Word spread. The second patient was a teenage girl named Wren, brought in by her frantic mother. Wren hadn’t spoken in six months. Psychiatrists said selective mutism. MRIs said nothing.
“What are you—HEY!”
So he came home to Mulberry Creek, set up a trailer behind the Cherokee Stop-N-Go, and hung a hand-painted sign: The first patient was old Man Crutcher, who’d been complaining of a "funny taste in his mouth" for three years. Three different clinics had given him antacids. cherokee dr ass