Blood Ready

By Robin Buckallew

Today was a clinic visit like any other - until Renae found herself arrested and thrown nearly naked into a cell with three other women. As she tries to figure out how to clear her name, she finds she is not sure who is friend, who is foe, and what might be waiting around each corner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387760305

Book preview

Blood Ready

Blood Ready

Robin Buckallew

Saffron Books

2018

Also by this author:

The Diary of Mrs. Noah

The Transformation

Yesterday and Tomorrow

Alpha & Omega: Book I of the Godmaker Trilogy

Everywhere & Nowhere: Book II of the Godmaker Trilogy

I Am: Book III of the Godmaker Trilogy

Copyright © 2018 by Robin Buckallew

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2018

ISBN 978-1-387-76030-5

Saffron Books

Cover design by: Christopher R. Lowery

I dedicate this work to my grandmother, who believed a woman could be whatever she wanted to be, and encouraged me to follow my dreams.

1

The room never changed. The same white walls, white floor, and white furniture, carefully scrubbed every day to make sure there was never a hint of a spot. The woman behind the desk, also white – white skin, white hair, white teeth, white dress, white shoes – also never changed. She had managed that desk as long as Renae could remember. Fifteen years – no, eighteen, ever since that horrible day in her twelfth year when she found the first red spot on her otherwise spotless underwear. Trembling in the bathroom, staring at the spot, noticing with horror the growing pool of blood dripping from her most private regions, streaking down her leg while she huddled in the stall, her pants around her ankles, her day shattered. Renae felt a rush of warmth for the scared girl, uninstructed in the ways of women, sure she had contracted some horrifying disease and was dying. She whispered a small word of comfort as though it could somehow reach back through the years and touch the child, relieving her fear and her pain with knowledge gained through the exhilarating, frightening, and often tedious process of growing up.

Renae? Renae Drexford?

Renae glared at the nurse outlined in the doorway, still refusing to call her by her proper name. She resisted the urge to again correct the smug young woman, knowing it would do no good, as it had done no good last month, the month before, or any month before that. She had gotten used to answering to Drexford, and Drexford it would be, at least in this space, this horrible white sterile room.

Yes? Renae forced her lips into a smile that felt more like a grimace.

You’ll be next. I’m sorry, we had a…situation…and we’ll have to keep you waiting for a little while.

Renae nodded. She didn’t care if she waited all day. Her morning was a nightmare, and it was a relief to sit here in this barren world where all cell phones were left outside with security. No one could reach her. None of the problems of the morning could touch her here. She would wait, and daydream, and forget about the shouting voices, the angry faces, and the frustration of a student unable to demand or threaten his way to a better grade. It was behind her. She dealt with it to the best of her ability, and now she would forget about students and parents and administrators.

There were three women in the room with her…well, one of them wasn’t a woman at all, was she? At most, the youngest of them might be sixteen, but was probably closer to fifteen. She looked scared. This was probably still new to her, probably still felt like punishment being meted out, punishment for being a woman, for daring to bleed every month. Renae ached for her, remembering how it felt before she came to grips with the intrusive reality of her monthly duty, the dutiful delivery of her menstrual blood to the clinic, the suspicious stares of the woman behind the desk each time she arrived.

The other two women looked more seasoned. The oldest looked like she was probably close to the age when this would no longer be necessary, the age when nature took over and removed her from the reproductive pool so she could relax and retire from the monthly ritual. She mostly looked tired. It was the third face that caught Renae’s attention, a face so small and so delicate she almost looked like a hologram. She stood out, the only spot of color in this white world, a small dark skinned woman in a soft green dress. There was no fear or loathing evident in the beautiful features, only bored acceptance. The woman appeared to be about Renae’s age and no doubt had done this many times before. She thumbed through the pages of the magazine in her hands, but didn’t stop on any page long enough to actually read anything. When she reached the end, she put that magazine down and picked up another from the white table beside the white couch.

The motions were familiar. For years, Renae did the same thing, flipping idly through the pages of magazines written for women that held no interest to her, or to most of the women she knew. It was a joke at the office, the what women want joke that was more sarcastic than funny. The assumption that all women wanted clothes, babies, and make up was evident in the magazine selection. Renae made a few half-hearted suggestions they improve the magazine selection but the management considered political magazines or scholarly magazines to be inappropriate for, and above the comprehension of, their female customers. The suggestion that women be allowed to bring in their own reading material met with stony silence. With nothing to read, no tablets or phones allowed, Renae grew accustomed to spending the time inside her head.

The other woman looked up from the pages of a fashion magazine and her eyes caught Renae’s. A warm smile touched her lips but she dropped her eyes again before Renae could return the smile. She stared at the page in front of her as though the model in a pink dress was the most fascinating human being who ever walked the earth. Renae understood. This was a difficult enough situation without striking up banal conversation with strangers just to while away the time. No one ever spoke here. It seemed likely no one ever would.

