Without remorse, my alarm announced the arrival of seven AM. Seven would have been sleeping in two years ago. Two years ago, I lived in Maumelle, a 20 to 30-minute drive to my practice in downtown Little Rock, depending on traffic. But now, living in a loft directly over my clinic, seven arrived earlier each day. The seven & sevens I knocked back at McKeen\u2019s last night weren\u2019t making it any rosier. I flopped an arm to the other half of the bed without opening my eyes. It returned the same report it always did\u2014no Alexis. ***<\/p>\n Around eleven, I pulled a new chart\u2014a work-in. I knocked and opened the exam room door. \u201cHi, I\u2019m Dr. Napier. What can I do for you?\u201d ***<\/p>\n I trudged upstairs after my last patient of the day, unlocked my door, and paused. Sally\u2019s door looked different. That could only mean\u2014 ***<\/p>\n Staying on the well-lit sidewalk and peering into alleys as I passed, I made tracks down to McKeen\u2019s bar, where I\u2019d be safe. I was well-known there, which either made me a beloved patron or a terrible alcoholic\u2014likely both. ***<\/p>\n I walked down the ramp into the darkness and groped the chain to the hanging bulb overhead. The temperature plunge rippled gooseflesh up my arm. I tipped the keg and slid the handcart underneath. It came down with a thud, followed by another sound\u2014a fainter one, but one sound too many. I turned to see the light from the hanging bulb gleam off John Smith\u2019s dentured grin. [Image Credit :<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>I stood groggy-eyed in my bathroom, replenishing the Earth with last night\u2019s fluids, my best effort at recycling. I zombie-walked into my loft\u2019s tiny living room\/kitchenette to make myself a cup of ambition and burned my finger on a match lighting the gas stove. With the coffee going, I spied a box of Sugarfield Sugar Cookies on the counter. I raised an eyebrow\u2019s worth of breakfast hope, but it was empty. I chunked it at the trashcan, knocking it over and spraying my floor with beer cans, banana peels, and coffee grounds.
+++++<\/span>I scanned the fridge. A half-eaten lemon-glazed bundt cake sat on the rack below a spoiled bottle of milk. \u201cWinner-winner,\u201d I mumbled, grabbing a dirty fork from the sink. After a cursory rinse, I stabbed it into the cake and got a crunchier sound than bundt cake ought to have. I picked off the green spots and dunked a piece into my coffee.
+++++<\/span>Standing at my loft\u2019s window, I sipped nasty coffee and stared at the April morning. 1952 Little Rock stared back.
+++++<\/span>I glanced a moment at the bareness of my tiny kitchen table. There\u2019d be no birthday cake when I returned up the stairs after work, no one to light candles, no one to sing, no wife to kiss, no rug rats excited that Daddy\u2019s home. I\u2019d had none of those things for two long years\u2014not since my arrival.
+++++<\/span>Freshly showered and dressed in coat and tie, I opened my front door and stepped onto the landing overlooking the clinic below. I heard the patients checking in downstairs, a full day\u2019s work ahead. My gaze turned longingly to the loft door opposite mine, just as it had every morning since Sally had left. I closed my eyes and inhaled, but after four months, her lingering combination of cigarettes and perfume had vanished, just as she had.
+++++<\/span>I rubbed my temples, reliving the shouting match we\u2019d had. She\u2019d gone out of her way to make me feel welcome, not just as my clinic receptionist but as my best friend since I\u2019d landed here in 1950. She\u2019d wanted more from the get-go, but I\u2019d kept her at arm\u2019s length. Like everyone else in this decade, Sally had no idea I had a wife, two kids, and a laminated Blockbuster card dated 2004.
+++++<\/span>Secrecy had been my go-to strategy. Thrust over half a century into the past without friends, family, or cash; the less you say, the better. How I\u2019d gotten here, how we\u2019d met, and how I\u2019d been able to practice without a license was a long story, a novel unto itself. But none of it mattered today. Today, everything was lost\u2014not just Sally, but my family back in 2004 as my last-ditch effort to travel home had failed. There was nothing left to do but soldier on. Go see patients. Another joyous day of figuring out how to be a 1950\u2019s eye doctor without antibiotics, steroids, lasers, or anything useful. Head hung low, I descended the turns of the black iron spiral staircase into the circular depths of the inferno. If I\u2019d actually read Dante back in college instead of putting the moves on my girlfriend\u2019s roommate, I might have gotten the metaphor.
+++++<\/span>A pot-bellied forty-two-year-old met me at the bottom of the stairs. \u201cYou look like death warmed over,\u201d Ronny said, handing me two aspirin and a glass of water.
