rearranging my schedule?"
Finley launches his long arm and clipboard into Dr. McCarthy's face. As she takes it, his hand is hurriedly stuffed into the pocket of his labcoat. "Her scores."
"Gee, thanks," McCarthy says flatly. She turns her attention to the sheaf of papers, turning past each page with a deeper furrow of her brow. "These are..."
"He knows," Webber interrupts. "She's his new pet project. Maybe something to do with that meeting in a couple months, huh?"
McCarthy tilts her head from side to side. "Well, alright. I'll see what I can do. Did he order any tests beyond the usual?"
Webber shrugs. "Nope. But you might need a stronger dose, y'know."
"Yeah, mhm," McCarthy affirms, still buried in May's results. Were they that bad? "Okay, you're good to leave her with me. Thanks, boys."
Webber waves goodbye, Finley trailing after him. For the first time, Dr. McCarthy looks at May. She takes her in with a quick bob up and down, and gestures her inside with two fingers.
The exam room, May has to assume, is done up in the same pink of the assistants' scrubs. It coats the walls, the floors, everything but the white cabinets and the crisp sheet over the exam table. Dr. McCarthy points to it and orders, "Sit."
May does as she's told. The doctor turns her back and digs through her supplies, preparing something May can't make out.
"So, Esther?"
"Just May, my middle name, please," she says. May tries to put on a pleasant face, one the doctor can't be bothered by. She's practiced it enough in her old life.
The doctor's ponytail swings as she shakes her head. "Not anymore. Mr. Shaw's noted that he prefers you go by Esther, or Essie. Has anyone ever called you Essie?"
May quells a shiver. "Just some old family."
"I think we'll be able to make more positive associations here," Dr. McCarthy says. Her voice is deep, warm, and comforting against May's better instincts. The doctor wheels a tray around beside her, though her tools are hidden by a white paper towel. McCarthy turns May's face to the side.
"Can you read that vision chart for me?"
May focuses on the opposite wall. The font size is little to begin with and becomes impossible the farther down it goes. How could anyone pass that? The whole operation must be wearing glasses.
"Um, sure," May answers. "A, Z, D, F, R, I think an O, U– Ow!"
There's a sharp prick in her upper left arm. May tries to turn, but the doctor's hand is at her chin, holding her stiff and steady. Her breathing quickens. "What was that?"
"Hm? What was what?" asks Dr. McCarthy, who doesn't loosen her grip.
"The- something pinched me," May says.
"I'm not sure," the doctor replies. "Let me take a closer look."
A tense moment passes before May feels the same sharp stab.
"Ow! That! What was that?"
Dr. McCarthy releases her, and May whips to her side. The tool tray remains covered, but two red welts are swelling on her arm. "What'd you do to me?" May pleads.
Dr. McCarthy shrugs. Her warm, kindhearted energy is unaffected. "I didn't see anything. Here, why don't you lie down for a minute?" She applies pressure to May's shoulders until May complies and is laid on her back. From here, May counts the flecks in the ceiling tiles. She's breathing too fast and her heart won't stop pounding. But there are four, five, six gray spots in this square, and seven, eight, nine purple. She keeps counting while the doctor hums a melody that nags in the back of May's mind. Something familiar, something calming. She can't tell how much time passes before she starts losing count. How many gray did she say? How many purple? She'll just have to start over.
May counts and counts and counts, and she can't get past ten - no, twelve - before she has to start over again, and again. Surely, hours have gone by when the doctor helps her sit back up. May grips the edge of the table as the room spins into focus. She doesn't remember the doctor asking her to exchange her clothes for a baby pink medical gown, or where her clothes went, but the doctor is shining a bright light in her eyes now and it stings.
"How old are you, Essie?" Dr. McCarthy asks with a chart in her hand.
Twenty-one but sometimes I lie and say twenty-three so people treat me a little better.
"Very good. And where are you from?"
What? You can hear me? Are you reading my mind?
