"Um...I'm here for my exam?"

Doctor Gray glanced up from the file he was reading at the stammered question. A boy stood hesitantly just inside the doorway, his face a striking mixture of uncertainty and anticipation. Through an unruly mop of black hair, his bruised eyes gleamed with a hopeful light as he regarded the doctor in front of him.

“Ah, yes… Caleb Wilson. Come in, come in!” The doctor beckoned the boy inside. Caleb stepped cautiously into the small room, the harsh ceiling lights revealing a nasty bruise extending along his cheek. The doctor recoiled at the injuries, a shocking contrast to the boy’s apparent youth. Why, he couldn't be older than nineteen!

Caleb balanced himself awkwardly on the examination chair. He surveyed the room in silence as the doctor continued reading his file. The walls were a dismal gray color, with only a few photographs to offset the blankness. These pictures were all of the same family, smiling and laughing at different places: an amusement park, the countryside, and the Grand Canyon. To his right, there were shelves with hundreds of neatly organized files, all of them a bright orange; the only color in the room. Various pieces of equipment were strung out over the tables. Caleb found himself reading the eye chart just to pass the time.

“So,” Doctor Gray said, breaking the silence, “you’re eighteen years old?”

“Just turned eighteen, actually,” Caleb replied.

“And you were sentenced two years ago?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to have another four years in this hellhole, but I guess I’m getting out on good behavior!” Caleb could not hide his glee.
Gray felt the bile rise in his throat, but masterfully made his face remain blank as he nodded. “Right, then, so if you could just breathe deeply for me please,” he said, unraveling his stethoscope from his neck. Just concentrate, Gray reminded himself. Check the heart, ears, mouth, take blood pressure, and administer the vaccine.

The silence built up again, but his time it was different; it was heavier, threatening to crush him. He felt as if the boy could read his mind, and could tell what was wrong. Something seemed to be pulling at him, determined to push out the words sitting on the tip of his tongue. Frantically, he grasped at small talk.

“So if you don’t mind me asking,” he said, his words tripping over themselves, “what are you in for?”

The boy, Caleb, was unfazed as he replied, “I robbed a gas station, Doc.”

“What did you really do?” There had to be a reason that the boy was taking the exit exam, Gray thought to himself. He was not prepared for Caleb’s response.

“No, seriously, I robbed a gas station. My family was getting weaker every day; my dad had just died and we were dangerously low on money. The only way to get money fast enough was to steal it.”

“And?” the doctor prompted.

“Me and a couple of my buddies staked out the gas station for a few nights. The only person working there past midnight was this middle-aged lady who just sat there and smoked all the time. There was a security guard too, but he always ended up asleep. They were both just totally out of it. We made a plan: just rob her at gunpoint, the usual. No one was gonna get hurt, and my family would be okay.”

Doctor Gray’s mind was spinning as he listened to the story. This boy wasn't a monster, at least; he just wanted what was best for his family. Looking into the boy’s eyes, he saw nothing but honesty. Gray could barely bring himself to speak; he knew that there was a horrific, appalling end to the story…there always was.

“Tell me what happened next,” he croaked.

“The plan fell apart. The woman fought back, sounded an alarm. My friends all bailed, the selfish bastards; I was the only one who stayed, and I snapped. Turns out the woman brought her son with her. I saw them there, standing behind the counter. I mean, who the hell brings a little kid to a run-down dump like that in the middle of the night? The alarm just kept pounding in my head like a shrill scream, over and over and over. One thing led to another, and…. I was carrying a gun… I shot it. And killed that kid,” Caleb finished.

The words poured over the doctor relentlessly, each with its own sting. He felt as if he would go crazy; the white walls and doors of this cold, sterile room suffocated him. He couldn't think: the boy was guilty, obviously, but still…so young. As if in a dream, he whispered, “stretch out your arm. I’m going to give you a vaccination for typhoid, and you’ll be good to go home.”

Caleb obliged, the hope finally breaking free on his youthful face. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen them. My family, that is. I hope they forgive me. I know I've done horrible things, but it was all for them. It might be sappy, but I just can’t wait have a home again. I miss my mom especially…she smells like cinnamon. After being beaten around in this filth for years, it’s about time I smell that again. I know what I did was unforgivable, but she has to accept me…I don’t know what I’d do without her. And my brother. I just love them, you know?”

Numbly, Doctor Gray swiped Caleb’s white, scrawny arms with alcohol. Carefully lifting a syringe out of a delicate black box, he readied the vaccine without a word. “This might hurt a little, but it’s for the better,” he whispered faintly. Caleb seemed not to have heard him as a smile slowly spread over his face. It was a true, sincere smile, on a face that hadn't felt happiness in years. The injection pierced his skin, and the liquid inside was released.

“Just wait a minute, and you’ll be free to go.”

The boy’s body jerked as the venom seeped into his blood, and crawled along his veins into his heart. His eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening into a wordless scream as he went into cardiac arrest.

Doctor Gray’s body was wracked with uncontrollable sobs as the team of men burst in, dragging the boy’s limp body out the door. The tears fell onto the file still in front of him, soaking into the pages. His eyes were drawn like a magnet to the bottom of the paper, which read:

Wilson, Caleb. Sentenced to death by lethal injection for first degree manslaughter.

He felt the blood on his hands. It had never been like this; all the ‘patients’ before had been evil. You could see it in their eyes, and the way they talked without remorse. This one was different. He was no better than the rest now. He was a murderer.

The doctor’s mind was a jumble as he sank to the floor. He could see the other people who visited his office and didn't have the luck to ever walk out again. They were all around him, staring blankly out of the gray paint in the walls. They were in his head, and a part of him.

He stayed like this for a long time: a broken shell of a man, lying on the floor. Hours passed without disturbance, until…

There was a hesitant knock on the door, and a young voice said:

“Hey, is this the doctor’s office? I have to get an exit exam before I leave.”