Trinity

1

Shepherd caught his foot on the entry mat as he stepped into the cramped waiting room, making a ruckus that startled everyone inside. One man, seated in the corner, jumped at the sudden noise, spilling coffee down the front of his jacket.

Shutting the door against the cold, Shepard apologized to the room and sheepishly took an open seat. In an attempt to regain his cool, he started leafing through one of the magazines scattered on a nearby table, but quickly placed it back after seeing the title Cognitive Issues Quarterly in bold across the cover.

The man in the corner scowled at Shepherd, the aura surrounding his body taking on a dark gray tint. Blushing, Shepherd pretended not to notice, and preoccupied himself with watching the talk show playing on a nearby flat screen.

He didn't watch much TV at his apartment, but when he did, Shepherd always found himself feeling refreshed. Peoples' auras didn't show up on TV screens. It was just them; ordinary folks, looking like they used to. No trippy colors, no shimmering around their bodies, everything was as it should be.

A gangly woman sitting next to Shepherd began whispering to an empty chair as if someone were sitting there. Her hair was disheveled and smelled like cigarettes. She turned her frantic eyes toward Shepherd, who smiled slightly, trying to be polite. The woman chuckled wildly and went back to her conversation with the empty seat.

"You need to sign in, sir," said a familiar voice from the reception desk.

Shepherd cursed as he saw the source of the voice, Whitney Thompson, lazily filing her nails from behind the work station. Her aura was muddy brown, as it usually was, wavering slightly at the edges.

This was not good. Since when did she work at this place? Panic gripped his gut as he struggled to think up an excuse as to why he was here. How was he supposed to face her in French class after this? Whitney was one of the school's most reliable sources of gossip; would she tell everyone that she'd seen him here?

Oh, get over it, Shepherd thought to himself, there's nothing you can do. You've got other things to worry about, focus on what's important.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and approached the reception desk.

As he filled out his insurance information, Whitney looked up from her nails, jumping as she recognized him.

"Oh my God, Shep? I didn't even know that was you, what are you doing here?"

Before he could respond Whitney snorted, saying, "Oh, damn, don't answer that. I'm not supposed to ask. My bad. Well, take a seat, Dr. T will be with you soon."

Shepherd sat back down next to the whispering lady, who started cackling as if the seat she was talking to had cracked a joke. After five long minutes, Dr. Thomas emerged from the back hallway. Her aura was a pretty, pale green that was always soothing to look at. She flashed white teeth at Shepherd and led him back to her office. Once inside, she led him to an elongated plush chair that sank as he sat down, engulfing him in it's warmth.

"It's good to see you again, Shepherd," Dr. Thomas said, taking a seat. "How's your week been?"

"It's been good," he said, "thanks for asking. How's yours?"

"I'm fine Shepherd," she said smiling, "but let's focus on you. Have you noticed any changes this past week? Any improvement since we last met?"

Shepherd shuffled in his seat. He had only been here a few times but he always found it extremely unpleasurable. Dr. Thomas was great, that wasn't the issue, he just hated having to let her down each time. Socializing was hard enough, and talking about himself was only more difficult for some reason. There had been absolutely zero improvement. The medicine should've been working by now, shouldn't it?