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I’ve often felt that dreams are answers to questions we haven’t yet figured out how to ask.
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“Spare some change, sir?”
Nigel Kingsley looked down at the crumpled heap in the dark doorway and sneered. The disgust he felt for the woman looking up at him with her grimy face was unparalleled. Leaning on his walking cane, something he never left home without, Kingsley considered spiting in the tramp’s face, but at the last moment he decided to have some fun with her instead. The night was still young and at his age he deserved some satisfaction from life.
Doctor King had run his own psychiatry practice for almost seventeen years; his graying temples could vouch for the truth in this. He had seen many things, the frightening, the bewildering and the downright absurd, but he had learned to view his cases objectively. The key to maintaining your sanity was not to get personally involved, to detach yourself when you leave the office along with his patients and their problems. He had learned this lesson the hard way and had no intention of repeating his past mistakes.
Such thoughts were running through his mind when his office door began to shake in its fame as though the person on the other side had vandalism in mind instead of simply getting his attention. Sighing deeply, King walked across the small office and opened the door.
Nancy Simons had been the start of it; the birth of The Jury and the beginning of his new life. She was such a delicate creature with shoulder-length hair, puppy-dog eyes and delectable smile. He had met her in a bar in George Town several months after Vicky had left taking the kids with her. With wily gaze of a man who no longer cares about anything, he ordered another Jack Daniels. The fuzziness that intoxication created was the only respite he got these days, and as temporary as the condition was, the numbness that it created during its short reign over his emotions was enough to keep him breathing.
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