Bernie held the forceps in his hand with a budding consideration. They were a gift from his best friend, who had modified them with black, adhesive rubber grip strips on the hand holds, contrasting the gleaming stainless finish. They felt heavy for their size and sparkled like day-one despite the considerable wear. They were his favorite tool. He flipped them onto the metal folding tray table which held the other implements; it clattered with the impact. He then thumped into his leather office chair, rolling back a few wheel-lengths with the momentum. Slumping over, he rested his forehead against his palms. If there was to be no peace of mind within his own sanctuary, where could he expect to find it?

Despite being in the basement of the building, his lab was well lit, clean, and carried no bacterial mustiness. In fact, it smelled of cedar and citrus, facilitated by well-positioned exposed cabinetry and an orange peel scented candle he had received as a gift from his sister-in-law. The lab was the size of a Starbucks, encompassing mostly open space, except for the dental procedure table, his oversized black oak office desk, a chair, and some here-and-there metal filing cabinets. Everything else was concealed behind the multitude of closet doors surrounding the room. A dark grey, concrete floor expanded beneath it all, glossed by the overhead fluorescent lighting.

Bernie had sunken so deeply into his malaise that he realized he was unaware of how much time had passed… Five minutes? Ten? Had he momentarily fallen asleep? There were two distinct stages to his returning to lucidity. The first of which was a mid-consciousness. He became aware of the mild discomfort being caused to his eyes and forehead behind the weight of his head pressing into his palms. He realized his feet, thighs and buttocks had fallen asleep due to his position in the chair.

Stage two – full-consciousness – was a sharper turn. A whimper came from the procedure table, then the sound of light jostling. That was followed by a louder, rhythmic and more intentional writhing. Finally, a muffled attempt at a cry or scream, abruptly jogged Bernie back to task. He stood and shifted from foot to foot to render out the prickly sensation, then stretched his muscular arms toward the ceiling, pushing up onto his toes then resettling. He worked his way over to the source