I'm standing in front of your office door, the words "Doctor S. Quest" painted onto the glass, while idly wondering why you've been marked for death at my hands. I knock and wait, evaluating your response time, and when you open the door put on a fake smile, an expression you don't match.
"Mr Carter. I'm a busy man so drop the pleasantries."
"Of course." I step into the office when you move aside, spotting the presence of a bored-looking woman sitting at a desk laden with office equipment. "I understand you are accepting clients."
You look annoyed for a moment, glancing at the woman with disdain until she notices and makes a show of checking the computer.
"I am but you should have spoken with Stephanie first."
I frown at your comments but when you gesture towards a backroom I follow. I'm unconsciously comparing your operation to that of my own therapist, a bubbly woman called Alice, and find hers far more comfortable.
The room we're in is a pale blue, no doubt to put the client at ease, and dominated by a bed that wouldn't look out of place in a hospital. At your instruction I hop onto the bed, deciding against lying down, and I watch as you bustle about preparing for the session. Slowly I extract my knife set from an inner pocket of my coat, slipping one out. I'm a decent throw but these are souvenirs from an old job and I'm loath to risk losing any. When you show your back to me I slide down from the bed, moving quietly across the room, but you must hear the scuffing of my shoes against the floor.
My knife punches through the soft flesh of your mouth rather than the base of your skull. You sharply recoil, pressing a hand against the terrible-looking but non-lethal injury, and I step in, hemming you against the table. This time my knife slides neatly into your chest, angled around your ribs and into your heart. You start sagging, dribbling blood, and I manhandle you up and onto the bed. Panting I wait for my own heart to steady and then clean my knife on your three-piece suit, leaving a crimson smear on the white shirt.
That just leaves only Stephanie to deal with. Padding back to the low table you'd been at when slain I examine the items strewn about. I grab a CD from the small pile and with purpose stride from the backroom. Stephanie glances up, already back to doing her nails, and I place the CD on the desk.
"Doc said this one needed copying. He said it will help."
A nervous expression appears on the girl's face and she glances towards the backroom.
"Doctor Quest normally tells me himself, or at least does it himself. Perhaps I should…"
She's cut off by the feeling of my knife pressing into her throat, too scared to even gulp. I sigh with mild irritation, of course she couldn't have just let me kill her while she's distracted.
Using my knife I get her out of her chair, using the threat of it to ensure she positions herself as I want. She ends up spread-eagled against the wall, eyes fixed on the tip of my knife, and I can't help but laugh as she goes cross-eyed when I prick the top of her nose. I didn't intend to put Stephanie through much, she was supposed to have a quick death, and produce a second knife. She gasps, trying to follow both, and I swiftly reposition the girl, moving behind her and reaching round to slit her throat.
No comments:
Post a Comment