+++++<\/span>\u201cShut up.\u201d I downed the pills, followed by the chaser. \u201cAnd thanks for the cure-alls.\u201d I rubbed my head. \u201cI\u2019d kill for a mocha and a Pop-Tart right now\u2014and it\u2019d be justifiable homicide.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ronny squinted. \u201cWhat the heck\u2019s a Pop-Tart?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cPure Heaven in tinfoil.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He shook his head. \u201cYou\u2019re an odd man. If anyone ever tells you different, they\u2019re just being nice. By the way, happy birthday. How old are you, anyway?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I shrugged. \u201cNegative 19.\u201d I rubbed my head again. The truth hurt as much as the math.
+++++<\/span>Ronny\u2019s eyes lit up. \u201cHey, man, check this out.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I held up a hand. \u201cDude, I told you, no more pictures of your dog. Don\u2019t care that your momma knitted you guys matching sweaters.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ronny huffed, \u201cThat wasn\u2019t it, smart-ass.\u201d He subtly pushed his dog photos back into his pocket. \u201cCheck out the dude across the street.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I closed my eyes. \u201cLeave me alone, man. I\u2019ve got a massive hangover and patients to disappoint.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ronny sighed. \u201cMelvin, you\u2019ve moped around for the last two years and haven\u2019t been on a single date, except with Sally, which we both know weren\u2019t date-dates.\u201d
+++++<\/span>My eyes perked up. \u201cHave you heard from her?\u201d
+++++<\/span>He shook his head. \u201cShe\u2019s gone. You need to move on, man. Get out there.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cLeave me alone.\u201d I turned, but Ronny grabbed my arm and pointed to the window.
+++++<\/span>\u201cSeriously, check out the guy in the dark green sedan. I swear he was there yesterday, too. And look at the butts below his car. He\u2019s gone through a pack and a half.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I squinted out the window, recalling my run-ins with the Arkansas Medical Licensing Committee and the Detroit Mafia\u2014one of which gave me grave concern. \u201cWho do you think he is?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDunno, but I don\u2019t like it. I\u2019m going to go ask him.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I planted a hand on Ronny\u2019s chest. \u201cHold up, partner. Have you never<\/i> heard a Jim Croce song?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Ronny pushed my hand away. \u201cWho?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThe guy who preaches not to mess with strangers. Let it go. Besides, don\u2019t you have work to do, fitting glasses, convincing customers they look great in overpriced frames?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cIf a doctor I know would prescribe a pair every once in a while, then yeah, I would.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>The man folded a leg across his lap, wrinkling his worn brown suit, a suit not too flashy and not too cheap, one that could disappear in a crowd, the white Honda Accord of 1950s men\u2019s wear. \u201cJust a check-up. Worked here long?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I shrugged. \u201cA little while.\u201d The man seemed friendly enough, but there was something off-putting. I noted the nicotine stains on his fingers. Nothing strange about that in this decade. Maybe he smelled, but after two years here, I\u2019d become nose blind to cigarettes. \u201cWhat kind of work do you do, Mister\u201d\u2014I scanned his one-page chart\u2014\u201cJohn Smith?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat\u2019s that got to do with an eye exam?\u201d Smith asked with a thin smile.
+++++<\/span>I smiled back. \u201cA man\u2019s work affects the body. Body affects the eyes.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith gave a cold, hard stare. \u201cI do a little of this, a little of that. I see you\u2019ve got a new receptionist.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThat\u2019s true.\u201d I checked his vision.
+++++<\/span>Smith\u2019s eyes trained on my hands as I reached behind the exam chair and tilted him back. I grabbed a bottle from my desk and hovered over Smith. \u201cJust going to give you a little\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>He clamped my arm. \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I showed him the bottle. \u201cIt\u2019s 4% cocaine. It\u2019ll numb your eye for this test. Trust me, you want it.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith released his grip and settled back into the chair. \u201cA little coke? Sure. Let me know if you\u2019ve got leftovers when we\u2019re done.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I pulled a shiny silver tonometer from a small wooden box and placed it on each eye, adding tiny weights to measure his eye pressure, then tilted him back up. \u201cNo problems there,\u201d I said. I wheeled the slit lamp table toward his chair. \u201cHow did you know about the receptionist? Isn\u2019t this your first time here?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith flashed a grin of dentures, a grin not old enough for loss from tooth decay. \u201cBrought my mom here a while back. Your last receptionist was hard to forget. Was she your girl?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I chuckled. \u201cNo. Place your chin in here, please. Thank you. Let your forehead push all the way into the strap. Great. Just look straight ahead.\u201d As I fine-tuned the slit lamp to look inside his eye, I shuddered. What stared back was nothing\u2014a lifeless eye drenched in darkness. The pupil had taken a beating: misshapen, immobile. The longer I looked, the more I felt a shadowy ooze pouring through the scope toward me.
