I was stuck in a Christmas dream as imagined by the great Charles Dickens, and the further I fell into the soul of Ebenezer Scrooge, the more I pitied him. Suddenly there was a piercing ring. Its persistence caught my attention. A phone that rings in the middle of the night is never a good sign.
My concentration broken, I marked my place in Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.”
I answered the phone. Faintly I heard a whispered, “Dr. Joe, this is Charlie Kamar. I need your help.”
I sensed that I was his last Hail Mary. Charlie is a friend; there’d be no hesitation to help.
“Meet you tomorrow at Penelope’s, 8 a.m. I’ll explain,” he said.
“I’ll be there, Charlie!”
My dear reader, before you enter the web I weave, kindly note that this is a fictional story, a very dark story. Please indulge my poetic license and proceed at your own risk. There is a method to my madness and I can only hope that you will see my point.