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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MediaRegular5636 on 2024-09-10 04:29:22+00:00.

I began dental assisting nearly four years ago. I still remember how overwhelming all of the information was, but how exhilarating it was to assist with my first filling or make my first temporary crown. The dentist I worked for at the time had no patience to teach me. It was during the height of the pandemic when everyone was desperate for workers. He never wanted to teach an uneducated fry cook how to assist from scratch, but that’s what he got… It was sink or swim for the next six months.

I eventually found work at a beautiful dental office in an upscale neighborhood on the outskirts of our medium-sized city. I barely met the minimum requirements to assist at such a high-class office, but the office manager took a liking to me and did all she could to continue my on-site learning. The staff size was staggering compared to the four-person team I had become accustomed to. Six hygienists, eight assistants, four dentists, and a fully staffed front desk. The majority of the team was made up of women. The drama that came from that place… let’s just say I could write a separate story on that alone.

By the time I had quit working for that office, I was nearly a full-functioning assistant. I finally found the perfect job and had the confidence to take on the role of head assistant in a small-town office about 30 minutes from the city.

The first time I met Dr. Lance and his wife Angela, I was enamored with their youthful and vibrant energy. They were young, fun, and seemed like an educated young couple. Angela took care of the scheduling and billing while Dr. Lance ran things on the clinical side. Since the office was so small, there was only one hygienist who would come twice a week. Most of the time, it was just the three of us. They took good care of me—bought me lunch at least twice a week, paid for all of my scrubs, and gave me a great salary.

The only thing that ever got under my skin was the corny dad jokes Dr. Lance would subject our patients to when their mouths were full of instruments and hands. I figured if that was the worst of my worries, I’d be happy here for a long time.

But things changed after about a year and a half. At first, it was subtle. Dr. Lance would come to work with bags under his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual morning-person attitude. His hair, which he used to gel every morning without fail, often looked as if he’d forgotten to brush it. I thought it might be due to lack of sleep or maybe some tension between him and Angela. Either way, I didn’t think it was any of my business.

However, as weeks passed, things worsened. Dr. Lance started nodding off during our morning meetings. I decided to ask Angela what was going on.

“Angela,” I said in a low voice as I leaned over the side of her desk, “Is Doc doing okay?” As soon as I finished the sentence, her gaze shot over to me from whatever she had been so concentrated on only seconds before. She looked almost… anxious.

“Yeah, why? Did he say something?” she asked quickly, her tone laced with suspicion. “No, he just looks tired,” I replied, confusion creeping into my voice. What was going on with them? “I’m sure he’s fine. Go make sure sterilization is caught up,” she snapped.

I walked to the sterilization lab with my heart in my throat. She had never been irritable with me in my whole year and a half of employment. My feelings were slightly hurt, but I still wasn’t too concerned. If anything, it just confirmed in my mind that they had been arguing. It broke my heart to think of them having marital problems. They were so young and seemed so in love only weeks before. I shook it off and continued with my daily tasks.

After this encounter, I started noticing more things that seemed off. Dr. Lance began diagnosing teeth for extraction that, by all appearances, were healthy. At first, I chalked it up to my ignorance, but at this point, I had been reading X-rays for almost four years. I knew what a cavity looked like and what bone loss looked like. These teeth were neither.

At first, it was just one or two questionable extractions a week, but as time went on, it became more frequent. One day, he diagnosed four unnecessary extractions before our lunch break at noon. I decided it was time to say something before things got out of hand. I didn’t want him to lose his license and, more than that, I wanted our patients to keep their perfectly healthy teeth.

“Hey, Doc,” I said with a gentle knock on his office door, slowly pushing it open. Before I could finish my sentence, I noticed his eyes and nose were red and puffy. Had he been crying? “Come in. What’s up?” he said quickly, wiping one eye. He was trying to hide it, but he wasn’t doing a very good job. “Are you okay?” I asked as I sat in the chair next to his. “Yeah, I’m good. What did you need?” he replied with a layer of irritability under the gentle tone I had become accustomed to. It felt like a bad time to bring up the subject, but I guessed there would never be a good time to tell a doctor they were wrong. I let out a deep sigh before continuing. “I noticed you seem tired lately. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay… I don’t want to pry by any means, it just seems to be affecting your work.”

