There were 18 faces on the monitor, each nodding along as Renea instructed them on the utilization of the company’s new authorization software. Her teaching style was that of many college professors, she lectured. After covering any bits of key information, she paused and directed her students to write it down. After a few years of leading the charge on remote training, she’d discovered that muting her audience until the end was an absolute necessity. Before she implemented that part of her teaching process, people would interrupt her lecture constantly with questions that she either: already had; or was about to answer. No other work-place irritation pushed Renea closer to her breaking point than interruptions when she was teaching.

Today’s trainees had all been with the company for some time, which one would think would make Renea’s job easier. When she unmuted them for Q&A after her lecture, it became clear that that assumption was be off the mark. As soon as their voices could be heard, three people all started talking simultaneously. Renea muted everyone again.

“Pause. Can’t hear you when you’re all talking at once,” she said, smiling pleasantly as though she’d made a joke. Indeed, some trainees smiled and laughed. Renea was smiling pleasantly as well, head tilted to the side just a bit so she would appear more open and friendly. “Paul, you’re up first. What’ve you got for me?”

“What’s a CPT code?” Paul asked when he was unmuted.

Renea’s smile slipped just a tiny fraction. A CPT code was something she taught new employees their first week on the job. Paul was not a long-time employee, but he had been there for a handful of months. An instant message popped up on her screen. It was from Megan, a work-friend from a different department that attended Renea’s calls in hopes of one day taking over the role of remote training.

Megan: OoOo Renea’s gonna kill Paul. What’s a CPT code?! WHat! IS! A! CPT! CODE?!

Renea’s smile returned in full, slightly amused by the message. “Paul, remember that binder I made for you? Do you have it handy?”

“Uh,” Paul said, turning in his chair and leaning to his right and disappearing off camera. “Yeah it’s right here.”

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“Page 13, about midway down. Okay. Mindy, you’re next. Question?”

She continued answering questions for every one of the five remaining minutes. There were more questions, but she had another remote training session and had to cut the Q&A short. Instant messages and emails started coming in, continuing the discussion even after the meeting came to an end. She’d get to them later in the afternoon.

Renea’s phone chirped with a recording of Flapjack’s yip. Peter had made the audiofile, taken her phone, and made it so that whenever he texted her Flapjack yipped out of her phone’s speaker.

Peter: So…

That was all it said. Renea took in a deep breath and let it out slowly while she waited for the rest of his message. When Peter started a text conversation in this manner, he had either done something silly or wanted to do something silly but was asking her permission first. She hoped for the latter.

“Is there a dog in here?” Myles asked, standing in the doorway to her office. “Thought I heard a yip.”

“Myles, good. Come in, sit down. And no, there is not a dog in here. That was my phone. Peter changed it. I haven’t fixed it yet.”

Yip. Another text.

Peter: Greg and I are in the Pearl District at that club we talked about last night, where that girl was the night she disappeared. The proprietor is a half-demon, which is pretty cool. She was… well maybe not nice. But way nicer than you’d expect from a half-demon. So that was good. She thinks the missing girl is just one part of something bigger going on in the city. Have you noticed anything odd in the medical world? Anything at all?

Renea let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Peter had not done anything terrible. She considered his question for a moment as Myles slumped into the chair across the desk from her.

“I just got out of a meeting with the west-side clinic directors,” Myles said with his typical, lifeless monotone. “Do you know if we have any providers that treat for a scrotal contusion?”

“A scrotal…” Renea repeated, frowning. She had a hard time imagining what kind of physical therapy could even treat an injury of that type. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Dale got a referral to treat it. He didn’t know what to do. Asked me. I haven’t the faintest. So I’m asking you.”

Renea found the timing of Myles’ question strangely coincidental. His follow up explanation would easily qualify as something odd happening in the medical world. In over 11 years in the field, Renea had never once been asked if any of her clinicians treated for a scrotal contusion. She texted Peter, briefly detailing the oddity.

Yip.

Peter: Hmmm. Well that IS weird. What do you even do for that in terms of PT? Not really what I’m looking for though. You mind reaching out to Bobby? Just see if he’s noticed anything weird?

“Any chance I can get you to change that text tone immediately?”