After Helen and Rita left, I quickly showered and enjoyed the feeling of warm water cascading down my body, washing away the stress of the day. Once clean and refreshed, I loaded my therapy equipment bag into my white SUV. Feeling the weight of the bag in my hands, I hoisted it up and into the back seat. I had only one patient scheduled for the day because of the hike I had planned with Janie.
Hank Johnson, a sixty-seven-year-old male, lived a few miles outside of Defiance, a neighboring town to the west of Shotgun. His gray modular had green shutters on each side of the windows and sat on a decent sized lot. Three steps led to a tan wooden door with a single beveled glass diamond-shaped window. A red ATV and a white diesel pickup truck rested in the concrete driveway leading to the house
