Dr. Jonathan Martin was sick and tired of whiny patients and flirtatious nurses. He was tired of the long days and nights, with little sleep. He was tired of the concrete jungle. He had finally decided to pack it all in and move to Alaska. His friends all called him crazy and questioned how a New York doctor could survive in the great frozen North.
His crisis of faith had started months before he actually resigned his position at the hospital, put his house up for sale, and packed all that really mattered into a single van. He had taken his time traveling North-West. He had enjoyed the Great Lakes and Canada, before arriving at the tiny town of Howell Alaska.
As he drove into town, he could see that it was little more than a single street with five or six buildings on either side of the road. A neon sign was lit up, showing the local drinking establishment. There was a church, a filling station and half a dozen other stores and establishments. He pulled up in front of the sheriff's office and got out.
Dr. Martin was a tall, wide shouldered man with a narrow waist and a muscular frame. His dark hair was cut short and he was clean shaven. A pair of rectangular shaped spectacles framed a handsome face with a firm chin and full lips. He was dressed in a green parka and blue jeans.
Someone was supposed to meet him at the sheriff's office to him the clinic. The old doctor had retired to Florida a few months ago and the town had been trying to attract another doctor since. His contact was a Alex Murphy, the mayor of the town. He had never even spoken to the man. Their conversations had been conducted by e-mail, so he did not know what to expect.
His crisis of faith had started months before he actually resigned his position at the hospital, put his house up for sale, and packed all that really mattered into a single van. He had taken his time traveling North-West. He had enjoyed the Great Lakes and Canada, before arriving at the tiny town of Howell Alaska.
As he drove into town, he could see that it was little more than a single street with five or six buildings on either side of the road. A neon sign was lit up, showing the local drinking establishment. There was a church, a filling station and half a dozen other stores and establishments. He pulled up in front of the sheriff's office and got out.
Dr. Martin was a tall, wide shouldered man with a narrow waist and a muscular frame. His dark hair was cut short and he was clean shaven. A pair of rectangular shaped spectacles framed a handsome face with a firm chin and full lips. He was dressed in a green parka and blue jeans.
Someone was supposed to meet him at the sheriff's office to him the clinic. The old doctor had retired to Florida a few months ago and the town had been trying to attract another doctor since. His contact was a Alex Murphy, the mayor of the town. He had never even spoken to the man. Their conversations had been conducted by e-mail, so he did not know what to expect.