The doctor laughs. "No, baby. You're speaking out loud. That's a very typical response to what you've been given, don't worry. Now, c'mon, where are you from?"
Oh. Okay. I'm from Garden Springs, Idaho. That's where my parents are from and where my whole family lives. I'm never going back.
"Mhm. And your family's why you came to Shaw Farms? All the way to Montana?"
Yeah. They won't leave me alone. And they'll take me with them if they can find me. I'm staying here and I'm not leaving.
"Good girl."
That feels...that feels really, really good, I like that.
"You like to be called a good girl?"
Yes. Don't tell anybody, though. That's embarrassing. Especially not Mr. Shaw.
"Our little secret, I promise. Why not Mr. Shaw?"
He was so, uh...uh..."
"Can't think of the word?"
No, I can do it. He was really big and important and smart. I don't want him to think I'm, like, stupid.
"Mr. Shaw would never think you're stupid. You're safe here, Essie."
May flinches.
That's...that doesn't sound right. I'm May.
"Oh, my mistake. Essie, do you like working really hard?"
No. I know you're supposed to say yes or else you're bad, but I don't like working hard. I'm always so tired. I want to take a nap.
"You can sleep soon, Essie. Essie, do you like solving complicated problems?"
No. I get bored and frustrated and feel like an idiot. I don't like them.
"Very good, Essie. What about memorizing facts and figures, lots of information?"
No. No, no, no. I have a bad memory. I can never remember anything. That's why I had to take extra math classes in high school. Don't tell anybody that, either. It's a secret too.
"I promise, Essie. Essie, you're doing a really good job. Now, can I ask you some private, personal questions? Is that okay?"
Yeah. I like you, doctor, you're so nice to me. It's hard to find people who are so nice.
"Oh, thank you Essie. You can call me Dr. Amy, or just Amy, if you want. Essie, are you a virgin?"
No. I had sex with my first boyfriend in high school. His name was Zach. I was fifteen and he was nineteen. My parents didn't even know I had a boyfriend because I kept him a secret, and I'm really good at secrets. Zach went to a different school, too, so nobody ever found out. He went to college.
"Thank you, Essie. And when was the last time you had sex?"
Like, a month ago?
"Who with?"
May strains against this recurring, bubbling urge to word-vomit; not this one, this one she can't share. Her grip on the edge of the table goes white.
"Who did you have sex with last, Essie? Pretty please?" The doctor strokes her hand through May's hair, near the soft, tender skin of her scalp. May melts in McCarthy's hand with a quiver, her cheeks burning as she bores her eyes into the pink floor.
With a girl named Robin. She's a friend of a friend, I don't really know her. But she was pretty and she liked me and I was all alone. She looked like my last girlfriend in high school. I miss her, too. Hannah had the same freckles on her nose, and her hair was long and tangled just like that. I loved Hannah and Hannah left me to move to some city by the ocean. I don't know where she is and she doesn't know where I am, either, not since I ran away. And no one ever knew about Hannah, so you can't tell them. They only knew me. They blamed me.
Dr. McCarthy doesn't stop petting May's hair, stroking tenderly from the top of her head to below her ear. She clears her throat. "No one blames you, Essie. Not at Shaw Farms. All our girls love each other just the way you do, I promise."
They do? And it's okay?
"Yes, it's very good. You're a very good girl for telling me that, Essie."
May practically purrs into Dr. McCarthy's hand.
"When you have sex, Essie, do you like how it makes you feel?"
Yeah, at first. Like, while it's happening, I feel so good. Like when you call me a good girl. I like it so much. And then after I feel guilty, like I'm a bad person.
Dr. McCarthy nods. "A lot of girls here feel just the same, Essie. Did you know that it's okay to like sex?"
I mean, yes, it's okay, but it's not okay for me.
"If it's okay for everyone else, it's okay for you too, Essie."
But - I guess that makes sense, but -
"It's okay for everyone to like sex. You're everyone, Essie. We all like sex here. Is that okay?"
Yes, that's fine -
"And you're here, too. Isn't that right, Essie?"
