Payment in Blood

Chapter Nine: The Angel's Demons

“Hey, plebe!” called out a voice from behind Adrian as he walked out the door of Johnson Hall, where he had taken his biochemistry class. He would not have another class for an hour, giving him some time to himself. A glass dome covered the main facilities of the campus, providing a measure of protection against the frigid temperatures outside. Although temperatures were still cold at around 12 degrees Celsius, it was still much more tolerable than the outside, where the field training was carried out.

“Leave me alone. I'm trying to get to my dorm.” Adrian kept on walking, trying to stifle his nervousness. He could hear the footsteps of someone following him. “Plebe” was a derogatory term for a first-year cadet. They were the butt of all the practical jokes, pranks, and hazing rituals.

“You aren't going anywhere, plebe!” The man who had been following Adrian grabbed him by the collar.

“Let me go!” Adrian yelled, turning to face his assailant. The man was a third-year cadet, a tall, sneering wolf who towered over Adrian. The wolf was soon joined by three of his fellow third-years, who pinned Adrian against the wall.

Adrian knew he was in trouble now. All escape routes were blocked, and the faculty and staff were often tolerant of, if not complicit in, many of the assaults and pranks performed on freshmen, so a cry for help would likely be futile. “Please don't hurt me,” he whimpered. “Please don't hurt me.”

“Look, Mike!” yelled the wolf. “The plebe is scared!”

“Awww,” said a brown raccoon who Adrian could only assume was “Mike”. “Poor baby is afraid of the navy. We'll help you grow up, little baby. Right now.”

The cadets all started laughing and Adrian's eyes flicked from one contemptuous face to another. Adrian had no idea what they would do to him, but he was certain it would hurt. The raccoon named Mike produced a plywood board. “Well, we have the plank,” said Mike. “Now we must make him assume the position.”

“Please don't do this,” said Adrian as the other two juniors grabbed his arms, forcing him to face the wall, bent over. The cadets holding him in place were frighteningly strong, and their grip was unbreakable.

Adrian cried out as the raccoon swung the board against his backside. The impact stung greatly, but the humiliation and helplessness was far worse than the pain. “Stop!” said Adrian as he felt the cadet named Mike take his wallet out of the back pocket of his pants.

“Let's see his I.D.,” Mike muttered. “Twenty-one years old, and your birthday is...May 29th. That's close enough to 22, I reckon.” Mike put Adrian's wallet back in its original place and then raised the board again.

Adrian was shaking all over. They had checked his age to determine how many times he would be spanked. Twenty-two years meant twenty-two blows. The board struck him again, and again. The assault wasn't very painful—the board was large and flat, and swung with only moderate force, but the shame and exposure was far worse. It was more of a psychological than a physical beating.

At the count of twenty-two, the men restraining Adrian let him go, allowing the beaten hedgehog to collapse onto the ground, and walked away. Adrian lay there for a couple of minutes, emotionally drained and aching from his beating, before a security guard walked up to him. “Are you all right, boy?”

“I think so,” said Adrian. “I just...don't feel good.”

“Come on, get up. Everyone gets hit in their first year, it's no big deal.” The guard hoisted Adrian up by his armpits, letting him go when the young man seeemed to have gained his balance.

Adrian continued on down the path back to the dormitories, the fear and shame much fresher than the rapidly fading pain of what he had just experienced. He stopped at the communal mailbox, opening his slot with a key.

Junk, junk, junk, Adrian thought to himself as he examined the envelopes. Junk, junk, wait a minute, what's this? The envelope was of a higher quality than the junk mail, with a sort of faux canvas texture. Hand-written on the return address field was:

Bookshire Draftwood, M.D.
447 Falstaff Blvd.
Liberty Gorge, 7E6 9KW
Mobius

The name was instantly familiar. Thinking back to his time on Orbital Station 12 during the war with Earth, Adrian remembered a fortyish white raccoon, with a delicate, almost frail-looking build. He had met Dr. Draftwood in the station's hospital while he was convalescing from microgravity sickness—the degeneration of the body caused by extended exposure to low or zero gravity. Dr. Draftwood had seemed nice enough, although Adrian had been too miserable to appreciate it at the time. But why would he have received a letter from this man, to whom Adrian must have been one of thousands of patients?

