By Gypsie-Ami Offenbacher-Ferris
The somnologist glanced at her day planner. Her field of sleep afforded her an intriguing career. Her nine o’clock appointment was with Mr. Kirkpatrick. His fascination with ferris wheels had led him, on her advice, to purchase a working replica of one. He slept soundly every night now.
Ms. Robbins’ case was more delicate. She did not have any hobbies or particular fields of interest, save one. A hand-held device assisted with her more lascivious needs and did the trick.
More clients arrived for their appointments. Lunch then, more clients and then the last client of the day, a first-time, new client.
The arrival bell rang at her patient entrance and she beeped him in. A tall, well-built man walked into her office. Nice looking, she thought. He did not display the tell-tale signs of sleep deprivation, as so many of her patients did.
After greeting him and motioning him to either the chair or lounger, she sat behind her desk to observe him. He had one of those well practiced, testosterone filled smiles that could entice the most timid of females to become little more than a pile of hormonal mush when bestowed upon them.
Luckily, the sleep doctor was immune to those kind of parlor tricks. The new patient, Mr. Antonio Blaque, seemed slightly disconcerted by her lack of response.
He shook her hand, remained standing, she assumed it was an intimidation tactic that would have not a bit of effect on her.
“I understand you provide your clients with what they need, enabling them to sleep?”
“That’s a simplistic way of putting it but, this is true,” she answered.
He walked behind her, a purple scarf in his hand.
“Good,” he whispered, tightening the scarf around her neck in a tight, deadly, grip.