No!

The scream resounded through the room from somewhere in the back of the clinic. It was a scream of sheer, primal terror, and everyone in the room jumped. The young woman dropped her magazine, and as she bent to pick it up Renae got the impression the other woman tensed, her muscles coiled and ready to run. When she straightened back up and settled in her chair with the magazine, she crossed her legs and assumed a pose so casual Renae thought she imagined the tension. The white knuckles clenched around the magazine belied the casual manner, and Renae realized the scream aroused something visceral most of them hadn’t felt for years. For a moment, the women were all twelve again, experiencing their first period, sitting in the white room beside their mother for the first time, not sure what was going to happen but understanding it wasn’t going to be good.

Somewhere behind the closed door another door slammed. The women shrank, hugging their souls closely, not sure what it meant. The door opened, and Renae trembled to hear whimpers waft out and fill the room, wispy and light as though from a long distance, but like a sonic boom dropped on the silent room.

The door was yanked shut and the nurse stood with her back to it, surveying the room as a lioness seeking the weakest member of the herd to slaughter for dinner. She nodded at the teenager, who crept toward the door, her fist clenched around the tube of red fluid as though it were the most precious elixir of life. She inched her way without a word until she disappeared into the gaping maw of the clinic. The sound of fear rumbled during the brief time the door was open, then the click of the latch erased the sound.

Renae relaxed, feeling silly as she realized she was trying to send positive vibes in the direction of the youngster, hoping it would give her courage. It was becoming more common to see teenagers here without their mothers. The clinic used to encourage mothers to come with the younger girls but in recent months they put up posters suggesting the mothers might have something better to do than sit here waiting for their daughters.

The woman behind the desk beckoned. Renae moved toward her, determined to remain in control of at least her own body. She waited in front of the desk while the woman made notations in the chart in front of her. This was a common move, call her over for something then keep her waiting. Renae refused to allow them to intimidate her. She had done nothing wrong, and there was no reason to be ashamed of having her period.

She watched the woman work for more than a minute, the clock ticking audibly, its old-fashioned sound a reminder that time continued to pass while she waited. She glared at the crooked part in the white hair of the other woman, realizing that, in all these years of seeing the same woman every month, she had no idea what her name was. Is that part of a plan, she wondered? Do they purposely remain cold and detached to make you feel less than you are?

The woman slid the file into the drawer with a deliberate motion, then slid her eyes up Renae’s body to her face. She flicked her finger in Renae’s direction and spoke, her voice a low, warm voice that belied the coldness of her eyes.

You’ll be next, Mrs. Drexford.

Renae nodded. Was that the only reason she called her over?

So, how do you like married life?

The same question. Every month, even though she’d been married five years, the woman asked her the same question. Never a question about how her work was going, or what her dreams were, only whether she liked married life. Renae swallowed the bile as it rose in her throat and adopted a sweet tone.

It’s treating me well, very well. I enjoy being married very much.

Good. I’m glad to hear that. I always want my women to be happy.

Renae detected a note of sincerity and wondered if the woman actually did consider the women who came to the clinic her women. She didn’t have time to think for long. The door flew open and a small body erupted into the waiting room. Renae recoiled at the terror on the young face as a teenager catapulted toward the exit door, pursued by two orderlies and a large woman who possibly looked much like this girl when she was younger.

No! the girl screamed as she plunged toward the door. No!

Renae moved toward the girl, her instinct overriding her common sense, her hand extended toward the girl in a gesture of comfort. Another orderly, flying out the door to assist, grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.

Leave her alone, the orderly growled.

Renae nodded. The other women backed against the wall, making themselves as small as possible, not willing to risk getting involved. Renae normally knew her place, but something about the fear on the girl’s face moved her to attempt an action she knew would never succeed. She knew security at the clinic was so tight the girl would never get further than a few feet past the outer door before she was stopped, and she knew her overtures of compassion would not be regarded well by the clinic. Non-interference in their work was the order of the day, and she had violated the cardinal rule.

She moved toward the wall, pressing against it as she was instructed in her orientation packet all those years ago. This was the first time the clinic initiated standard procedures while she was there, but she knew some other women who had encountered similar disturbing scenes.  Nothing in their whispered accounts prepared her for the onrush of emotion as she tried not to watch the girl captured, elevated over the heads of the orderlies, and carried through the waiting room like so much cargo. The woman slapped the youngster and pulled her hair, and the girl screamed again before the door slammed behind the entourage.

Three faces, almost as pale as the walls they pressed against, watched the white door where the girl disappeared. Three faces registered horror, then compassion, then bland disinterest as they settled back into their chairs, waiting their own turn behind the door. Guilt washed over Renae as she tried to focus on her inner world; the outer world kept intruding. No matter how she told herself she couldn’t help, she felt there must be something she should do. A decent person would at least try, she chided herself.

