Blood Lines

Here."
    Vicki heard Dickson grunt as she caught something heavy and managed to get her head turned enough to see that it was her black leather shoulder bag.
    The guard looked down at the huge, bulging bag in disbelief. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
    'It came with her. When you've got her put away, you can enter the contents in her file."
    'It'll take days."
    'All the more reason to get started."
    'Why me?" Dickson muttered, throwing the bag over her shoulder and dragging Vicki out of the office.
    The grip on her arm had not been retightened. While going through the crowded doorway, Vicki attempted to twist free, reaching for her bag. If she could get her hands on it, it would make a decent weapon. She shouldn't be here.
    Anything to attract attention…
    'Don't do that," Dickson sighed, effortlessly bouncing her off the wall and then propelling her forward. "I'm not having a very good day."
    The strip search was worse than Vicki could have imagined although, as she'd regained some gross motor control on the walk down the hall, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Trapped inside her own head, there wasn't anything she could do but endure. She didn't blame Dickson, the guard was just doing her job, but when she got out of there Gowan and Mallard were going to be having their balls for breakfast. The image helped sustain her.
    Dickson peeled off the rubber glove and tossed it into the trash. "These things only come in two sizes," she said, replacing the clothing Vicki had removed with jail issue. "Too big and too small. Can you dress yourself, Hanover?"
    'Yuh…" My God, that was almost a word ! She tried it again, humiliation wiped out in that one small victory over her body. "Yuh, yuh, yuh."
    'Okay, okay, I get the picture. Jesus, you're drooling again."
    With every article of clothing a small measure of control returned. Her movements were still jerky and unsure, but somehow she struggled into the jail blues, oblivious to the bored stare of the guard, oblivious to anything but the battle she fought with her body. Hands worked. Fingers didn't. Her sense of balance was still skewed and large movements nearly tipped her over but she leaned against the wall and got into the underwear, the jeans, and the shoes. The T-shirt nearly defeated her. She couldn't find the opening for her head and began to panic. Outside hands yanked it down, nearly taking her nose with it.
    'Come on, Hanover. I haven't got all day."
    The cotton overshirt with its wide v-neck was a little easier.
    The drug's wearing off. Thank God. As soon as I can talk, someone's going to get one hell of an earful . As carefully as if she were threading a needle, Vicki reached for her glasses. Dickson reached them first.
    'Forget that. You'll just have to squint."

    It had never occurred to her that they wouldn't let her keep her glasses. Of course they wouldn't. Not in Special Needs.
    Glasses could be used as weapons.
    But I can't see without my glasses.
    All the composure she'd managed to gain with the control over her muscles fled.
    I'll be blind.
    It was what she'd been terrified of since the retinitis pigmentosa had been diagnosed.
    Blind.
    'Nuh!" Using her arm like a club, she knocked the other woman's hand away and attempted to snatch her glasses up off the pile of discarded clothing. But her fingers wouldn't close fast enough and a sharp shove from the guard sent her lurching back against the wall.
    'Here, none of that! You show fight and you wear the restraints. Understand?"
    You don't understand. My glasses…
    Something of Vicki's fear must have shown on her face. Dickson frowned and said brusquely, "Look, Hanover, you convince the shrink you don't belong in Special Needs and we'll give you your glasses back."
    Hope. The psychiatrist would listen to her. Probably even recognize the drug.
    'Now come on, I haven't got all day. Christ, it'll probably take me the rest of the shift just to list what you've got in that bag."
    The world had condensed into a fuzzy tunnel. Vicki shuffled along it, heart leaping as doors and furniture and people loomed up without warning. She cracked her knee on the edge of something and slammed her shoulder into a corner she couldn't see.
    Dickson sighed as she steered her charge through the first of the locked doors and onto the range. "Maybe you'd do better if you just closed your eyes."
    The noise was overwhelming; the clatter of a busy cafeteria with the volume control gone and so many women's voices that all