+++++<\/span>I shook the feeling off and examined his other eye. It, too, was a picture of trauma. How he was seeing 20\/20 was beyond me. And like the right, the cavern inside Smith\u2019s left eye reflected a bored predator\u2019s soul, an absence mixed with a craving for\u2014something. I pulled away from the slit lamp as quickly as I could and felt nauseated.
+++++<\/span>\u201cAny idea where she ended up?\u201d Smith asked, leaning back.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWho?\u201d I placed one hand on the other to hide my tremor.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYour receptionist, the one who left.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cSally?\u201d I blinked a couple of times. \u201cReally couldn\u2019t say.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith\u2019s dead eyes narrowed. \u201cThat so? Hard to believe she wasn\u2019t your girl. A man in your position and a girl like that.\u201d
+++++<\/span>My trembling ceased. I leaned back on my exam stool and folded my arms. \u201cA girl like what?\u201d<\/i>
+++++<\/span>Smith shrugged. \u201cCome on, doc, pretty little blonde number with plenty up top? Kind that could rev you up without trying?\u201d He winked. \u201cI like that, and I\u2019m betting you did, too.\u201d He picked at the dirt under his fingernails. \u201cMaybe I ought to look her up. She feisty, doc? Cause I like feisty. The name was Sally, right?\u201d Smith\u2019s dentured grin spread as he watched my ears burn red. \u201cAre you sure<\/i> she\u2019s not your girl?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I stood and opened the door. \u201cWe\u2019re done here. Don\u2019t think I can help you, Mr. Smith.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith nodded as he slithered out. \u201cPeople do say that\u2014at first. Rarely turns out to be the case, though. See you around, doc.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>My heart raced as I zipped across the landing. \u201cSally?\u201d I turned the knob. It opened. \u201cSally?\u201d I stopped. The couch was flipped, cushions strewn, drawers and closet ransacked, and a broken picture frame lay on an ironing board on the living room floor. I discovered the same treatment in her bedroom: drawers rifled, clothes on the floor, and another empty, broken picture frame. The owner of the dark green sedan was no longer a mystery. And he wasn\u2019t with the Arkansas Medical Licensing Committee. Damn.
+++++<\/span>I straightened her loft, stole a bottle of her bourbon, and returned to my loft. I poured a drink, stared at it, and thought, I\u2019ll bet Smith didn\u2019t find what he was after.<\/i> I crept downstairs and peeked out the window. No dark green sedan. No smoking man in a brown suit.
+++++<\/span>I returned, sat on my couch, and looked at the bourbon I\u2019d yet to drink. My head jerked toward the sound of a passing car and back to the click of the fridge motor. If I\u2019d felt lonely this morning, I didn\u2019t feel alone now. I grabbed my keys.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>Walter McKeen, owner of the establishment, rang the brass bell. \u201cHappy birthday, Melvin! My adopted son.\u201d He loved me after I\u2019d performed his cataract surgery two years ago without screwing up. \u201cEverybody sing,\u201d Walter shouted and pointed. \u201cYou, too, Eddy.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I blushed and took my usual barstool. \u201cYou didn\u2019t have to do that, Walter.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019re family\u2014at least to us. We sing for family. Whatever you want tonight, it\u2019s on the house.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Several patrons slapped my back with well wishes and inquired if everyone\u2019s drinks were on the house. Walter gave them a look, and they sat down in disgust. I sighed and rotated the beer I hadn\u2019t touched.