She didn’t notice the door open, or hear the nurse call her name. Pain shot through her arm as the nurse grabbed her shoulder with an iron claw-like grip, and shook her.

Mrs. Drexford, I can’t wait all day. It’s your turn.

Renae felt the other two women watch her as she stepped through the door. She mentally inserted a ramrod in her back and willed her knees not to buckle. She maintained a studied indifference as she moved forward, but it took every bit of willpower she possessed not to jump as the latch clicked behind her.

2

Renae clutched the bag that contained the only items they allowed women to carry inside the clinic. She made a mental inventory. In addition to the bottle of sticky red fluid, there was six pair of underwear and an airtight container in which she discarded all her menstrual napkins. It wasn’t the first time she ached with longing to roam free on the savannah, naked and free, not treated like a criminal because she lived in a woman’s body.

The white back of the nurse towered stiff and straight in front of her; in all the time she’d been coming here, no one ever unbent enough to show the slightest trace of human interest or compassion. The closest was the stupid comment about married life she’d been treated to every month for the past five years, and she suspected that was more to remind her it wasn’t normal for a woman to be married five years and still not be a mother, a pointed reminder of something wrong with her. Renae shoved aside the voice in her head that echoed the refrain, something wrong with her, and marched in silence behind the white soldier leading her through the labyrinth to the examination room.

They passed through halls with no doors or windows. The halls appeared to serve no function other than to ensure that the women were unable to navigate back down the hall easily enough to leave before they were dismissed. It seemed almost miraculous that the teenager managed to maneuver through the labyrinth. Renae chuckled at the image of the girl placing a trail of bread crumbs behind her to lead her out, then scolded herself for making light of a girl’s fear. It wasn’t fair to the girl who still lived in her memory, crouched in the bathroom stall with her bloodstained underpants in her hands.

The two silent women emerged into an open room - the nerve center of the clinic, it buzzed with activity. The claustrophobic hallway disappeared behind them as the nurse led her to exam room 3, the same room she always occupied for an hour or two each month. They were tied to habit here, Renae thought, putting her in the exact same room for 216 months in a row. She wondered if there were any differences in the other rooms. Almost certainly the same white walls, white exam table, white chair, and white floor. But maybe the magazines were different. Maybe the other women found a different selection of insipid magazines about babies, cooking, and clothes. Or maybe…for the first time it occurred to her to wonder…maybe the other women got the political and scientific magazines she preferred. Maybe that was why they always used the same room, because they designed each room to serve a particular type of woman…or rather, to make them as uncomfortable as possible, to remind them of the sin they committed by bleeding.

The nurse motioned her to the chair by the wall, the same motion she made every month, the same chair. Renae longed for the friendly banter of her family doctor’s office, the warm interest the nurse demonstrated as she took her blood pressure or drew blood. Even if the nurse didn’t remember her three minutes after she left, it was better than this grim, cold silence. The nurses here worked without speaking to the patients. Renae knew they could speak, because she heard them banter with each other when they thought no one could hear.

She handed her bag to the nurse and settled into the chair to wait. As the nurse came and went, opening and closing the door to the exam room, bustling about with no real purpose other than to be busy, the sounds waxed and waned. Renae caught echoes of an angry voice in another exam room, followed by crying, then the door closed again and the rest of the world disappeared.

Two minutes…tick tick tick…then the nurse opened the door and bustled in again, opened a couple of cabinets, and walked out without taking anything. Renae shivered as she realized she was being watched, they were all being watched by nurses who were more spies than caregivers. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? She’d often noticed the habit of constant non-productive entrances and exits. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t doing anything to be ashamed of, and certainly nothing illegal.

The nurse left the door open during her next tsunami visit. Renae listened, trying not to appear like she was listening. She was sure the crying and the screaming were the same young girl who burst into the waiting room. The drama continued, and Renae’s heart lurched in sympathy for the fear of someone not quite a woman. The world must seem very topsy-turvy right now. The only other consistent sound was the angry voice shouting at someone, perhaps the girl. Renae tried to make out a few words, but filtered through the hum of the clinic noises, it was impossible. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. I’m not a snoop or a gossip. I should mind my own business.

She focused on minding her own business, something she was usually good at, but she couldn’t forget the eyes, the wild, desperate look of a trapped animal. Renae shuddered. She was haunted by all the faces in the waiting room but mostly by the girl. It was difficult to imagine what terrified her to that extent. When Renae was younger, she was scared, but even with a mother who mocked her every month and never explained what was going to happen, she had never been so terrified. This was more than normal fear.