I paused and suppressed a cringe. I had never said something so bold to a doctor. He was normally so rational and understanding, but the tension in the office had changed what I felt was acceptable. He didn’t respond right away—just stared at a vial of teeth that sat under his computer monitor for a moment too long.

“There were some cases recently that seemed—” He sat up in his chair abruptly and looked at me with a deep rage in his eyes. It didn’t even look like him. It was so sudden it forced me to jump back. “Get out,” he said in a low growl. I stared in shock for a moment, unable to move. “I said, GET OUT!” He yelled in a voice I had never heard before and never wanted to hear again. I scampered away, tripping on the chair leg on my way out. I fell face-first on the floor and cried out in pain. Dr. Lance nearly leaped out of his chair to my side. I expected him to ask if I was okay or maybe give me a hand off the floor, but I was deeply mistaken.

Dr. Lance rolled me over onto my side forcefully and grabbed my face with one hand. He squeezed my cheeks, forcing my mouth open wide. I whimpered in fear of what he might do. He leaned down under my chin to look at the roof of my mouth, then from a top angle down at my lower jaw. He searched my mouth for something like a rabid animal.

The look on my face and the sound of my cries must have snapped him back to reality because he fell back, letting go of my face. “S-sorry, Amelia…” he stammered, “Just making sure you didn’t hurt any of those pearly whites.” He faked a chuckle, and I unconsciously scooted back against the wall.

I felt the tears welling up, and after making eye contact, I ran to my car without hesitation. I didn’t even take a moment to process what happened; I just drove home in a nearly catatonic state. Once I got home, I called Angela and told her I wasn’t feeling well and needed to take the day off. Lucky for me, it was Friday, so I wouldn’t have to address the situation until Monday. I’d have some time to think about what was going on and what I should do.

That Sunday was uneventful. I did some chores, watched a couple of movies, and spent time with my dogs. It was about 6 p.m. when I received a phone call from the hygienist, Sadie. She was frantic, and her words were hard to understand through her hysterics. “Amelia… Oh my god. Amelia… can you hear me?” “Yeah, Sadie, what’s wrong?” “Doc—It’s Doctor… Doctor Lance. He—he’s dead, or missing… or—or—” “Sadie, calm down. What are you talking about? I can’t understand you. Where are you?” “Come to the office, please.”

And just like that, she hung up. My heart was racing, and my thoughts were reeling as I jumped in my car and drove to the office, similar to how I had rushed home after Friday’s incident.

When I arrived, the parking lot was empty except for Sadie’s car and the old sedan that belonged to Angela. The office was dark, but I could see a faint light coming from inside. I took a deep breath and walked up to the door, my hands shaking. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the dread settling in my stomach told me it wasn’t good.

Inside, I found Sadie pacing the waiting room, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. Angela was seated behind the reception desk, staring blankly at a spot on the wall, her face wet with tears. “What’s going on?” I demanded, my voice breaking as the tension overwhelmed me.

Sadie looked at me with a mixture of fear and confusion. “I don’t even think I can-” “Let’s take a seat, Sadie. Let me get some water.” I was trying hard to suppress my growing fear. I made my way to the water cooler in the break room and filled two plastic cups with cold water. I trembled my way back to the waiting room where Sadie sat biting her nails on one of the waiting room chairs. I handed her one of the glasses of water.

She took a shaky sip and then a deep breath. “I was supposed to meet the Lances for Lunch. We were going to discuss expanding the hygiene program to three days a week. When I got there, I knocked but no one answered. After I tried a few times, I started walking back to my car when I noticed a little pool of blood coming from under the garage door.” Sadies voice began to quiver and crack. I could feel her fear tangibly. …

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