If they could get in, it would be better than sitting in their cars or just standing outside, so Jen walked up to the side entrance to try her key. It didn’t fit…but the door opened anyway. She was leaning her shoulder on it as she attempted to work the key into the hole, and apparently it had not been properly latched, because it moved inward, causing her to jump back.

She and Anita looked at each other.

“Not a good sign,” Anita said softly.

Inside, some lights were on while others were off, their status seemingly chosen at random. The waiting room was dark, while their work area behind the counter was well-lit. The wall display of various frame styles was not illuminated, but lights were on in both exam rooms. Dr. Wilson’s office was dark.

“Hello!” Anita called out.

There was no response. All was silent.

The two of them looked at each other. “What do you think we should do?” Jen asked. “Do you think someone broke in? Should we call the sheriff?”

“I don’t know. Is anyone here?” Anita shouted.

Again, no response.

Anita walked forward.

“I’m not sure we should do this,” Jen said, following. “Someone could be hiding out there in the waiting room or—”

They reached the first exam room. Inside, on the chair, Dr. Wilson was leaning back. His eyes had been gouged out, and his face, clothes and the chair were covered with blood. In a crimson puddle on the floor beneath his dangling right arm was a metal instrument resembling an ice pick, and, next to that, what had been one of his eyes, with muscles, veins and ganglia still attached. The other eye was nowhere to be seen, although there was a butchered mass of tissue lying atop the optometrist’s slanted chest.

Jen cried out the second she saw the gruesome sight. Anita gagged loudly but immediately had the presence of mind to rush over to the counter and pick up the phone. Jen, too, hurried away from the scene and caught her breath, trying to decide whether she thought Dr. Wilson had been murdered or had committed suicide.

Was he even dead?

She didn’t know. Neither of them had bothered to check. While he looked dead, it was possible that he was still alive, barely clinging to life, and though she didn’t want to, she moved back toward the exam room. Anita was talking on the phone to a dispatcher or paramedics, and it was reassuring to hear her friend’s voice as she re-entered the room.