The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

“Have a seat, Mr Costner. What brings you into the clinic today?” William Costner didn’t appear to be a man who was used to looking so unsure of himself. He was a burly man in his late forties, and Dr. Winter could see the scars on his hands from a life spent working. As he sat there in his plaid work shirt and wrangler jeans, she thought he looked a little like Burt Reynolds, though definitely less handsome and more plain faced. She had done her research, she knew that Mr. Costner owned a large ranch between Cashmere and Gainesville. She also knew that he supplied a lot of beef to the area, meaning his was not some small-scale operation. His bill had been paid with a check, and he hadn’t put down an insurance company, though she knew he had one. He had chosen to come to her instead of going to a therapist in his hometown. Mr. Costner was afraid that people would talk if they knew he had seen a “head shrinker” or whatever he called her in his head. Despi...

“I just don’t think I can live with this. I need it gone, or it’ll drive me to drink.” Dr. Winter tapped the edge of a spoon against the tea cup, and the sound it made was like a clarion bell. She brought the cup over to the man sitting across from her, taking him in with a study to glance. He was different from her usual clientele. The man looked as if his demons were far behind him, all save this one thing he couldn’t quite exercise. He wore a crisp, white button up shirt, was clean shaven, and looked as though he had a handle on his life. He looked as though he ran most mornings, perhaps hit the gym for more than three months out of the year, and other than his eyes, which roved like a scared horses, he seemed very well put together. That was likely a smoke screen for the problems that lay beneath surface, however. “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Turner?” “It was something that happened almost 10 years ago,” Mr. Turner said, taking a si...

"Mr. Pate, how are you today?" The man sitting across from her looked like he was doing quite poorly. Calling him a man might have been generous, Dr. Winter saw. He was a large teen, probably still in high school, but his face bore the look worn by inmates on death row. Though filled with melancholy, he had none of the trappings that usually accompanied children in their late teens. His arms bore none of the self-harm scars Winter usually found. He wasn't festooned in dark colors or piercings, and even his haircut was unassuming. Still, something seemed to hang around him like a smog cloud, and Winter was curious to find out what it was. "I've had a pretty unique childhood, and there are some things I'd like to get rid of. I've talked to people who say you're legit, and I'm hoping you can help me. Winter nodded, rising as she made him a cup of the tea. Winter cherry, ginseng, and something known on...

"Juliet, send in my eleven thirty." "Yes, Doctor Winter." Pamella Winters sat back, tapping her pen on her steno pad as Mrs. Janet Welch came through the door. She glanced around fearfully, looking at the small office as if expecting to see medieval torture devices. So many came into her office expecting to see alchemic devices or sci-fi equipment, but Doctor Winter was a woman of science. She supposed, however, that when you saw a place called Doctor Winter's Forgetfulness Clinic, you had certain expectations beyond a board-certified therapist in a cloudy gray pantsuit. Doctor Winter had seven, one for each day of the week, and Johan kept them pressed for her so they would look nice when she needed them. Johan was dear, and Pamella was lucky to have her. "So, Mrs. Welch," Doctor Winter began. "Please, call me Janet. Everyone just calls me Janet." "Very well. Janet, wha...