Franz Jørgen Neumann

“He’s here,” Tyler shouts from the sofa. The racing game on the roll-up TV is interrupted by a video feed of Dr. Skow’s car pulling through their gate at a much more sedate speed. Sara rinses her hands in the kitchen at the other end of the great room and watches the security feed switch to the courtyard camera. She has never hired a therapist before, but Dr. Skow, climbing from his car, fits the bill.