by Robin Ray
***
Dr. Scott, smartly attired in a well-pressed Gabardine suit, is standing on the front porch of a lovely, pink two-story Colonial home in Boca Raton; his medical bag is at his side. With his back to the door, he gazes out at the palm-covered scenery. A woman in her late 40’s opens the door from inside. Turning, he removes his hat, shakes her hand, grabs his bag, and walks in.
The woman leads Dr. Scott up the stairs to a quiet, dimly lit room where her young teenage son is lying ill in bed. Covered with blankets up to his neck, he is pale in appearance.
After showing Dr. Scott in, she exits. Dr. Scott presses his ear to the door and silently locks it. Then, removing a small brown bottle of chloroform from his jacket, he turns to face the boy.
***
Dr. Scott awakens suddenly from his bothersome dream and looks around. Startled and perspiring, he seems relieved to be lying on the island’s crest next to Grace and Silverleaf. Reclining on his back, he folds his arms behind his head and gazes at the stars, a look of sullen worry tattooed on his face.
