Superhero Shrink

My next patient arrived early. He always does.

I space out my sessions. Professional therapists need time to write up notes, chill out and keep composed. These guys always come with baggage. It takes time and effort to help them. I could hear the swooping of his wings as my next patient lights on the front porch. He eased his massive frame through my people-sized door. My visitor was a giant of a man in black-and-gold spandex with wings as wide as football uprights.

I’ll be with you in a minute, I called through my door. This patient couldn’t fit into my cozy office space, so we held sessions in the waiting room. It took a bit of scheduling work to ensure that nobody else would be visiting at the same time. I don’t do this for everyone, but the program pays triple my average billing rate, so it all works out.

I glanced over his file, reminding myself of what I need to know to help my patient. NightAngel’s real name is Herschel, and he looked up when I open my office door. His brutish eyes glare at me from behind his mask, and I suppress a sigh of frustration. He went back to wearing his mask during sessions. That wasn’t a good sign.

Time to do my job. Hello, Herschel, I say,