September 2009 — Dead Teenagers at Make-out Point

by Scott Wilson

Doctor Graham sat behind his antique rosewood desk playing thoughtfully with his thick grey moustache. The brass plaque on the door of his surgery stated he was a psychiatrist, although he stopped helping his patients ten years ago.

“Let’s go over the records, shall we?” the tall, slender gentleman sitting across the desk from Graham said.

Graham opened a thick accounting ledger and slid his finger down the page until he reached the most current entry.

“I have the total at seventy-five now,” he said.

The gentleman produced a small pocket diary from his coat pocket and licked his finger, then flicked through it casually.

“I’m sorry to say that the tally is actually still at seventy.”

“What are you talking about?”

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