had to "assume the supine position" here had entertained that impulse. Probably none.
Me, Irma whispered.
I ignored her. She wasn't corporeal, and I was. And ... I'd been here before. On this table maybe, facing this old guy in a white coat. Only the first time I'd still been innocent and trusting.
"Do you recognize her?" Helena inquired. "You've seen her before."
"Ah, no. She's quite striking, of course. Rose Red to your Rose White, if you'll pardon a fairy tale reference, madam.
"But, but ..." He pulled the rolling stool behind him under his lying white-coated ass.
I inhaled slowly, gathering.
"She was only twelve," Helena mused. "A ward of the state. That was before I adopted her, of course."
"Oh. Of course," Dr. Youmans murmured robotically, his parchment skin paling to match his starched white coat.
"Like any new mother," Helena reminisced, quite convincingly, "I wanted to preserve every detail of my darling's early years."
"Of course," Dr. Youmans murmured, eyeing my shod foot with a frown. Apparently my feet should be bare when placed in the icy steel stirrups.
Helena was on her own feet and flourishing an old-fashioned manila folder.
"You may not recognize me, Dr. Youmans. That's all right. Not everyone is plugged into the internet media, even these days, especially those in your generation. Helena Troy Burnside is my name, and I'm a doctor of sorts too. Academically. I have some small international reputation for working with ... troubled youth. Frankly, they have good reason to be troubled if they had this young woman's medical history. Why would a twelve-year-old girl sent to a gynecologist for unspecified 'procedures' not be troubled by the experience ever after?"
He swiveled on the stool seat to face her. She had him pinned between the stirrups, and me. He looked up at my face for the first time, recognition drawing his benign aging features into a mask of horror and fear. He began babbling.
"Dr. Burnside. Naturally, I've heard of your ground-breaking work. I was a volunteer for Child Protective Services for many years. Social service groups always have insufficient budgets."
"So you were a cost-cutter. On a minor?"
"Some cases were extreme. I was told this ... child was deemed potentially ... ah, promiscuous."
I opened my mouth, but Helena leaped into the breach, evidently expecting that.
"On what evidence?"
"It was the first year of the Millennium Revelation, for God's sake. These ... predatory supernaturals were showing up everywhere. Some were half human and had to be housed somewhere. The group homes were festering with adolescent boys, who are ordinarily randy little beasts and now we had half-breed supernatural boys on our hands. Half-werewolf and half-vampire and all lusty, bloodthirsty, powerful young monsters. This girl ... you've adopted, this Delilah. Yes, I remember her now. She was underage, but that didn't stop the vampire punks from going after her like she was bait. They'd have propagated some drastic hybrid on her. The social services could hardly deal with first-generation supernaturals, much less second-generation ones. She had to be stopped ... protected from generating. The damage to her physical system alone - "
"Of course," Helena said sardonically, while my mind struggled to understand what he had confessed to, and he had confessed to something. "Inflicting damage to prevent damage. How original."
Helena shook her papers. "Old records never die, Doctor, nor old sins. What did the social workers want you to do?"
"It's obvious."
"Not to Delilah. She still doesn't know what was done to her here."
He glanced at me, cringing.
Helena's District Attorney act was so fascinating I'd finally done as she'd advised: just watched and listened. It distanced me from the trauma. Also, I really liked to see the old doc cringe. No one was ever going to find me on an ob-gyn examination table again."
"So." Helena was pacing, digging her heels into the room's mushy vinyl tile. "You were paid by the state to do what to this underage young girl?
"It was for her own protection."
"So they all say."
"A very simple, safe procedure."
"A procedure utterly mystifying to a young girl who'd never even had a pelvic exam, don't you think, Doctor?"
"Yes, of course, but every young girl must face that sooner or later."
"Without any knowledge of what's about to happen to her? Without informed consent?"
"She was a minor. A ward of the state. No consent was needed."
"Exactly, Dr. Youmans. She was a minor."
Damn! I couldn't help not personalizing for a moment. Perry Mason would have been proud of Helena. I was.
Meanwhile, the door had been pushed ajar as the hall outside the room started buzzing. The