Chapter 5 The Doctor
The Doctor
Iroll my eyes at the short, blonde twirling around me as I tinker with the frayed leather hanging from my gloves.
“Comeeeee onnnnnn,” she drawls. “Dance with me.” Music surrounds us, guitar notes dancing through the air. The smooth and silky voice of Janice Joplin singing Ball and Chain fills my soul. But it doesn’t matter.
Music doesn’t feel the same as it did two hundred years ago. I guess living for centuries has its drawbacks. Everything just sounds the same. Like a broken soul lost and trying to find itself. Just empty.
You need to do it.
The voice of my handler breaks me away from my thoughts. Flowing through me like an omen, only spoken to me. I sigh to myself as I rise to my feet. They’re getting hasty again, foaming at the mouth to see if my new creation actually works.
I’ve spent the last one hundred and thirty-seven years perfecting it, so it fucking better.
Body after body has been disposed of, tablet after powder, yielding no results. But I have a good feeling about this time; it has to work. The pestilence needs to be contained. And according to The Handler, I’m the only one who can do it this time.
I move alongside the woman in front of me. Sherry, Sherryl, Shay… something with an ‘S’ I think.
“You smell so good,” she says, lost in a haze of marijuana smoke and mushrooms. I bring her closer to me and inhale. Myrrh and lavender, like always.
I don’t respond. I never respond.
I reach my gloved hand under my robes, searching for the little happy tablets I’ve been working on. I open my palm toward her and look down at them, an offering. She accepts it blindly, not even questioning what it is.
Stupid girl.
She throws her head back, her throat working as she swallows the pill.
Such a good little experiment.
Her head whips to meet my gaze almost instantaneously.
She can’t see my eyes, but she can feel them.
I watch her out of the eyeholes of my mask, assessing her symptoms. Her pupils dilate, growing as small as the width of a toothpick.
It looks weird, surrounded by the bright blues she has, like a pile of debris in the ocean.
“Wha-What did you give me?” she stutters, eyes fluttering as her system adjusts to the intrusion of the unknown drug.
My eyes darken as a bead of sweat pools on her hairline. I lick my lips, wanting to taste her saltiness. I bet she tastes fucking delicious.
“I feel so… good!” she squeals, grabbing at my bicep, her nails digging into my arm.
I wince in reaction and move to brush her off, but she stays. Falling to my feet, she continues her assault on my coverings, scratching at me, pleading with me.
“Please! Please. I need more! Do you have more?”
Her questions meld into panic as she scratches at her throat, eyes wild and searching. She’s caught in the drug’s hold. Her need for it outweighs her sanity. It’s working, and might I say, perfectly.
I move quickly, dropping a handful in her palm.
I point to her and motion to the people around us.
She must be a quick learner. Almost immediately, she turns to her left, offering one to the patient next to her.
I watch in awe as the other person’s reactions mirror the ones she displayed just moments ago.
Fascinating.
Without waiting another second, I turn, my robes swaying under the sudden movement. I reach into my pocket and move through the crowd, offering Euphorium, then directing those accepting in the same way I did the young woman.
By tonight, over half of the people here will be under the influence of my drug.
It’s euphoric.