Forbidden Doctor - R. S. Elliot Page 0,1

my mother would never have to work again, and I’d go to work every day with a smile on my face, knowing that I was saving lives.

In reality, I was standing on a cold linoleum floor, and the only thing I was sure of was that the next week was going to test me. It would be trial by fire, and if I wanted to survive, I’d have to find dinner.

The idea of buying groceries, going home, and cooking while the exposed brick and unpacked boxes stared at me was exhausting.

Although I didn’t have much money to spare, I figured I’d be able to find somewhere I could eat for the night. I walked up Fulton Street, getting a proper look at my new neighborhood, and turned onto Hanover Street, a place lined with restaurants and small cafes. But nothing caught my eye. Following the bustling lights of the city in the early evening, I headed towards the intersection.

I watched cars passing and wondered how many of them were commuters, coming back from work, going to work, or wishing that there was something more to their lives of travel and labor. Sometimes, I wondered what the point of it all was, but then I reminded myself that I’d found my point. My point was to save lives. Wherever they found meaning after that wasn’t up to me. I crossed the intersection and kept walking, following chain-link fences past construction signs and thinking there was a busy kind of beauty in the city at night.

The Irish pub looked small from the outside. It was called Sweet Nell’s, and I could hear the mixture of chatter and sports emanating from inside. It was the kind of place I had gone with friends after long weeks of college. I’d found them a good place to lose myself because it was hard to think over all the noise.

I stepped inside and it felt like coming home. I could almost see Tommy and Anette at a table, arguing over euthanasia after a particularly grueling ethics lecture. I missed them with a dull sort of nostalgia, but nowhere near strong enough to pick up a phone and call them.

I stepped up to the bar and was somewhat pleased to find they were serving food until 8 p.m. It was only 7:30, so I placed my order for a ham and cheese sandwich and hunched over a Bacardi and Coke, eyeing the sports on the TV screen thoughtfully. I could easily pass a couple of hours amid the noise of soccer fans, and I began to loosen up a little.

Halfway through my meal, my phone pinged, alerting me to a message. I pulled it out, half expecting it to be my mother, but it wasn’t.

Parker’s Restaurant

60 School St.

02108

10.30 a.m.

Dr. A.C.

I scoffed at the signature at the end.

It was how every birthday and Christmas card had been signed since I was born, Dr. AC. I liked to think it was short for Dracula, and the name would have fit the man who sent the text. But instead, it stood for Dr. Aaron Christophers—my father. I figured everything that needed to be said about my father could be said in the way he initialed a text to his own daughter.

He wanted to meet at 10:30 a.m. for brunch at a place that had its own dress code. If I could have gotten away with it, there would have been a response in the form of expletives. Instead, I typed out one perfunctory word and sent it, wishing I could stand up to the man.

Okay.

His response was immediate, and I could sense the irritation through the small reply.

Wear something appropriate.

Worried I’d snap at him, I rolled my eyes, put my phone away, and ordered another drink.

Chapter Two

Stevie

Three drinks in and the atmosphere of the pub was considerably cozier than when I arrived. I felt warm and fuzzy and watched the people around me in fascination.

“Can I get you another, Miss?” someone asked, and I turned my head to see the bartender with a kind smile and young face, dirty blonde hair flopping over his blue eyes adorably.

I nodded and this brought an even larger beam across his face.

“What’s your name?” I asked of him.

“Dylan,” he answered, supplying me with another drink.

“Hi Dylan. I’m Stevie.”

Dylan quirked an eyebrow at me, curious.

“Is that short for something? Seems strange to have as a first name,” he replied.

I wrinkled my nose and resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. “Stephanie.”

Dylan nodded sagely.

“Well, enjoy