Dr Bethany Clary Novels & Stories

Alive. Beside her stood a younger Ethan Blackwood. Aria’s hand trembled as she touched the frame. “Why?” she whispered. “Why did you drag me into this?” A noise echoed from deeper inside—a metallic clang, faint but sharp. She turned. “Hello?” Silence. Then a voice. “You shouldn’t be here.” The Revelation Clara stepped out of the shadows. But she wasn’t wearing her jacket anymore. She was wearing a lab coat. And on her chest was a faded ID tag: Dr. Clara Voss – Silas Institute.

'It definitely is not Diana. "This is--" Ethan was surprised at the woman who approached their booth. She was dressed like she was going on a date. Her cleavage was showing, her skirt was very short that if she would bend down enough, you would be able to see her underwear. Ethan was not trying to imagine her doing so, but he felt aghast that she would show up dressed that way at a business meeting. "Oh. My name is Clara Holt. Please call me Clara. I am a Senior Laboratory Technician at Hopton Research Institute." Clara greeted Ethan shaking his hand, leaning towards him as he was already seated. Ethan had a full view of her cleavage.

Eventually, Bethany concluded that with these people, everything was necessary. “Thank you. I'm Claire,” she said, taking the handshake and shaking her firmly. Claire wasn't a big fan of handshakes so the many she was receiving were making her feel weird. “I’ve heard, everyone knows your name and with the great dancing moves you were dishing out here, I'm sure no one will forget your face soon after,” Bethany replied. Claire smiled, happy that the dance had gotten to Bethany. Bethany must have been infuriated by the dance moves and just tried to get the attention back by coming to dance with Ryan.

The person who sent seventeen readings calls on a Wednesday morning in June. Their name is Clara. She is thirty eight years old. She is a teacher in a secondary school in a northern city, and she has been carrying something alone for eight years that has nothing to do with financial methodology or criminal architecture or any of the specific content the archive documents. She lost a student.

All in all, she wanted to put the whole disagreeable episode behind her. Which was why today was such an important day to her. Rather remarkably she had been offered a role as a teaching assistant to the Head of Biology at Fannerly Batter, Mr. Forsythe, despite the fact she had absolutely no Biology qualifications whatsoever. In fact, Claire herself admitted, it would be fair to say her academic abilities had never been strong points in any respect: she had dropped out of school at the earliest opportunity. She liked to think she had a certain natural astuteness but she was hardly a profound thinker.

That was exactly the feeling. She didn't stop it or try to hold it back. Clara was a medical practitioner. She was a top-class nurse. A telemetry nurse. She was one who always allowed her body to have what it wanted while taking adequate precautions. As the urge got to its apex, she looked. Her mouth dropped. The sight took her breath away.

"What? Fuck no. I'm ruined for life thanks to you. He was just really apprehensive about me being there I guess." "Did he hit on you?" "No, Damon. He was just straightforward, making the rules clear." Bethany shrugged and ran her finger over her lips, enjoying the view of the sensual man of her dreams rubbing her feet. "What's his name? You know I went to school at UT as well, for my undergrad at least." "Dr. Kendal Tarrington. He teaches cost accounting." A smile lifted Damon's mouth, and Bethany sat up, pulling her legs from him. "You know him?"

I opened it and read through it. " Martha Hemsworth, former cheer captain at Brookdale high. Born in coastvile, age 23. Hmm, the bad girl Is 23 years old." I said and read through her document. " Stop reading her school file Riley." Bethany said, opening her closet. She saw a box that looked enchanted with shiny rocks. " What Is this?" Bethany asked. I stared at it dazed. She tried to open it with her hair pin but it didn't. Instead it bent out of shape.

I gathered my tablet and walked toward the executive wing, my chest tightening with every step. When I opened the door at 9:58, I stopped cold. Clara. At the head of the table. Not beside it. At it. Her navy suit hugged her perfectly. Hair pinned back, red lipstick, that calm, confident smile. My pulse thundered in my ears. For a moment, I wondered if I was hallucinating. Dr. Harlan gestured toward her as if unveiling a new research instrument. “Thalia, perfect timing. Ms. Clara Smith will be taking over primary oversight of Project Elara effective immediately.”

One day, after we finished her prenatal checkup–the baby was healthy, the heartbeat strong–I tried to let myself sink into the fragile joy of becoming a father. Holding her hand, I walked with her out of the hospital. Her phone rang again. It was Dr. Hayes, Adrian's new attending physician. "Dr. Miller, sorry to bother you. Adrian is strongly resisting treatment. He mentioned some details about his childhood abuse, things that only you know. It's crucial for the diagnosis. Could you possibly–" Clara stepped aside and lowered her voice, speaking for a long time. When she came back, her brows were tightly furrowed, and her expression strained.