Chapter 2
Lorian
I stare at the sign above the converted Victorian building, the fresh paint gleaming in the morning light.
Saltford Bay Medical Clinic
This is mine. My clinic. My new life begins this morning, on the other side of those doors.
I look down at my watch. It's precisely eight a.m. I am on time, as always. Not a minute earlier or later than I planned. Punctuality is the foundation of professionalism, after all. My first day as the sole doctor of the sole medical clinic in the small town of Saltford Bay is about to begin.
It’s what I want, I tell myself as my hand closes on the door handle. It’s what I deserve.
I watch my own reflection on the glass, floating behind the name of the old proprietor of the clinic. I’ll have to change this soon. It’s not a professional image I want to perpetuate.
But it’s a perfect illustration of my situation. A blurry reflection behind someone else’s name.
Get on with it, man. I shake my head. You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it.
Another moment of hesitation passes as I focus on the woman moving on the other side of the glass door. Mrs. Beckham, my head nurse and receptionist, is already bustling about the reception desk.
My jaw clenches involuntarily. This isn't how I wanted to start. I'd planned to arrive before anyone else, to survey my domain in solitude.
It doesn’t matter.
When I push the door open, a small bell jingles cheerfully above my head.
"Dr. Reizenhart!" Mrs. Beckham straightens, a broad smile spreading across her face. Her amber eyes flash with an unnatural brightness that betrays her werewolf heritage. Well, partly. She’s also half-human.
I know all this about her because I took the time to memorize her employee file this morning.
"I was just getting everything ready for your first day. "
I step inside and immediately regret it. The assault on my senses is bold and unwelcome.
Lavender. Cinnamon. And something else, something distinct that makes my nose wrinkle involuntarily. I inhale deeply, my jaw tightening as I scan the waiting room.
Candy. The place smells like candy.
I cast a glance around the small waiting room and stifle a growl.
The walls are painted a bright shade of sunshine yellow with pale-blue trim.
Crayon drawings line every available surface, crude depictions of what I assume are patients and the previous doctor, a white-bearded human with an unnaturally large smile.
Toy boxes overflow with stuffed animals and blocks.
A reading nook is stacked with children's books about bodies and germs, with titles like The Monster Inside Me Is Just a Cold and Why Do Werewolves Sneeze?
This is not a medical facility. This is a kindergarten art gallery.
“Isn’t it just wonderful?” Mrs. Beckham chimes from behind me, misinterpreting my silence as curiosity rather than horror. “Dr. Wells believed that a medical facility should be welcoming to patients of all ages.”
I watch her diminutive figure coming to stand next to me. She worries her knuckles, rubbing over them in an almost obsessive gesture.
"Especially the little ones. They're always so frightened of doctors."
I move to the toy box, lifting out a stuffed unicorn with suspicious stains on its horn.
"These are potential germ vectors," I state, dropping it into the box with the drawings. "Not to mention safety hazards."
Mrs. Beckham flutters closer, her tiny hands reaching for a wooden puzzle. "But the toys help distract the younger patients during wait times. Especially the nervous ones."
I turn away from the toy box and its offensive content and walk to the reception desk. There, too, is unacceptable clutter. Figurines with enlarged, wobbly heads litter the surface along with what can only be described as perpetually dancing flowers.
Ridiculous.
"Medicine isn't meant to be comfortable," I reply, running a finger along the reception desk and finding it impeccably clean.
"It's meant to be effective. A proper medical environment inspires confidence through order and cleanliness. It’s not meant for arts and crafts hour. It's about making them well."
Mrs. Beckham's smile doesn't falter, but something in her eyes hardens slightly.
"In my thirty years working for Dr. Wells, I found it could be both." She straightens a stack of paperwork on the desk. "The children of Saltford Bay particularly loved the stickers he gave out after vaccinations."
"I don't do stickers."
"So you mentioned in your email." She picks up a clipboard and her lips pinch. "Perhaps you'd like to see the examination rooms? I've prepared everything according to your specifications."
I nod curtly, following her down a hallway equally festooned with childish artwork and motivational posters featuring cartoon germs being vanquished by soap bubbles.
The atmosphere is warm, lived-in, and utterly unprofessional.
This simply won't do. It will all have to go. A medical facility should inspire confidence and respect.
