Desiderium

Sixtīne

"Please... Why are you doing this?" Thomas cried over the upbeat playing on the radio for the fifth time that day.

Making no attempt to answer, the plague doctor instead lifted the picture frame from the mantle, bringing it to his mask closely.

"My family has money," he moaned from the chair he sat on. "If it's money you want, I can give it to you."

The plague doctor suddenly turned at this, his green eyes visible from beneath his white mask. He moved away from the fireplace, stepping over the two elderly bodies lying in their own blood.

Thomas flinched as the figure with no face approached him, shrinking into himself as much as possible. It was all he could do. There were no ropes or ties that bounded him to that chair, yet he was paralyzed. His arms hung limply at his sides, rivulets of red pulsing from the gashes on his shoulders. His bare feet were glued to the floor by puddles of sticky blood that oozed from the flayed flesh of his heels.

He was at the complete mercy of the plague doctor.

"Please, whatever this is about," Thomas wheezed, slumping over. "We can work something out."

The plague doctor yanked him back by the hair, causing the man to howl as he was pulled upright. His gloved fingers did not leave Thomas's blonde strands, holding his head back over the chair.

"Why..." Thomas broke down as he was forced to look at the doctor square in the eye. "What do you want?!"

The plague doctor slowly removed his fingers and released Thomas from his grip. Holding up the picture he had taken, the masked figure pointed to the man beside Thomas.

The one with the chestnut-colored curls.

"N–Nathaniel?" Thomas blinked back tears. "You want him?"

The plague doctor nodded.

"Why?" Thomas immediately gasped at the sensation of a blade pressed against his jaw.

"Where is he?" the figure demanded in a low, gruff voice.

"I–I don't know!" Thomas yelped as the scalpel traced his jawline, drawing a bit of blood.

The figure narrowed his eyes, pressing the blade in deeper as he waited for an answer.

"He–He's at Lancaster University," Thomas sobbed, sinking into the chair. "He lives there!"

The plague doctor drew the scalpel back, seemingly satisfied with his response. He returned to the fireplace, placing the picture back in its place. Meanwhile, Thomas remained slumped in the chair, his moans echoing throughout the empty estate.

"What–What are you going to do now?" He watched as the plague doctor turned to him.

He did not answer.

"Who are you?" Thomas's moans had ceased, turning into a series of sniffles and shudders.

The plague doctor approached and placed his hands over his mask. He tugged it off, revealing his face to the horrified man.

Thomas jolted at the sight, his eyes widening to an absurd degree. "No..."

Benjamin ignored him, placing the mask back over his face. His hand went to his coat pocket and pulled out the scalpel.

"You son of a bitch! How could you?!" He rocked from side to side, trying in vain to throw a punch with his useless arms. "Why?! I thought I was your friend?! My father treated you like his own son! You were practically family to me!"

It was all true. They had been friends ever since college.

Ever since Benjamin remembered his past lives.