Necrotic Pulp

It was a cold, rainy night, the kind of night that makes you wish you could bolt your windows and draw your blinds and put another log on the fire. But for me it was the best kind of night – bad weather seems to draw out all kinds of people who have problems they don’t want any of their respectable friends and neighbours to know about. The kind of weather that makes decent people stay inside and mind their own business is the kind of weather that makes them put on their warmest clothes and pull up their collars and come looking for someone like me. A fixer. A problem solver. A dentist who asks no questions.

So I left my door open and my lights on, but on nights like this I always made sure there was a well-sharpened drill in the top drawer of my desk. You can’t fill cavities the way I do for long without making some enemies, and smart dentists like to play it safe. And smart dentists are the only kind of dentists around these days. All the other kinds are dead. In the second drawer I keep a bottle of whiskey, for emergency sedation.

I was well into my second glass of sedation when my first customer for the night showed up. I could hear her approach the door – high heels on dirty linoleum, drips of water falling from her coat – then hesitate for along time before she knocked. They always do.

“It's open,” I said. She opened the door and stepped inside.

“Are you... the dentist?” Her voice was low and pleasantly hoarse, and you could almost hear the ellipsis. “I have... a toothache.”

To be continued! Don't miss the next action-packed issue of Amazing Dental Adventures!