Natasha’s Death

Dr. Harrison still maintained his gentle, refined demeanor. He wore Barry's birthday gift, a black sweater with excellent warmth. He gently wiped his glasses, then set them on the table beside him. His hands were clasped together, his elbows resting on either arm of the wheelchair. Natasha's face turned ugly. The bone-chilling sensation left her frozen in place as she stared wide-eyed at Dr. Harrison. "Who exactly are you?" Fine beads of sweat formed on Natasha's forehead. Harrison did not answer immediately.