I reached my destination: the fifth floor, door number 315. I knocked on the door, and a very grumpy voice from the inside ushered me in.
I struggled to open the door with my hands full, but managed at last. I walked in and found a grey-haired man, whom I presumed was Dr. Alfred, seated behind his desk, his glasses hugging his nose.
He seemed to be in his late sixties, but looked so strong. His face was cold, the kind of expression doctors often wear—no smile. Just seriousness.
His office was bigger, but it did not feel warm like Dr. Aldrich’s. It was cold and quiet and smelled like disinfectant.
“Good morning,” I greeted.
Silence was all I got in response, and his eyes scanned me like I was some kind of case study.
“I am Dr. Leylla Marie Monroe, and I assume you are Dr. Alfred…”
“S
