“Quite a tale, quite a tale. Just more evidence that goes to show what you don’t know {can} kill you,” I commented, feeling slightly embarrassed at implementing that hackneyed modification of the old cliché. Bethany and Rick nodded in accordance.

Bethany leaned in close to me and asked in a whisper, “Say, who’s that over there?” as she subtly extended her finger in the mop-headed girl’s general direction. “She’s looking lonely,” she added.

“You don’t think we should leave her be? She looks content the way she is,” I replied.

“Oh just take a look at that, will yeah? She’s moping about, head down. Awfully sad looking if you ask me. Hell, this whole room is sad. The least we could do is ask her if she would like to come sit with us.” I saw that Bethany did have a point, however, I still felt like I violating some sort of personal privacy of the recluse girl.

“Beth, she wants to be left alone,” was all I could manage to say.

“Who’s to say she does. I’ve known plenty of people who just sat in corners, who were really dying for someone to acknowledge them. But if you insist, we do not have to do anything this instant.”

What would have happened next, myself resigning to Beth’s indomitable will, brooding silently to myself, I could not know, because at that point in time a loud, rather egregious fellow cavorted his jolly way right into the office, feigning politeness with the removal of his fedora. He was exhibiting some studly shoes. He had slapped on some generic brown slacks (complete with suspenders) and white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his bicep, probably to show off. He wore a black leather tie with some pink flamingo zest running down it. It took me a moment to notice that both the top of his shirt and his fedora were wet. Funny, as I hadn’t noticed it was raining outside.

I glanced outside for a just a jiff and I swear, it looked like Katrina all over again. Rain was violently pelting the ground, creating mud and murk out of formerly good soil. The wind was tearing at trees, trying to pull them screaming from their roots, throwing everything it could (including news papers and other random assortments of commonly occurring street items) at them. Now that I noticed all this, the sound was deafening. Had this just started? I was dry, I know that. I figured I’d ask the guy when he sat down.

The new arrival egotistically strutted up to the Receptionist, though he looked like he was slightly favoring his right side, and rested his elbows on the counter, his head in his palms. It all looked to me like some sort of pseudo-masculine swoon, perhaps a bizarre mating ritual. I’m not an expert, but I don’t think it would turn me on. Ah but he did seem the gregarious sort, didn’t he? He certainly showed confidence in the way he swaggered. That cool-cat walk of his. Make a grand entrance into a dive bar. I got this feeling he had a lot of experience with those.

He leaned in close as you please – a little too close for comfort if you ask me – and said smoothly, if not slightly eerily, “Hey. The names Gill. Spelled like the –” he cut himself off to make gill-like gestures on his neck with his hands, “I had an appointment for 11:00 a.m. with Dr. Tlihg. Have a lump, see.” He gestured to a spot right behind his ear.

The Receptionist gave a neat flutter of her eyelashes and replied, “Dr. Tlihg is out on some personal business at the moment. But you are welcome to remain in the waiting room until he returns. I don’t believe it should be too much longer.”

“The Doctor is out on person business?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” she mocked sweetly.

“Whoa-no-no-no. Let me get this straight. You are implying the Doctor is out? As in, not in this building? Not anywhere I can meet with him, even though I have scheduled an {appointment}?” His face reddened and all that semblance of suave ways instantly vaporized.

“I am not implying. I am stating directly. If you have an issue, you may call the Doctor at this number,” the Receptionist sloppily scribbled a number down on a vibrant blue sticky note and thrust it at Gill.

“When should he get back to me?”

“He checks his work-related messages when he gets back into his office.”

I swear I could see steam leaking out of his ears. His teeth grated together. Hands clenched and tightened; that can’t be comfortable. He looked like a beet and while I pitied his situation, I couldn’t help but snort back a snicker. I looked around and felt a little awkward that I was the only one who was paying attention to the exchange. That girl was still absorbed in her book and the old folks were flirting with each other, Little Ricky in the middle. Poor kid.

Maybe eavesdropping is wrong, but hey, everyone’s doing it. It has been around for ages and it’s still in style. Or, maybe it never was in style. One of those two. Anyway, I couldn’t help it in this case. Gill looked like he was about to cause a real ruckus, who wouldn’t want to bear witness to that? And maybe he would have, too.

However, just before Gill was about to explode, I heard the door slam open with an excruciatingly loud {Ka-Thud}! The door swung into the doorstop and stayed open. {Nice dramatic flair}, I thought to myself. For such a dramatic display, whatever caused the door to fling open was certainly taking it’s time to flutter in. My heart fluttered with anticipation. That’s when I noticed the shadow.