Adrian glanced down at the blue caduceus on his cadet's uniform. Perhaps Dr. Draftwood had written him a letter to congratulate him for choosing medicine as a career path? But it seemed ludicrous for Dr., Draftwood to know that, unless...

“Ah, Bookshire. He's a friend of mine,” Rex had said to him on the first day they met. It all made sense now. Rex had told Dr. Draftwood about him and his decision to become a military physician assistant. Adrian looked over his shoulder to see another guard near him.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Spencer?” said the guard.

“No, nothing. I was just thinking, that's all.” Adrian walked briskly away from the mailbox, continuing towards the dormitories. Loitering in areas not reserved for socializing or recreation was frowned upon. Adrian returned to his dorm with letter in hand. Bianca was not there, as she was still in class. He lay down on the couch, grimacing slightly as his sore tail touched the couch cushion. Opening the letter, Adrian saw that, it, too was hand-written:

Dear Adrian,

I never imagined I would make contact with you again after I discharged you from my care last year, but your friendship with my dear friend Rex Christensen has sparked my interest in you and your choice to become a medical professional. If you will forgive my sentimentality, am proud to see young people like you aspiring to join the medical field. The work that medical professionals do is important beyond all measure.

However, I must also advise you that you have chosen to enter a very difficult profession. You will work a difficult job with long hours and intensive training, and in a military setting, I imagine it will probably seem almost overwhelming to you at times. But however hard it gets, remember that it will all pay off in the feeling you get the first time you save someone's life. There is no feeling like it that I know of. And in this field, you will end up saving countless lives over the course of your career.

If you need advice, support, or just somebody to talk to, my contact information is on the back of this letter, including my telephone number, although I will not always be available on the phone because of my work. If you so wish, and time permits, I may personally visit you. From what Rex has said about it, it sounds like you are in a very difficult period in your life, and I think I can help you.

Speaking of Rex, if you wonder why you have not heard from him recently, it is because he is in the hospital. He was involved in a car accident and fractured his arm. He will probably be able to return to active duty on time, although he is in quite a bit of trouble with the law, the nature and extent of which I cannot disclose for confidentiality reasons. I've asked him to talk to you again when he feels better

I would like to hear from you. I am both proud of your decision to become a physician assistant and concerned about your physical and mental well-being. Don't be nervous—I just want to help you. I wish you the best of luck in your training, work, and life in general. If you persevere through whatever hardships you face, and perform your duties to the best of your ability, I am certain you will make a fine P.A., and if you want to take your education to the next level in the future, a fine doctor.

Sincerely yours,
Bookshire Draftwood, M.D

“Well, that sure is nice of him,” Adrian mumbled as he flipped the letter over. Dr. Draftwood's street address, electronic mail address, and home and mobile phone numbers were written on the back. Adrian picked up the phone on the couch's end table, deciding to take the doctor up on his offer to get in touch. He dialed the mobile number written on the letter.

“Hello, Dr. Bookshire Draftwood speaking,” said Bookshire on the other end. “How may I help you?”

“Hello, this is Adrian Spencer. I received your letter in the mail and decided to drop you a line.”

“Oh, good! You caught me at the beginning of my break, so we have around half an hour to talk. Are you feeling well today?”

“I suppose, although I'm a little sore for being jumped and beaten up by a bunch of third-year cadets.”

“I'm sorry about that. I certainly experienced my share of harassment as a student. It's something we all have to live with. But remember, Adrian, don't break down in front of them. If you do that, you are giving them what they want and they will do it again.”

“Sometimes I just feel so lonely out here. I haven't really brought myself to really talk to any of the other cadets except for my roommate.”

“Does the academy you're attending have a counselor?”

“Yes, although I never thought of seeing him.”

“Perhaps you should, if you are having issues with military socialization. It's not good to be isolated, especially in a military environment.”

Adrian ran his hand through his spines. “You're probably right. I think the instructors know that I'm not adapting well. They seem to be really ramping up the pressure to see if I will wash out or not. I can't give up now, not when I've sold my house and car and quit my old job to do this.”

“I think you should speak to a counselor very soon, not only because of the danger of washing out, but also because of the danger to your mental health. Please don't take this the wrong way. I'm not saying that you're mentally ill or anything like that, and there's nothing wrong without seeking help from a psychologist or counselor.”

