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The overhead speakers crackled and a deep voice said something in German, waking Amelia from her light doze. Frowning at the words she could not understand, she glanced at Doc across the aisle.
"If you wouldn't mind cooperating, Miss Harker," he got out of his seat and smiled, excited anticipation freezing the expression on his face, "we need to give you a couple of accessories before the landing."
One of his spindly arms extended to pull down the shutter of the window beside her, and she leaned away from the limb.
"Nothing harmful; you'll only have to wear them until we're inside." He waved dismissively, as if the explanation would calm her. "A blindfold and earmuffs," he elaborated when her suspicion did not dissipate.
Someone moved behind her, and a dark fabric was suddenly pulled tightly around her head and knotted, covering her eyes. The hands left her head for a moment before the leather earmuffs were placed over her ears, silencing everything.
For a few seconds she remained stiff, until she was sure nothing else was going to happen. Now that her sight and hearing had been cut off, her other senses heightened; smell, taste, and touch were everything – although the last was probably the only one that would do her any good.
For what seemed like at least another half hour they were in the air, their altitude dropping little by little and made all the more disorienting with her limited senses. The landing nearly gave her a heart attack, and despite the horrors surely waiting in her future, there was no denying the comfort in knowing she was going to be getting off the jet.
Something tapped her shoulder, and she assumed she was meant to get up. Sliding her hands along the seat belt to find the buckle, she undid it and reached for the seat in front of her.
What felt like a hand wrapped around her right upper arm while another rested on her opposite shoulder, guiding her out into the aisle. Her balance was weakened, but she managed not to fall or trip as she took careful steps forward.
At one point the hand on her shoulder tightened its grip, and she stopped moving as a cool breeze caressed her cheeks. It was nothing like the harsh autumn wind back home.
The hands spun her around so that her back was to the wind before relinquishing their hold.
Her lips parted slightly in silent questioning, and she let out a surprised yelp when something moved around her waist. She was lifted briefly and felt the unwanted familiar sensation of being draped over someone's shoulder. Now she couldn't even rely on her sense of touch to try and find out where she was being taken. There was nothing distinctive about the scent on the wind either – all she could discern was that she was outside.
Her carrier descended several stairs, judging by the way a shoulder kept bumping into her gut, before moving forward on relatively even ground. They continued on like this for a while, keeping at a brisk but even pace.
When she was finally lowered and helped to regain her footing, there was sweat on her brow. The breeze was gone, and her clothes were too heavy for the mild temperature.
A pair of hands removed the earmuffs and blindfold before she blinked in the light, rubbing at her itching eyes.
A long undecorated corridor stretched out in front of them, and with an encouraging push from behind, Amelia followed the blood-stained man down it.
Every once in a while, a soldier would stand aside to let their company pass respectfully—save for the leers sent her way and the occasional muttering in German that even she could understand was derogatory. Folding her arms over her chest defensively, she wished herself invisible.
Turning left at the end of the corridor, they came upon a heavy door with a security pad. Entering the code, Doc stepped into the room and gestured for her to follow as lights came on overhead, illuminating a large office space that also appeared to serve as a lab. To the soldiers who were escorting them, he gave a dismissive wave. "I do not require any further aid." Directed at someone else: "You may report to the Major." Looking over her shoulder, she saw the Captain nod and exit the laboratory, the large door sliding shut behind him.
Not sure what to do now that she was alone with the doctor, she stood still, trying to ignore the sharp objects, dark stains, and surgical tables around her. Running was an option, but considering where she was and who she was with, it might be safer to stay put. It seemed highly unlikely that there would not be anyone standing guard outside the room, and she didn't trust that she wouldn't be shot the instant she stepped out alone.
The thin blonde was moving around the large room in quick strides, mumbling to himself. He went to a cluttered desk and unlocked a drawer, glasses clinking inside before he pulled out a flask of transparent liquid. Spinning on his heel, he headed for a file cabinet but abruptly paused, head whipping in her direction. "You're not showering?"
Her face heated at the thought. What…?
"I'm getting ahead of myself," he frowned and returned to the desk, placing the flask on it. Then he moved to the back of the lab, opening the single door in the wall. The room behind it was long and brightly lit, and from where she was standing, she could make out doors lining both sides.
Doc disappeared for a minute before returning with articles of clothing in his hands. Seeing her in the same spot, his shoulders sagged and he sighed, waving for her to come closer. "Quickly, quickly," he muttered.
Amelia managed to drag herself towards him, and he held out the white garments. She silently accepted them, looking at them blankly.
"There are showers." The thin man stepped aside for her to more clearly see the room he had just emerged from. It was a bathroom full of shower and toilet stalls, and unlike the lab, did not appear dirty.
When she didn't enter the adjoining room, he tilted his head, growing impatient. "I trust you can clean yourself up. No one else will be in there with you, and I will certainly not peep." She must not have looked convinced, for his next words held the same tone of frustration that had been directed towards the cat-boy on the jet.
"Miss Harker, if you cannot perform such a task on your own, then you leave me no choice but to accompany you and scrub you down myself."
Her face paled and she scurried into the bathroom.
Doc shut the door behind her and shook his head. "Young people."
The shower would have been much more enjoyable if it weren't for her fear of someone intruding on her privacy. It was a shock that she was showering in the first place; she expected much worse.
The clothes Doc gave her were soft and smelled like disinfectant: shorts and a tank top she assumed were meant to serve as underwear, a baggy t-shirt, and sweatpants. Considering their fit, it was probable she was wearing clothing meant for more masculine figures.
Dressed and holding her dirty clothes and shoes, she peered out into the laboratory. The doctor was leaning over a table with several liquid-filled beakers around him, and he looked up when she opened the door.
"Throw away those dirty things; you don't need them." He referred to her clothes, stepping away from the table.
She set her belongings down on the bathroom floor, reluctant to throw them out. They hadn't been a cheap purchase, but they would not do her any good. Her license, money, and the card given to her by Clive Richards were missing.
The lab floor was cold as she stepped out with bare feet, and she hugged herself to keep the chill from spreading through her body.
"Now then," Doc rubbed his gloved hands together, "I need to run some tests, so if you'll sit yourself on that table on the left…"
Tests? Her heartbeat sped up and she balled her hands into fists.
"I'm sure you've been to a physician before, Miss Harker. I'll take some samples, make certain you're healthy… Think of this as any ordinary visit."
Amelia swallowed heavily and walked stiffly to the table he had pointed out, finding the cleanest area to sit on.
Like her doctor back home, the thin man checked her vision, throat, ears, and the rest in a professional manner. He sent her to back to the bathroom – much to her relief – for the urine sample and she managed to gather enough saliva in her dry mouth to spit into a cup.
It was when Doc returned carrying a needle with a tube and empty medical pouch that she got anxious. Finger pricks from nurses were bad enough, but never had a needle been inserted in her arm for an IV or blood transfusion.
"There is no other way," Doc said, as if hearing her panicked thoughts, and set the supplies on the table beside her. "But you need to eat something first. After that, we'll continue."
As if I'll be able to stomach anything, knowing what follows.