The exam: Amanda Drake
I was getting paid a lot of money to be this rich banker's doctor. But that day, I wasn't getting paid nearly enough. I got a call from Mr. Karlovic that he needed me to fly a plane to Mexico (Hell no, right?) to conduct a brief medical exam there and to make sure someone was safe and well. As I prepared to tell him 'hell no,' he told me just how much he was willing to pay me to do this just one favor for him. Half a million dollars, in cash, no questions asked. And just for a few days. Holy shit. Now that's not a sum of money that I could ignore. So I went to Mexico.

When I arrived, I waited at a small private airport, in a small room, with a tiny examination table. I think my heart melted when I first saw her walk in. I knew her. It was Mr. Karlovic's daughter, Anna. I had seen her before, for various coughs and colds, at their home visits. But something was direly wrong. First off, she was handcuffed, collared, with duct tape around her mouth. She hobbled into the room, clearly in a great deal if pain, grimacing with every step, with every motion. As she very slowly and gingerly (and with a great deal of moaning) approached the exam table, the men who accompanied her uncuffed her, removed her collar, and ripped off the duct tape covering her mouth.

I had Karlovic's man (a Mr. Striker, he introduced himself as), help me help her onto the examination table. It was then that my day full of horrors began. I can't, she said softly, lips trembling. Can't what, sweetie, I asked. I can't get on the table. Why not, I asked? I can't sit down, she said. Sweetie, what's wrong? And it was at that point that she pulled her dress up, revealing a long plastic white handle protruding from her vagina, and what appeared to be stems or leaves of some sort protruding from her anus.

I don't think I should be here, I could hear Mr. Striker say behind me. Neither should I, I responded. I'm going to leave, he said. No, I said. I might need your help. I certainly wasn't going to let Mr. Striker leave me with these other men along in the room with the girl. Sweetie, I said to Anna. What did they do to you? I got nothing back from her. She stared tremulously back at me, tears streaking down her face, and seemed to look past me, with these barren, forlorn eyes. This poor girl was beyond traumatized. Her entire body was tremulous. I then turned my anger to the men who brought her here. What did you do her, I screamed. You monsters! We're going to need to take her to an operation room! This isn't something we can handle here in this room! Their response? A pistol blow to my head. No operating room they said. No anesthesia. You get her ready to go home right now.

With blood streaming down my face, and one hand holding a towel stifling the blood pouring from my laceration on my forehead, I took her vitals. These men were monsters. Her blood pressure was low. She had probably lost a lot of blood, from whatever she had to endure these past few days. She needed IV fluids. So I started a line. I dressed her wounds. When she was done, she looked more like a mummy than a patient, wrapped with gauze and ointment. But when I got to the objects lodged in her, I panicked. The right answer would have been to leave everything in. But I myself was so traumatized from the moment, that I wasn't thinking clearly. I felt this urgent need to remove whatever was inside of her. What's in her, I asked? The sick monsters just chuckled. How do you expect me to take these things out? Pull, they said, laughing in my face again. So in the heat of the moment, I had Mr. Striker hold her down. Open you legs, sweetie. My heart sank as I tugged gently, but the plastic handle wouldn't budge. I tugged harder, and harder. I don't know what came over me. The poor girl moaned in agony. Her opened thighs shook like jello. Maybe it was morbid curiosity. My own vagina ached, and my feminine spirit crushed, as I pulled harder and harder. To my relief, the object did start to slide out, despite significant resistance. When I removed it, it was covered in blood, and in my horror I identified the object. It was a toilet brush.

We did the same ritual for the object in her anus. I pulled and pulled. It was incredible how large it was. It was really lodged inside there. How they even got it in is a mystery to me, but finally, in a sickening sucking sound, I finally pulled the vegetable – a fairly large turnip – out. Carved into, and lodged deep in the flesh of the bulbous root, with only a small tip of it showing, was a flash drive.