“I understand. You know, about that offer to come over here and see me, it would be really nice if you did. Maybe it would make me feel less alone.”

“I'll see what I can do. I can't make any guarantees, but if I can, I'll pay you a visit.”

“Thanks. Maybe I can introduce you to my friend Dr. Sammy McCaffrey. I have a small amount of telepathic ability, so the MGBA assigned him to supervise me and teach me how to control my telepathy, since I don't have a high enough telepathic grade to be inducted into the MGBA.”

Bookshire's tone of voice lost some of its warmth. “Be careful about trusting anyone from the MGBA, Adrian. Even an MGBA doctor's primary loyalties lie to the MGBA, not to his patients, friends, or acquaintances. I have met Dr. McCaffrey before, and I admit that I do not entirely trust him. I am not advising you to break off contact with him, which you probably are not allowed to do, nor do I intend to poison you against him, but I strongly advise you to keep your wits about you and not take what he says for granted.”

Adrian briefly thought about mentioning the illegal conversation about sex and the MGBA Sammy had had with him, but decided that it wasn't worth the risk of passing incriminating information over an open phone connection where it could possibly be overheard by a third party. “Umm, Dr. Draftwood?”

“Call me Bookshire.” The friendly tone was back again.

“Well, Bookshire, you implied I could study for an M.D. if I completed my PA training, right?”

“That is correct. The clinical training of a PA covers many of the same things that M.D.s are trained in, except for things like executive decision-making, leadership, clinical management, and other executive skills. A certified physician assistant can take a relatively short additional course, lasting three semesters, to receive an M.D. certification. However, I don't think it's a decision you should make anytime in the near future. Just focus on your current work and tackle that issue when you get to it. This is for civilians, so you may also have to fulfill your military service obligations as well before considering going for an M.D.”

“Thanks for the information. I think talking to you is making me feel better.”

“That's not surprising, since you are socially isolated. Have you been eating well? When I saw you in the hospital on Orbital Station 12 you were severely underweight.”

“I admit that I probably don't eat as much as I should. It's not anorexia or anything like that, I just have a very low appetite. I've always been skinny, but I've been losing weight more or less continuously for the past year and a half or so.”

“There are other causes of decreased appetite besides anorexia nervosa. From what you've told me and what Rex says about you, your appetite suppression is probably a symptom of depression or an anxiety-related condition. Counseling or therapy could almost certainly help, as well as support from friends, family, or other empathetic individuals. Don't neglect to take care of yourself, Adrian. Medical training is physically as well as mentally taxing. If you don't have good eating, sleep, hygeine, and exercise habits, you could develop serious health problems from the long hours and stress.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Getting through training looks like it will be the hardest thing I've ever done.”

“It will probably be the hardest thing you ever do, but you'll be a better and stronger person afterward. You can do it if you try hard enough. You're a thoughtful, intelligent young man, and probably a great deal stronger than you think you are. Your true strength will never show itself until you are forced to use all of it, and you will likely be surprised at how much you have. If you keep working at it, you'll get your PA and maybe even your M.D. Trust me on this.”

“I'll try not to let you down.”

“See? That's the spirit. I'll have to talk to you later as I have patients to work on, so take care of yourself, do your work as best you can, talk to your campus counselor, and try to make friends so you can have people to support you through difficult times.”

“All right. Goodbye, Bookshire.”

“Goodbye, Adrian, and good luck.”

Adrian pressed the “END” button on his phone. He would see the counselor that night, after classes. The conversation with Bookshire had left him feeling happier and more motivated. Of course, only time would tell if the motivation would disappear as fast as it came.

--

Rex sat on the edge of the bed as a nurse tied his shoes for him, as his broken arm prevented him from doing so. He had been judged well to go home, where he would spend the rest of his convalescence. The court had convicted him of speeding and reckless driving in absentia, and he held his probation papers in his left hand, which was not restricted by a cast.

Bookshire entered the room, jotting down something on his clipboard. “You're free to go, Rex. Connie is waiting outside to drive you home.”

Rex nodded. “I'm sorry about all this. It's my fault.”

“Well, at least you're taking responsibility. Rest up and stay out of trouble, OK?”

“Of course.” Rex hugged Bookshire with his uninjured arm, feeling Bookshire's arms close around him as his friend returned the gesture.

