13. Bella - The Girls at the Clinic
Chapter thirteen
Bella - The Girls at the Clinic
Twenty minutes later someone rings the bell again. Another false alarm, I wonder?
I open and there stands two girls together, shoulders nearly touching like they’ve agreed not to separate.
Early twenties, maybe. One with dark hair pulled into a loose knot, the other blonde, pale in a way that isn’t just complexion.
“Hi,” I say, already moving toward them. “What can I help you with, girls?”
They glance at each other first.
“Um,” the brunette says. “We just … we wanted to get checked out.”
“Okay,” I say gently. “Come on back.”
They follow me into the exam room, sitting side by side like this is a test they forgot to study for.
Finn arrives and leans against the doorway, watching.
“Hey girls,” he says.
“Hey, Finn,” they answer in unison.
“Doc, this is Maris,” he indicates the brunette, “and that’s Jenna.”
“Alright,” I say. “What’s going on?”
Another glance between them.
“We’ve just been feeling … off,” Jenna says.
“How?”
“Very tired,” Maris says quickly. “Like, really really tired. And dizzy sometimes.”
“Bruising a lot, too,” Jenna adds, pulling up her sleeve.
That gets my attention. Dark marks scatter along her forearm—some fading, some new. Too many. Too clustered. Like I saw on Lena’s arm.
They both have gauze wrapped around their wrists and don’t wear silver necklaces.
“Any injuries?” I ask, pointedly looking at their wrists.
They shake their heads. “Just scratches. Nothing else. But we feel weird so that’s why we came in.”
“Good,” I reply. “That’s exactly what you should do.”
I step closer, examining Jenna’s arm. The bruising isn’t random. It’s patterned. Repeated.
And underneath, I see it faintly, something odd. Thin, dark lines spreading just under the skin. Spidering outward. Veins?
“What about you?” I ask Maris.
She hesitates, then pulls back the collar of her shirt slightly. More bruising. Higher. Closer to the shoulder. Almost invisible.
“Have you had any recent infections?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
“No,” Jenna says.
“No fevers, other illnesses?”
“No.”
“Any changes in diet?”
“Not really.”
“Anything I should know?”
Another glance. This one slower and more deliberate.
“You can just tell me,” I say quietly. “Doctor-patient privacy here.”
“We … donate,” Maris says. “Blood.”
“Oh, I didn’t know there was a program for that on the island, like the Red Cross.”
They are silent so I continue.
“How often?”
“Once a week,” Jenna says.
That’s too much, too often.
“For how long?”
“About two years,” Maris says.
I feel shocked but don’t show it.
“And these marks, the bruising, being tired … it all started when?”
“Recently,” Jenna replies. “Like … a week or so.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
They both hesitate. “Well, yeah,” Maris admits. “A few others have the same thing. Our friends. Tired, bruising…”
“They didn’t want to come in,” Jenna adds quickly. “They’re worried it’ll … mess things up. Or they’ll get in trouble.”
“Mess what up?” I ask.
Neither of them answers and they look away.
“Okay,” I say, stepping back. “We’re going to run some tests. Bloodwork, full panel. I want to see what’s going on internally.”
“Is it bad?” Jenna asks.
I meet her eyes.
“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. “But I’m glad you came in. I’ll take care of you.”
That part is true.
Because now, it’s not just Lena.
Not just one case. This is a pattern.
And patterns mean something. Something is wrong.