Nightcall (480 words)

He woke up in the middle of the night, a cold sweat running down his forehead. For the first time he could remember, a gripping fear of anxiety filled his body. He sat himself up on the edge of his pull-out bed, and started to control his breathing. Knowing what was happening help, but still didn't solve the root of his irrational fear. Guilt started to overcome him. He rummaged around in the dark of the study in search for his briefcase, trying his best not to wake the wife upstairs. He pulled out his diary for tomorrow. Four clients, three in the morning, one in the afternoon; finish early because it's a Wednesday. Was that it, just a fear of uncertainty? He put the book down on the chair he used as a bedside table and went back to sleep. Not for long.

He had never appreciated his clients behaviours before. This fear, this is what he'd tell them to 'snap out' of. How pointless that advice seemed to him now. He sat back up, this time turning on the desk lamp above his head. He flicked back through his diary. Who had he seen today? These memories shouldn't be so hard to recall if he truly cared about each client he saw. But, after 15 years in the profession, he had heard it all before. Just a matter of ticking off the days until the long weekends. He read over the names, and started to ponder what better advice he could have give each of them. Things seemed so much more apparent now with proper reflection and dissection of their issues. He scrawled down key words and bullet-pointed ideas for each of the day's patiences before looking over tomorrow's with his new found perception.

But still his didn't feel enough, his body felt tense. He had let down vulnerable people who had come to him for help. He had be too preoccupied with the routine of his own life to care. The only way to come clean, to feel at rest was to contact each person and individually apologise. At the back of the diary was an address book where, not always, he would jot down the details of his patience. At a quarter to four in the morning, with phone in hand he started to flick through the numbers until he came across the first client he recognised, shuffling on the edge of the bed in nerves and anticipation. The call was answer by a dreary voice woman. Disorientated, she view the doctor as an authoritative she daren't hang up, trying her best to at least sound awake.

Relief from the fear was instant, but addictive. Night after night, once the wife had gone upstairs to bed, he would make himself comfortable in the study, taking to clients throughout the hours until morning, regardless of their willingness to participate.