“So, how do we know you haven’t kept other patients’ diagnoses a secret or not told the truth?” asked some man, his voice heard, his face not able to be seen.

     Quite a crowd had gathered outside the clinic, the next morning, not a violent crowd, but a curious, and slightly angry one.  After he thought enough people had gathered, Adam had made his short speech about Louis, his disease, his death, and about how he had covered it up.  He spoke nervously, but clearly, Dessie at his side, holding his hand tightly, supportively.

     “You don’t know that,” Adam addressed the voice in the crowd.  “But, trust me, please, and know I did it to protect the town, protect my friend, keep his dignity.  I&...

Please subscribe to keep reading.