Yes, I'm here -
"Then it's okay for you to like sex while you're here. Doesn't that make sense?"
I - I guess that's right.
"Good. Good girl, Essie. You figured that out all by yourself."
I - mm. I guess I did.
"Essie, can I ask you something else?"
Yes, please.
"When I call you a good girl, does that make you wet?"
May's face flushes. She fiddles with her hair until it acts as a curtain between herself and Dr. McCarthy. Yes. I don't know why, though. But I like it.
Dr. McCarthy makes little notes on May's chart, all while humming the painfully familiar tune. May knows she's just heard this song, and she needs to place it. She listens so intently, thinking so deeply, she doesn't notice her eyes have closed until she feels Dr. McCarthy's hands on her.
"I'm going to do a little examination, okay, Essie?"
Okay. Are you going to touch me? Please touch me. I want you to touch me.
Dr. McCarthy smiles.
She spreads May's knees and takes a gloved finger under May's medical gown. May whines as she feels the light brush of the doctor, keens into Dr. McCarthy as she moves inside her, and whimpers when the doctor comes away with her index finger coated in May.
You stopped but I want you to keep touching me please, it felt so nice and it was only for a second. Please, please touch me again. Please.
"I'm glad you're so eager, Essie," Dr. McCarthy chuckles. "Maybe you'll be simpler than Mr. Shaw's initial tests showed."
What tests? Did I pass? Did I do a good job?
Dr. McCarthy doesn't answer, or doesn't seem to hear her, for that matter. She's busy taking down data, filling out intake questions, trying to see what all the fuss was about. Well, all things considered, Essie was incredibly lucid for two full doses of candor serum. Usually, just one had girls in McCarthy's exam room for over an hour as she tried to make coherent answers out of their babbling and giggles. For Esther May to be this coherent on two shots? She was going to take some serious effort to break. And Webber had a point - the staff were well aware of Mr. Shaw's upcoming board meeting in the next few months; he would need something to show an improvement on his father's business model, some nook or cranny where he could make his mark. No wonder he was looking for a challenge. Dr. McCarthy looks back at Esther May - a twenty-one year old brunette with barely a B-cup to show for herself and a figure like a stalk of corn. And with these neurological results? Just a 3.4 on her OSS, her Overall Susceptibility Score? She probably could've taken a third shot. The lowest Shaw Farms had accepted for the last twenty years was a 5.5, and this board meeting was the only explanation for such a low dip.
But, as McCarthy jots in her notes, the induction video shown during Esther May'sinitial interview obviously had some lasting effects. She responded to stimuli ("good girl") appropriately, and was in a more suggestible state than she was upon arriving at the facility. The standard Shaw Farms induction tune also fogged her mind each time she heard its melody, as intended. Yet, she still had enough of herself left to correct Dr. McCarthy on her preferred name and to resist answering specific questions, requiring a physical stimulus to respond. With the combination of the induction video's specific anti-resistance message and the dosage of candor serum, those errors shouldn't have occurred. The onboarding staff would have to continue making the necessary adjustments for someone of Esther May's cognitive level, and she would require increased vigilance compared to their standard fresh meat.
Jason Shaw reads Dr. McCarthy's findings for the second time in his office. He has the video of Essie's first check-up paused on his monitor, the screen filled with Essie's half-lidded smile. The doctor concurred, there was little explanation for her resistance to treatment. For her size, she should've been an empty-headed, pretty face on half of the standard shot. Yet, as Jason witnessed, she was articulating ideas and memories on double the regular amount.
He looks to his second monitor, a livestream of Essie's chamber. The doctors managed to hook her IV in and secure the pod, an enclosed bed that locked from the outside. If Essie needed the bathroom, a glass of water, anything, they would know and an assistant would be at her beck and call. Thankfully, their new entries only stayed in pods until they were ready to join the rest of the herd. That was typically a week, maybe ten days. But with Essie? Jason ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. It was a whole new ballgame.