+++++<\/span>Walter nodded. \u201cI miss her, too, son. Sally was like a daughter. And good for business. That girl drank like a fish.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cYou should\u2019ve put a ring on that finger. I don\u2019t understand your generation. You kids expect everything on a silver platter.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou realize this is 1952, right?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter cut his eyes. \u201cYeah, yeah\u2014modern times. My generation had to work for everything. And when we found the right girl, we didn\u2019t fool around\u2014okay, we fooled around, but then we married. There was none of this hem-hawing. That girl loved you like crazy. Why didn\u2019t you marry her?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I closed my eyes and thought of Alexis and our kids. \u201cI had my reasons.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI can think of one,\u201d Walter said. \u201cYou\u2019re a\u2014\u201d He smiled. \u201cToday is your birthday. I\u2019ll call you an idiot tomorrow.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMuch obliged.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter leaned on the bar. \u201cLook, kid, relationships are like beer. You can have one or don\u2019t have one. But if you have one and don\u2019t drink it, sooner or later, it goes stale.\u201d He sighed. \u201cLots of other nice girls out there. They won\u2019t be her, but who knows? They might be even better.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I wiped my nose. \u201cDoubt it. Hey, did a guy in a brown suit come in here asking about her? Drives a green sedan?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cNobody like that. Why? Sally in some kind of trouble?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWish I knew.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter patted my arm. \u201cA while back, you talked about another girl. Her name was what, Alexis? Maybe she could work out.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I stared at the beer. \u201cBelieve me, I\u2019ve tried to reach Alexis\u2014every way I know how. It\u2019s never going to happen.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNot with that attitude.\u201d Walter pulled an empty tap. \u201cKeg\u2019s dead. Be right back.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I stood. \u201cI\u2019ll go down after it.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He waved me off. \u201cIt\u2019s your birthday. Stay and not drink the beer I gave you. I love it when people come to my bar not to drink.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I grinned. \u201cYou\u2019re the only one working, and these yahoos hit the tap when your back\u2019s turned.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter clutched his chest. \u201cThese saints? Say it ain\u2019t so.\u201d He nodded toward the cellar. \u201cYou\u2019re a good son.\u201d<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cHello, doc. Saw you come in. Was just on my way up to see you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I struggled to inhale. \u201cMr. Smith. How did\u2014?\u201d I managed a second breath. \u201cWhat are you \u2014?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith nonchalantly shrugged as if he\u2019d bumped into me at a grocery store. \u201cI could use a second opinion.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I nodded. \u201cHow about nine-thirty tomorrow?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith\u2019s toothy grin broadened. \u201cI was thinking now.\u201d He pulled a jackknife and motioned me to the far back wall.
+++++<\/span>My eyes were wide as I stood with my back against the cold cellar brick. Beads of sweat raced down my vertebrae.
+++++<\/span>Smith\u2019s expression lightened as he folded and tucked away the knife. \u201cSorry about that. I\u2019m not here to hurt you. Just needed your full attention. I apologize for razing you earlier about the girl. I wanted a read on you, that\u2019s all. I\u2019m not after her.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I released a long breath. \u201cWhat do you want then?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI have to find her father, pronto. I\u2019ve got critical information he needs before the wrong people reach him. Sally\u2019s my only lead. If she\u2019s with him, then she\u2019s in danger, too. Dr. Napier, I need your help to save them.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I nodded, wondering how I had so misjudged this man. Maybe Smith and I could\u2014 Our eyes locked. His were still dead, still a void of hopeless boredom. No matter how honest and sympathetic he tried to appear, the eyes betrayed him.
+++++<\/span>But it was worse than that. There was a feeling of familiarity in his eyes. For two long years, I\u2019d awoken knowing that no matter how hard I\u2019d tried to get back to my family, I\u2019d failed. And I always would. Every day, the eyes in the mirror held a little less hope. Every day, they looked a little more like his.
+++++<\/span>I took a deep breath. \u201cI wish I could help you, Mr. Smith. Truth is, I barely knew her.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He nodded, almost pleased with my response. He reached inside his jacket. I felt my heart race as he pulled out something worse than a pistol.
+++++<\/span>I held up my hands at the photo from Sally\u2019s living room. \u201cI know how it looks, but that was a company picnic. They asked us to pose together for the photo, that\u2019s all.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith tossed it at me and pulled another. \u201cFound this one in her bedroom. What does that say right there? Dr. and Mrs. Napier?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I blinked twice, never having seen it before. \u201cOkay, that looks bad. But it was a joke. Obviously, we\u2019re not married. We went to Eureka Springs one weekend because her grand\u2014 \u201d My mouth slammed shut as the dots connected. Sally\u2019s grandparents lived in Eureka Springs. Her parents owned a cabin there. If she was anywhere, that\u2019s where she\u2019d be. I locked eyes with Smith. His dots were connecting as well.
+++++<\/span>The cellar\u2019s single hanging lightbulb highlighted Smith\u2019s head as his fake toothy grin crawled out again, the grin of a man who\u2019d gotten what he was after. Only now, there was something new. A hint of giddiness sparked in Smith\u2019s dead eyes. Whatever it was they craved, dinner was about to be served.
+++++<\/span>Smith pulled a long, double-edged knife from inside his jacket. \u201cTell me, is Eureka Springs far?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I swallowed hard and shook my head.
