Dr Doofenshmirtz Novels & Stories

"Suicide. Single gunshot to the head. Hotel room at the Veritas. My people found him twenty minutes ago. He was already cold." “At least he was thorough. And saved me the trouble of testifying.” "He left a note." "What kind of note?" "A confession. Handwritten, notarized yesterday." He spoke in short bursts, each word precise and hard. "Insurance fraud, patient murders, conspiracy to commit murder." "And a partner. Dr. Richard Chen.” My hands went numb. "Who?" "Dr. Richard Chen. Chief of Internal Medicine at Boston Memorial. Your old colleague." Dr. Chen. My mentor. The man who'd recommended me for residency, who'd praised my work.

"Is something wrong?" "I received an interesting piece of information today," Dante said, closing the distance between them slowly, deliberately. "A phone call. Ninety seconds. Made from your private line to a number connected to a man calling himself Marchetti." *** The silence that followed stretched long enough that I found myself holding my breath, watching Marco's carefully composed expression for any sign of the crack we'd been searching for all week. It came slowly, not as dramatic collapse but as quiet, exhausted surrender — the particular defeat of a man who'd spent years maintaining a performance finally allowing himself to stop.

My husband, Nathan Sidney, is the top doctor in the municipal hospital. However, he refuses to treat my stepsister, Jessica Jepson. He tells me that it's because Jessica's mother, Janice Ferguson, is Dad's mistress, which makes Jessica a mistress' daughter. They don't deserve to be treated by him because they're the ones responsible for tearing my family apart. During a family get-together, we play the "Have You or Haven't You" game. When it's my turn, I confidently say, "I've been treated by Nathan. You haven't." Jessica smiles and pulls out a medical report from her pocket. "Sorry, Cassie. You've lost." Nathan's signature is penned on the report. As I clutch the medical report, I

Beam said worriedly. Hearing this, Joe finally snapped out of his confusion and then stared intently at Bono. "You fool! It's the opposite. That arrogant young man was actually telling the truth." Joe said with a worried look on his fierce face. Beam's eyes widened, "Sir? Are you sure? You-" "The doctor confirmed it. That damn young man ... he really knew that I had intestinal problems, and do you know what the doctor said? He ... said that I had been cured with an operation. An operation. Did you hear that?" Joe said with a strange look on his face.

She showed me everything. The shelf of animals and their individual names and personalities. The drawings on the wall, each one explained in detail, that one was Button in the garden, that one was Daddy at work which was why he looked so serious, that one was a princess but not a regular princess, a princess who also knew karate.

“You insolent fool! The apostle of Dazzle, the Witch Doctor, is the king of traditional medicine, also known as the Immortal Doctor. The Immortal Doctor can never be disrespected. Consider yourself lucky that I only gave you a slap!” Jim clutched his face and looked on in horror.

“Just as long as you promise homeboy over there ain’t plannin’ on rammin’ my bumper.” I repeat the same inane laughter and pinch him on the cheek. “You’re so funny, sugar. No, believe me, Bobby’s like one-hundred percent hetero. Like, trust me, I’ve tried to talk him into a MFM, but he won’t even do it with me as the meat in the buns. Hehehehe!” This seems to appease Doofus’ doubts, and I start leading him back to the room—the motel desk clerk is visibly relieved to be rid of this extremely awkward conversation, and I certainly can’t blame him.

- I analyze it. - You are a... - Yes, I am a doctor. Orthopedist. - He doesn't let me complete the question. - You have neither the face nor the manner of a doctor. - I sneer. - Since when does a professional have to look like the profession he or she practices? With that loose tongue, you don't look like a lawyer either. - she shrugs. I laugh. - I deserved that. I'll get the ice. - I mention to get up, but he stops me.

I said, glancing at the stack of files waiting for me. "He claimed it was urgent." I went quiet. Sandra had never exaggerated anything in her entire time working with me. If she considered something urgent, then it probably was. "Let him in," I finally said. I ended the call and immediately shifted back into the version of myself everyone knew. Dr. Karma Kuntz. Calm, Controlled, and Untouchable. I sat behind my desk and waited. A soft knock sounded at the door. "Come in." The man who stepped inside looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. There were lines around his face, the kind that came from years of stress rather than age. His expression was neutral, almost deliberately so.