“I'll see you around,” said Bookshire as he pulled back.

“Well, what are you waiting for Rex?” Connie yelled as she entered the room. “I've been waiting for you for ten minutes already.”

“Well, I guess I'd better go now,” said Rex. “Bye.” Rex followed Connie as they left the hospital.

Rex didn't say anything to Connie during the ride home. He could scarcely imagine anything that could make the situation better. Connie was silent as well, completely ignoring her husband. At the moment, Rex almost wished he was back in the hospital. The food was bad and the drugs were worse, but at least Bookshire seemed just slightly sympathetic towards him. Whereas Bookshire seemed to be impossible to anger, Connie could get mad at the drop of a hat, and the only thing scarier than her when she was chewing him out was her when she was silent.

The sun had gone down completely by the time Rex had arrived home. As they went in, Connie finally elected to speak to him.

“Res, are you all right? You didn't talk at all on the way home.”

“I'm fine.” Rex wasn't fine. Ashamed, miserable, and tired, he wanted little more than to just go upstairs and crash on the couch. Despite the fact that he hadn't eaten since noon, he did not feel hungry. The idea of food seemed more repugnant than appetizing at the moment. He felt smothered, closed in by a hostile reality. There was nowhere to run to, no place of comfort to seek refuge in.

“You don't look fine to me, Rex,” said Connie. “What's the matter, baby?”

Connie calling Rex “baby” was a surefire sign that she had stopped being angry with him. “I don't know,” said Rex, “I'm just upset right now. I think I need to lie down.”

“Come on, let's go upstairs.” Connie put a hand on Rex's shoulder and led him upstairs to the couch, slipping off Rex's shoes as he lay down.

“The painkillers they gave me make me feel like shit. I think I'll pass on dinner tonight.”

“You don't want anything? Not even a light snack?” Connie placed a pillow under Rex's head and placed a blanket over him.

“No, nothing. How is Angela doing?”

“She seems to have gotten over her colic now. She hasn't made a sound since the last time I fed her.”

“Good. Less noise to keep me up tonight.”

“Rex!” Connie grabbed one of Rex's ears and pulled on it.

“Ow! Sorry! Just kidding!” Rex sighed. “I'm sorry about putting you through all of this. I guess I'm getting what I deserve now.”

“It's going to be all right, Rex. The doctor said you'll be well by the time you're called up for active duty. Have you talked to Adrian recently?”

“No, but I should. Sometimes I wonder if, by recommending he enroll in an officer training program, if I've thrown the poor kid into a meat grinder.”

“It's better than him turning wrenches on filthy old freighters for years and years until his teeth fall out, his bones crumble, and he ends up in a nursing home.”

“Maybe. He certainly wasn't living a healthy lifestyle when I first met him. It would be a wonder if he could've lived to see his 50th birthday at the rate he was going. I just hope I sent him in the right direction.”

“Rex, it's his life. I know he's become almost like a little brother to you, but you can't dote on him all the time, especially when he's 50 light-years away.”

“You're right, as usual.” Rex pushed his head back into the pillow.

“I am the brains of this little operation, aren't I? Rex? Rex?”

Puzzled by Rex's silence at her little crack, Connie looked down to see that her husband was now fast asleep.

--

I shouldn't be doing this, Bookshire thought as he stared at the orange pill bottle on the edge of his kitchen counter. I'm going to end up killing myself this way. The pill bottle contained small yellow stimulant pills. He had been taking them for several months to keep his concentration going during long shifts. At first he had only taken them when he needed them, intending to use them for a short time and then quit, but he had started to use them more and more frequently, and they were becoming less and less effective at keeping him up. Now, he was taking them almost every day, and he would often feel tired and sick without one—a sure sign that he was becoming dependent on the pills. In fact, at the moment, he had already come home from work, and by all rights he should have been asleep in bed.

Bookshire, of course, knew the dangers of taking drugs of any kind, but by this point it was spiraling out of his control. Occasional use had turned into dependency, and dependency now seemed to be slowly turning into outright addiction. He needed the pills now, like he needed food or water. The drug had crept into his life, perverting its original purpose, putting him under its iron thumb. He could of course, order more whenever he liked, being chief of the Liberty Gorge hospital and a licensed physician. However, his prescription was about to lapse with no chance of reinstatement—he had been using them for too long—and his dependency wasn't going to go away accordingly. Would he have to break the law to sustain himself?

