Life on the line

It wasn’t long before I heard the quick, hesitant knock at the door. I rushed over, opening it to see Dr. Whitman standing there, still looking like he was half asleep, his shirt buttoned wrong and hair a mess. He had a bag slung over one shoulder and a look of pure confusion on his face. I almost laughed at the sight—he looked as disoriented as I felt.

“Doctor,” I whispered, stepping aside to let him in. He blinked a few times, probably trying to process everything, ...