<div class="floatleft">(https://46.media.tumblr.com/84400782eb9cadbbb1a45de7e5d4a923/tumblr_mx2kuiRV9E1sr1ki0o1_500.gif)</div><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>EDMUND BROCKMAN, MD | 34 | DOCTOR OF MEDICINE (PSYCHIATRY) </strong></span><hr/><br/><hr/><br/>Dr. Edmund Brockman breathed deeply of the salt air as he looked out across endless churning waves beyond the brass railing. This trip had come most unexpectedly, necessitating a shuffling of business and personal affairs in short order with the potential of repercussions both financial and romantic down the pike. He had not hesitated to act, though. Professor Smith was not only a trusted colleague and sometime friend; he was also a man engaged in serious business, involved with things that Edmund had only seen secondhand glimpses of in the eyes and words of the women Smith had sent to him to be helped. The bits he had seen both intrigued and terrified him. There was no question in his mind that Smith's sudden cryptic summons was related to this same business. So he had packed in haste, put Bertie into storage, and transferred care of those patients who could not be simply delayed to his colleague Doctor Frederick Jenkins. Jenkins was a competent if undistinguished psychoanalyst, and the photographs Edmund held in a safety deposit box ensured that Jenkins would not pass along any details he might learn from his new patients which might prove embarrassing to Dr. Brockman.<br/><br/>Perhaps a change of scenery was for the best. He had grown comfortable in his practice and his research in New York. New sensations and experiences kept one's brain from ossifying. And what more fitting vessel for this new adventure than a sleek but strong German vessel, thinly disguised under a layer of English paint? Not entirely unlike the good Dr. Brockman himself.<br/><br/><br/>