Lavinia, a lone wolf, keeps to herself. Needless to say, she hates when her fertility specialist father sends her to Camp Redwood during the summer of 1984. As going-on's occur, she discovers truths about the woods around the camp, as well as a dark...
Fertility specialist Ralph Volkov, MD, was sitting in his office on his well-deserved lunch break when he heard his phone ringing. He was taking a big, almost inhuman bite out of his Rueben sandwich stuffed with sauerkraut, Russian dressing, Swiss cheese and corned beef when he put it down and pressed the button to his office phone.
"Ralph speaking," he said with a mouth full.
"What?" The receptionist on the other end could not understand him, his mouth was so full.
"Hold on." Ralph's mouth was still full, and it took him a long thirty seconds to chew and swallow that part of his sandwich. Now, he was speaking clearer. "Yes?"
"Are you on lunch, Dr. Volkov?"
"Yes, I am. Is this urgent?" he questioned sternly.
"Not really, but the Vanderbilts are here and seem adamant to see you," the receptionist on the other end said.
"How long have they been waiting?" Ralph took his can of Pepsi that came with his lunch and cracked it open, sipping it as he listened to the receptionist on the other end.
"Five minutes, just about."
"Alright. I'll be done in another ten minutes to take them for their 2:30 appointment," Ralph mentioned.
"Thank you."
Thus, ended the brief correspondence between Ralph and the receptionist. He rushed to eat, but it did not bother him knowing full well he had a stomach of scrap iron. He kept his Pepsi on the desk, taking one more sip before going to the bathroom and washing his hands thoroughly. He also wiped his mouth of any food residue that may have come from the sandwich. The light rod above the bathroom sink adjacent to his office was flickering on and off, and when Ralph looked in his reflection, he could see himself. He had been starting to age well, with slightly graying black hair, blue eyes, and a defined jawline with stubble. He was quite handsome for a man of thirty-eight. Ralph was six-foot-three of stocky muscle underneath his white lab coat, which he had to use a paper towel and water to remove dressing from before ending his lunch break and going to retrieve the Vanderbilts from the waiting room.
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Ronald and Lisa Vanderbilt, distant members of the prominent railroad-owning dynasty, were ushered to sit down in the upholstered seats facing Ralph's desk, where he sat and looked at them both. They fit the usual description of his patients – older, trying to conceive but having failed numerous times, and coming to him as what seemed like a last resort after seeing other fertility specialists. Ralph clasped his hands on the surface of his desk professionally. Lisa, a woman around the same age as Ralph, was very attractive with blonde hair and blue eyes with a heart-shaped face. Her hairstyle was very typical for the time – a short feathered coiffure with a light fringe and height to the crown of her head held in place with copious amounts of hairspray. Ronald, her husband, seemed older than her, at least in his mid-forties with thinning light brown hair, horned-rimmed glasses, wearing a tweed suit with a distinctive red tie. He started to speak first out of the two.
