The letter was short. As he held the aging piece of paper in his hand, Bartleby felt cheated, but couldn’t put his finger on why.

The note clearly said all that was neccesarry to be said. It was just, so succint. Like Dr. Brillstine hadn’t cared enough to leave even one juicy detail for Bartleby to ponder.

One little line about what was happening, what it was like, or if the Doctor expected or needed him any more. Some times, not hearing enough is enough to drive you crazy, and that’s what Brillstine’s letter had done to Bartleby.

He crumpled the 50 year old page in his hand, then, realizing that that kind of behavior would serve no purpose, he took the note placed it on his desk, and attempted to smooth it out.

He drank in the words again, hoping that they would contain something personal, something special for him. But all he found was:

Bartleby,
It’s no use trying, the gate only opens one way. I can’t come back,
Dr. B