Nearing the restaurant, Robert had no trouble finding a parking place. As Marissa opened her door, she found the courage to ask him about it. She discovered Robert wasn’t in the mood to discuss it.

“I need a vacation from all this,” he said irritably. “I’ve been telling you that this in-vitro stuff is driving me crazy. If it’s not one thing, then it’s something else. Now it’s this counseling garbage!”

“It is not garbage!” Marissa snapped.

“There you go again,” Robert said. “Lately I can’t talk to you without you flying off the handle.”

They stared at each other over the top of Robert’s car. After a moment of silence, Robert changed the subject again by saying, “Let’s eat.”

Disgusted, Marissa followed him into the restaurant.

The China Pearl was run by a family who had recently moved from Chinatown to Boston’s suburbs. The restaurant’s decor was typical: simple Formica-topped tables and a couple of ceramic red dragons. By that late hour only four or five of the twenty or so tables were still occupied.

Marissa sat down in a chair facing the street. She felt horrible. All of a sudden she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Good evening,” said the waiter as he handed them menus. Marissa glanced up at the man as she took the long, plastic-coated menu.

Robert asked her if she’d like to split an appetizer. But before she could respond, Marissa felt cold sweat break out all over her body. In a flash, she was back at the Women’s Clinic having her cervical biopsy. The vision was starkly vivid, as if she were actually there again.

“Get him away from me,” yelled Marissa. She leaped to her feet and tossed the menu aside. “Don’t let him touch me. No!” she screamed, as illusion and reality merged.

In her mind’s eye, Marissa saw the face of Dr. Carpenter come up between her sheet-draped knees, having been transformed into a demon. His eyes were no longer blue. They were distorted and shiny, like cold, black onyx.

“Marissa!” Robert shouted, feeling a mixture of concern, shock, and embarrassment. Other diners had paused to cast startled looks in Marissa’s direction. Robert stood and reached for her.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted again. She knocked Robert’s hand away from her. Spinning on her heels, she fled from the restaurant, banging open the door.

Robert chased after her, practically tackling her outside the door. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her hard. “Marissa, what’s wrong with you?”

Marissa blinked several times as if waking from a trance.

“Marissa?” Robert yelled. “What’s going on? Talk to me!”