Dr No Novels & Stories

p “I shall take my leave then” I stood to leave before stopping at the door. “Doctor…” “Yes?” “Is there any way I can contact him?” His brows pulled together. “No.” I frowned. “No?” “We don’t have his personal number.” “What about his assistant?” “He rarely keeps the same staff for long.” “His address?” He shook his head. “Nobody knows.” I stared at him in disbelief. “How is that possible?” “He values his privacy more than anything.” Dr. Harris smiled helplessly.

Except one. Dawn.

His body arched off the table. Nothing. "Again! Clear!" This time the monitor beeped. Irregular, but there. I exhaled and my hands finally started shaking. The door opened and a woman walked in. Tall, elegant, wearing heels that cost more than my rent. "Dr. Rosabella Romano. Neurosurgeon." Her eyes scanned the wound. "L1 vertebra. Clean stabilization work. You know what you're doing." "Can you fix it?" "Here? No. But I can prevent further damage until we relocate him.

Adrian replied with a sigh. "A doctor? What's the name of this doctor?" Bran asked, interested in the story. "One mysterious Dr. C." Adrian replied, still feeling disappointed at the rejection he received. "The only thing I know about her is that she's a female. Every other detail hads been kept from the public. " Dr. C. The name sounds familiar..." Bran looked at the ceiling wondering where he'd heard the name before. "She's the doctor everyone has been raving about. The doctor who has never lost a patient." Adrian prodded.

She snapped her head toward me and shouted sourly, "He's calling you, didn't you hear?" When I got up to leave, she deliberately bumped into me on her way past before storming off. I could not be bothered to argue, so I simply followed Nathaniel downstairs. Like a gentleman, he opened the car door for me. Once we were both seated, he finally began making small talk. "Jennifer Knox, it's been so many years since we last met." His hand on the steering wheel was trembling slightly from nerves. I blinked and said, "Yes, it's really been a long time."

And yet… I’m tempted. I try to put it all out of my mind as I walk up the front steps to the office building. I have no idea what to expect here, or who. There wasn’t much information when I searched for D.R. River online. Ironclaw was described as a privately run family enterprise, but he had no bio or picture anywhere to be found. I’m guessing he’s one of those old men who don’t want anything to do with the internet.

Some said that Dawn died, but no bodies matched his best friend’s description for obvious reasons. Drumming his fingers on the bar counter with acrylic nails clacking rhythmically, the gay man sighed. He polished all the glass that needed polishing, and there weren’t many customers that needed serving. None of these new faces was his type either, and the bar mama felt restless. Why hasn’t Dawn contacted him yet? Was he still in danger?

I sat with my notebook in my lap and my hands folded over it and kept my breathing even. A man in a dark suit stepped out of the elevator bank and crossed the lobby toward the reception desk. He spoke briefly to the woman behind the counter. She pointed in my direction. He looked at me and then he crossed to where I was sitting. "Miss Arande." I stood. "Mr. Donovan is not available today," he said, his voice professionally flat. "However his office has asked me to inform you that your note has been received." I held his gaze and nodded once.

he asked, with a hint of impatience. “He should be awake any moment from now, sir; all his vitals are okay, and he's not in danger. I can wake him up if you're in a hurry,” Dr. Martin answered respectfully. He had come to know after being with Mr. Jones for a while, that, even though he may look like a calm, peace loving person, he wasn't one to be trifled with.

“Hi, I’m Harriet Stenet, your donor liaison.” Amaija Klein. This is Brin and Zara.” She nods, focusing on me. “So, Ms. Klein, I’d like to jump right in if that’s okay?” “I’m ready to jump,” I say. “Great. Do you have a preference for the donor’s race?” “Race doesn’t matter.” “Age?” “Age doesn’t matter either.” “Education?” “I’m pretty smart, so the kid’s got a good shot with half my DNA,” I say, not wanting to rule out anyone over a fancy degree.