+++++<\/span>Smith shrugged. \u201cGuess nowadays, nothing\u2019s that far. Everything\u2019s just a phone call away.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI won\u2019t say a word.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Smith nodded. \u201cI know. This is called an M3 trench knife.\u201d His eyes had a full-on twinkle. \u201cKnow what I call it?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cEver see one of these?\u201d Walter pushed the twin steel barrels of his shotgun into the small of Smith\u2019s back. \u201cSome call it a scattergun. But others would call this a deus ex machina<\/i>\u2014whatever that is.\u201d He cocked the double hammers.
+++++<\/span>I released a long breath. \u201cKnow what\u2019s better than a knife, Mr. Smith? Family.\u201d I slid around and stood behind Walter.
+++++<\/span>Smith dropped his knife. With his back still to Walter, he stared at the bare wall with the expression of a man without concern. He had been to this rodeo countless times and knew how it would play out, the way it always had. The only thing that ever changed was the face of the man on the other end of the gun, an irrelevant variable. The only thing that mattered was the location of the man\u2019s moral line in the sand.
+++++<\/span>Smith knew that most men had never shot a man in the back, not an unarmed one, anyway, and the odds were strong that the man with the gun didn\u2019t want to be in this situation. He\u2019d just as soon be upstairs having a beer with his buddies. Sure, the man with the gun had likely convinced himself he\u2019d pull if threatened, if he had no other choice. But it takes a moment to decide if you\u2019re truly in mortal danger and another to grant yourself permission to cross that line. That was plenty of time for Smith to spin into the man and push the barrel aside. His swiftness would surprise the man, causing him to loosen his grip. Taking the gun would be easy. In less than a breath, it would be in Smith\u2019s hands.
+++++<\/span>Smith had no line in the sand, no hesitation. He\u2019d unload one barrel into the man\u2019s chest, then turn the other on the doctor, who no doubt would be fleeing for the cellar door. If both barrels went off in the struggle, Smith could simply lift his right knee to reach his ankle holster. His beloved .32 would do the rest. None of this would have the satisfaction of gutting Napier and watching his light extinguish, but Smith was a pragmatist. It was what it was.
+++++<\/span>Smith raised his arms halfway. His toothy grin returned. \u201cLook, pal, you don\u2019t want to shoot an unarmed man in the\u2014\u201d
+++++<\/span>B-BAM!
+++++<\/span>My wide eyes focused on the new red mosaic on the old brick wall. The scattergun had lived up to its name. Walter pushed the lever to break open the shotgun and popped out the smoking shells. He tossed them on the body with no more care than a man tossing an empty box of Sugarfield Sugar Cookies. He turned to me with soft eyes. \u201cNeed help with that keg?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I stuttered in reply, \u201cNo, sir. I got it.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter smiled and patted my back. \u201cGood boy.\u201d Shotgun over his shoulder, he headed up the ramp.
+++++<\/span>\u201cUh, Walter? What will they say upstairs?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter turned around. \u201cYou mean in Heaven? Doubt that\u2019s an issue.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNo, the people in the bar.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThe drunks?\u201d He smiled. \u201cAll regulars tonight. A round on the house, and it\u2019s c\u2019est la vie.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I pointed at the corpse. \u201cBut what about the . . . you know.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Walter shook his head. \u201cThe missus and I will handle it tomorrow.\u201d He shrugged. \u201cWouldn\u2019t be the first time. Now, come on, let\u2019s celebrate your special day and talk about finding this Alexis.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I pushed the handcart to the ramp and grabbed the chain to the light. Before pulling, I glanced back at Smith\u2019s remains. \u201cThat guy would\u2019ve\u2014Wow.\u201d I shook my head and pushed up the ramp. \u201cHappy birthday to me.\u201d<\/p>\n![\"Facebook\"](\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/sharer.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.close2thebone.co.uk%2Fwp%2Fhappy-birthday-dr-napier-2%2F&t=Happy%20Birthday%2C%20Dr.%20Napier&s=100&p[url]=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.close2thebone.co.uk%2Fwp%2Fhappy-birthday-dr-napier-2%2F&p[images][0]=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.close2thebone.co.uk%2Fwp%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2024%2F10%2FHappy-Birthday-Dr-Napier.jpg&pHappy "\\"Share")
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\n\t\t<\/div>\n
\nDr. Wiggins\u2019s short stories have been featured in The Hooghly Review, Black Petals, Medicine and Meaning,<\/i> and read on the podcasts Creepy and Frightening Tales<\/i>. He has forthcoming stories in Flunk magazine, AcademFic, Thirteen,<\/i> and The Night\u2019s End<\/i> podcast. Dr. Wiggins\u2019s complete works may be found at www.MNWiggins.com<\/a>.<\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n\t\t<\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n