She was called in, in a few moments, by a middle-aged blonde who didn’t look at her.
The girl was led into a room with a doctor, one that wore some sort of special glasses over his eyes. He had a bit of five o’ clock shadow on his chin. She wasn’t sure if doctors were supposed to shave.
“Come over here,” he said, in a friendly voice. He indicated a table, and she sat on it.
The doctor picked up her burned hand, and examined it closely—as if he was looking for small details.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked, absentmindedly.
“Ev-Evita.”
“Hm.” With a speed that startled her, he pulled a small light from his coat pocket and shined in in her damaged eye. “And where have you been the last, oh, hour and forty-six minutes?”
“I…” She hesistated. She wasn’t supposed to tell him.
Suddenly he replaced the light, snapped his gloved fingers, and ran into the hallway.
He shouted, “We’ve got one!”