Renae forced her mind back to examination room 3 as Dr. Calvin slid through the door, his emaciated body barely requiring a crack in the door to get in the room. Renae warmed, even though there was nothing warm about Dr. Calvin. It struck her that he was the only one at the clinic to whom she could attach a name. Perhaps that’s why she always felt a sense of relief when he squeezed through the narrow slit which was the only opening he allowed himself, as though to open the door all the way would be to risk some sort of contamination from the femaleness of his patients.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Drexler.

Drexford Renae corrected him, not bothering to explain again that she retained her maiden name upon marriage and it wasn’t accurate to call her by her husband’s name. In this room, there was no such thing as an independent woman; all women were property of someone. When she was younger, she was referred to only as her father’s daughter. There was a period of discomfiture in the clinic when she lived independently, working as a professional and not belonging to anyone. It was a relief for everyone here when she announced her impending marriage; Dr. Calvin even told her how wonderful it was she was going to be a full person at last. She managed to get out of the clinic without hitting him, but it wasn’t easy.

Ah, yes, Mrs. Drexford. Well, let’s see what we have here.

Dr. Calvin made a big show of studying her chart but she suspected he knew her history by heart. And he knew her name, too. It was all part of the same game, the same impersonal game they played every month. She could play the game as well as they, and learned never to reveal any emotional life. She was just a number to them, and she would act like they were just numbers to her until she escaped back into the sunshine…except it’s raining today, she mumbled.

What’s that?

Nothing. I was just remembering that it’s raining today.

It was the closest they had come to a conversation in five years. The world outside faded when you walked in this door, and there was no rain or sunshine. No windows looked out on the mud puddles collecting in the street, or the garish neon sign on the pharmacy across the vacant lot. This was a world apart. Nothing real happened here. Renae remembered the screaming girl, and reminded herself that something real did happen here. Just because nothing ever happened to her didn’t mean it never happened to anyone.

I’m getting a bit concerned about you, Mrs. Drexford. Is anything wrong at home?

Renae was too startled by the question to answer. She shook her head, her voice deserting her at a crucial moment.

You’ve been married for about three years now, right?

Renae cleared her throat. Five.

Five years. And never pregnant?

Renae nodded, then shook her head. Sometimes it was hard to know whether a question was a yes/no question or a no/yes question. She wrinkled her brow, trying to figure out what she meant by that thought, but the doctor charged on, not concerned about her answer. He knew her entire reproductive history and didn’t need her verification.

I hope you aren’t taking any sort of… Dr. Calvin leaned toward her confidentially and lowered his voice to a whisper. …birth control pills.

Renae shook her head. Where would I even get birth control pills? It’s not like you can just walk into a pharmacy and buy them.

Dr. Calvin frowned. You’re a biologist, right?

Yes, but I work with snakes. The only thing I might create is anti-venom.

Renae felt a small twinge as she pictured the home-made diaphragm and condoms at home, nestled in their secret hiding place, safe from prying eyes. She and Miles weren’t interested in having children, at least not now, and between them they had the skills and tools to create their own protection. Fortunately, he specifically asked about pills, so she didn’t have to lie.

I understand it’s perfectly easy to get them on the black market. There have been several raids lately, and the police are cracking down, but it seems impossible to stop the evil.

Evil. Renae frowned at the hyperbole of reproductive choices being referred to as evil. The birth control era ended before she was even born, but she read enough to know the emotional language used to persuade people to vote for candidates who illegalized all forms of family planning. She remembered the evenings with her father in the garage, where he let her read his stash of old, forbidden materials he kept even after most copies were destroyed. She remembered the whispers in the dark as he passed on forbidden information, helping her prepare herself for the role she would play as a woman. He was the one who told her to make sure she didn’t have children until she was ready, and provided her with the education to do just that. Her loving father, the only thing that stood between her and her mother, the man who taught her how to be a woman when her mother refused, was the furthest thing from evil she could imagine.

Dr. Calvin continued to speak. She pushed her father back to his warm home in her memory, and forced herself to listen.

Your name came up at our monthly meeting.

My name? Renae didn’t have to feign surprise. This was not expected.

This is the third month in a row. The clinic staff is worried there might be something wrong. Are you fulfilling your wifely duty, Mrs. Drexford?

Renae almost giggled at the phrase, but caught herself in time and just nodded soberly.

Then there can only be one thing keeping you from getting pregnant. Is your husband… Again, Dr. Calvin leaned toward her and whispered as though saying something filthy. …impotent?

Renae resisted the laugh that bubbled up, not only at the doctor’s manner but also at the idea there could be only one possible reason she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

No, Dr. Calvin. My husband has no difficulties… She paused, hardly able to say the phrase. ….performing his duties as a husband. She gagged, nauseated at having to say such a stupid phrase.

In that case, I have no choice. I shall begin fertility testing at once.

Dr. Calvin, I’m not interested in fertility testing at this time. I’m fine with things as they are.

The doctor didn’t