18
Aug
19

Dr. Gale, Open for Business

Four folders laid out on the desk, like a fan of cards waiting for a fifth to make or break a hand.

“S. Crowe. Post-traumatic amnesia,” she muttered to herself in a husky, musing whisper as one manicured blue nail danced along the edge of the folder before moving on.

“Catherine Leone. OCD and anxiety.” Her finger dallied on the edge of the folder, danced for a moment as though debating on whether to open it, then moved on to the next.

“Hunter Woods. Severe disassociative identity disorder, possible solipsist.” Again, her finger toyed with the yellow tab at the edge of the folder, flirting with it, lifting it up a quarter of an inch before letting it fall once more and moving on to the last.

“Tom Torneau. Agoraphobia, codependence.” She sighed. “Almost boring, that one.”

She pulled her hand back, sweeping a critical eye over the folders once more. Which direction to jump? They all needed help, and all of them had something in the files that had called to her, but…

Her musing was interrupted by a knock at the door. Through the frosted glass pane and the black lettering proclaiming to all that the door belonged to Dorothea Gale, M.D., she could see a shape that was frustratingly generic and sexless. No way to identify which of her star patients – if any – it might have been, if it was indeed one of them at all.

“Dealer’s choice,” she whispered, rising from her chair to open the door and see what came next.


The story continues here!


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