The sooner I can transform this daycare center into something resembling a proper clinic, the better.
"The supply order you requested arrived yesterday," Mrs. Beckham continues and I can’t help but appreciate her professionalism. "Everything is stocked exactly as you specified. Though I did take the liberty of ordering more treats for the children. It makes a difference, believe me."
I stop in my tracks.
"Treats in a doctor’s office?" The words taste bitter on my tongue.
“Yes, Doctor.” Mrs. Beckham turns, meeting my gaze without flinching. “This is Saltford Bay, not the High Court.”
"And I am not Dr. Wells," I remind her coolly. "This is my clinic now."
"Of course." She inclines her head slightly, but her amber eyes flash. "And it’s now your responsibility to care for this community. All of them, quirks and all."
I want to argue, to explain that I didn't come to this town to peddle candies and placebo effects. I came to practice real medicine. Medicine that’s based on science and facts.
I want to tell Mrs. Beckham that, but something in her gaze gives me pause. This woman has been the backbone of this clinic for three decades. Alienating her on my first day would be… inefficient.
"I'll review the inventory," I concede stiffly. "And we will continue with the treats and toys on a temporary basis only. Please advise the patients that I will only give sugary treats to children under certain conditions. And always reluctantly."
A small, satisfied smile crosses her face.
"Wonderful. Now, shall we continue the tour? I think you'll be quite pleased with the equipment."
As she leads the way, I cast one last glance at the childish artwork lining the walls. This place is so different from the High Court; I can hardly believe someone actually managed to practice medicine here. Yes, it will have to change.
But not all at once. Even I know this wouldn’t go well with the patients. Or with Mrs. Beckham.
The people of Saltford Bay want a doctor who will coddle them with stickers and herbal teas? Well, they're about to learn what real medicine looks like.
And if they don't like it, they're welcome to find another physician.
Though, as Mrs. Beckham pointedly reminded me during our correspondence, I'm the only one within fifty miles. It doesn’t take long for us to finish the visit and for Mrs. Beckham to show me to Dr. Wells’ old office. I’m unreasonably happy when she finally leaves me alone.
I sit behind the wide oak desk, noticing the warm worn surface. This is where my predecessor sat for five decades, caring for the patients of this small, sleepy town.
And I’m stepping in his shoes, like it or not.
I settle into the office and read through the patient files for the appointments of the day. At least and despite his poor taste in professional office decor, Dr. Wells kept an immaculate record of his patients’ medical history.
An hour passes while I catch up with the files for my patients until Mrs. Beckham pokes her head inside the office door.
“Your first patient is here, Dr. Reizenhart.” Her lips purse in a warm smile. "Becky Boulderbrook is very eager to meet the new doctor in town!"
I thank the nurse and get up to put on my white coat, then head over to the examination room. My patient sits on the narrow cot, smiling broadly as I enter the room.
She's a young troll woman, her gray-green skin sporting a healthy glow despite her obvious discomfort. Her belly protrudes prominently beneath her floral maternity dress, and her curly brown hair flows all the way to her waist. She winces as she leans back, rubbing a hand on her distended stomach.
"Good morning. I'm Doctor Lorian Reizenhart."
We shake hands and I flip open her chart.
"Ms. Boulderbrook, I see you're experiencing some back pain."
"It's been awful." She shifts uncomfortably on the crinkly paper. "I can barely sleep, and nothing I try seems to help. I can't stand over ten minutes at a time before the pain gets too much to handle. I can't very well lie down all day!"
I smile and nod as I examine her and her baby, then proceed to declare them both in perfect health. A few questions later, I'm certain of my diagnosis.
As she sits back, helped by Nurse Beckham, I pull out her chart and make notes in her file.
"Back pain is a common complication of pregnancy, especially in trolls and particularly in the third trimester." I nod to her belly. "Your species' bone density combined with the weight distribution of the fetus creates excessive lumbar pressure."
"My bone density?" Becky Boulderbrook blinks at me, her yellow eyes widening slightly. "What am I supposed to do about this? It's not like I can change it."
Her bright smile falters as I grunt noncommittally. I snap her file shut.
"I'll prescribe an anti-inflammatory suitable for trolls in gestation. It may result in lower birth weight, but it’s worth the risk." I pull out my prescription pad. "Limit standing to fifteen-minute intervals. Return if symptoms worsen."