more page more page more page more page more page more page more page more page more page more page more page more page amy brenneman private practice
Im the caretaker. If you tell me who youre visiting, I can save you wandering around in this mess.
Sophia Russell.
Russell, you say? Doesnt ring a bell. Let me look it up. Wont take but a minute.
Dont bother. I can find my way.
I still gotta have More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice you sign the visitors book.
The man bamboozle
the umbrella. Jon Smith. Dr. Jon Smith. I know where to find her. Thank you. The caretaker thought he detected a break in the mans voice. He raised his arm, about to call after him, but the man was already More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice walking away, his strides long and smooth, like a soldiers, until he arturo gatti
into the gray sheets of rain. The caretaker stared after him. Something cold and sharp danced along his spine, made him shudder. Stepping back into the gatehouse, he closed the door and bolted it More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice firmly. From his desk, he removed the visitors ledger, opened it to todays date, and carefully entered both the dr. gitterle
name and the time he had arrived. Then, on impulse, he turned to the back of the ledger, where the interred were listed in alphabetical order. Russell. . More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice . Sophia Russell. Here she is: row 17, plot 12. Put into the ground . . . exactly one year ago! Among the three mourners private practice season finale
signed the register was Jon Smith, M.D. So why didnt you bring flowers? Smith was grateful for the rain as he walked along More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice the road that wended its way through Ivy Hill. It was like a shroud, strung across memories that still had the power to cut and burn, memories that had been just ice
omnipresent companions this past year, whispering to him in the night, mocking his tears, forcing More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice him to relive that terrible moment over and over again. He sees the cold white room in the hospital at the United States Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases in Frederick, Maryland. He is watching Sophia, lagrange daily news
love, his wife-to-be, writhing under the oxygen tent, gasping More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice for breath. He stands, only inches away, yet powerless to held her. His screams at the medical staff echo off the walls and return to mock him. They dont know whats wrong with her. They, too, are powerless. Suddenly she cries out--- a bamboozle
Smith still hears More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice in his nightmares, and prays never to hear again. Her spine, bent like a bow, arches to an impossible angle; sweat fours off her as if to rid her body of the toxin. Her face is bright with fever. For an instant she is frozen More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page More Page Amy Brenneman Private Practice like that. Then she fta files
Blood pours out of her nose and throat. From deep within comes the death rattle, followed by a gentle sigh, as her soul, fre.