Could he come forward and ask for help? Would his colleagues and employees accept him despite his drug problem? Desire and fear created the vicious cycle of addiction, the inexorable desire to have more and the crippling fear of being found out. For a moment, he weighed his options. “I'm going to regret this,” Bookshire said as he took one of the pills.

A knock on the door jolted the middle-aged raccoon out of his dark thoughts. He put the pill bottle in a drawer under the counter. “Coming,” he said as he walked quickly to the door and opened it.

A female raccoon, about Bookshire's own age, was standing in the doorway, wearing a fur coat. Bookshire recognized her instantly. “Hello, Bookshire,” said Arianne Fuller. “It's been a while since we last saw each other.”

Bookshire didn't know whether to be elated or horrified. He had dated Arianne several times in the past twenty years or so, even being married to her briefly and conceiving a son, who lived with her after they split up. Despite the fact that every attempt at a romantic relationship they had ended in failure, they always seemed to end up together once more, only to fall out again.

“What's the matter, Bookshire? Human got your tongue?”

“I-it's not that,” Bookshire stammered. “I just...wasn't expecting you to show up.”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, they say,” said Arianne. “Funny isn't it? It goes down the same way every time, and just when we think we've finally got it right, it all comes crashing down in a screaming argument and we're apart again.”

“I guess so,” said Bookshire, scratching his head. “I don't even know why we bother, really. It's as if neither one of us can ever get over the other. I still think about you at night, as if you haunt me in my dreams. But there's no reason for it. It's failed to work out for us so many times, and yet...” Bookshire's words trailed off.

“Does there need to be a reason?” said Arianne, placing a finger under Bookshire's chin. “You, of all people should know that love is an emotion, and reason and emotion are mutually exclusive.”

“True.” Arianne's touch was making Bookshire feel feverish and excited. Was it the pill? No, it wouldn't kick in for at least half an hour, and it didn't have this sort of instant rush anyway. His chest tightened as Arianne drew closer to him. It was starting to become uncomfortable. “All right, let's not get too ahead of ourselves,” said Bookshire.

“Fine. Want to sit with me on the couch?”

“Of course.” Arianne was just like Bookshire remembered her. Tall, lean, and immaculately dressed, she was as bold, assertive, and overtly sexual as Bookshire was quiet, laid-back, and docile. Her silky fur was tawny colored with the usual black raccoon stripes and “mask”, accented by a silver necklace. Even the sight of her was irresistible, even though trouble seemed to follow her every time she ran into him.

“This is the twelfth time we've dated, correct?” said Arianne, resting her head on Bookshire's shoulder.

“Thirteenth.” Bookshire was nervous about Arianne's advances, but he was reluctant to ask her to stop. By all logic, he should have chased her out of the house with all the trouble she had brought into her life every time they got back together. But Arianne seemed capable of breaking Bookshire's iron grip on logic just by her very presence. It took all of his self-control to refrain from touching her. If he did touch her, their clothes would probably be on the floor in a pile within minutes.

“What's wrong, Bookshire, afraid to be romantic?” Arianne brushed two fingers through the tuft of fur on Bookshire's cheek.

“No, it's not like that. I'm just nervous, that's all.” Bookshire gulped. This was getting out of hand. Even the most cursory look at how their previous attempts at a relationship turned out would show that this one would be doomed to fail. It was inevitable. He felt powerless in the face of his own feelings, his desire for a woman he was never really meant to be with. After all, it was foolish to do the same thing multiple times and expect different results.

“Aw, come on, don't be shy.” Arianne began to unbutton Bookshire's shirt, running her fingers through his soft chest fur.

Bookshire licked his lips, his tail flicking. The otherwise staid 42-year-old raccoon felt like his heart would burst out of his chest and into Arianne's probing hand. He put an arm around her, bringing her closer. Old love and new lust had by now overwhelmed him, leaving him incapable of thinking of anything but Arianne.

Arianne nuzzled Bookshire's bare shoulder, inhaling his scent, and then sat up to kiss him. He returned the kiss, embracing her, his shirt open and gathered around his elbows. “Does this mean we're back together again?” said Arianne.

“Sure,” said Bookshire, a smile coming across his face. “Why not?”