Desiderium

Eahtatēoða

It was only a few minutes before all the college students would have arrived, but Christopher was far from ready.

Switching on the light from the lamp, he quickly opened the drawer and pulled out the plastic bag filled with a powdered substance. Like a man dying of thirst in the desert, he scooped some of the powder onto his fingertips and snorted it.

He shook his head as he sat down on the bed, his legs hanging over the side. He seemed to be thinking about something as his brows furrowed together and he stared into nothingness.

At least that's how it looked from where the plague doctor stood.

From downstairs, the music was already blaring. Even though the door was closed, Benjamin could see neon lights flashing from underneath the threshold.

Christopher was still caught in whatever high he was on, unaware of anything happening downstairs, much less in this room.

Slowly sliding the closet door back, the plague doctor stepped out into the open. He suddenly froze when he heard the man shift on the bed, his hand going to the scalpel hidden in his coat.

But Christopher was only rising to his feet, his back turned to the danger looming just a few inches away.

Christopher disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door.

Benjamin came to a halt just in front of the door, waiting there for Christopher's eventual return. His breathing slowed into a shallow exhale, but his heart beat with anticipation.

It didn't take long before the door opened and Christopher came into view. He didn't even have time to process what was going on when the scalpel was plunged into his soft, yielding skin.

He let out a wet gasp as Benjamin dug the blade deeper into the skin, cutting downwards into the stomach.

Christopher's dying eyes met the plague doctor's eager green ones, seeming to beg for answers as to why he did this.

Benjamin only eased his scalpel through muscle and mass in response.

It didn't take long for Christopher's knees to buckle and he collapsed to the tile floor, flailing and coughing up blood.

His victims' struggles were weak and ineffectual. A sad attempt at survival. But the only person's survival that mattered was Emilia's.

Benjamin knelt beside the man, his scalpel still attached to Christopher's skin. Christopher's hand found Benjamin's, trying with the last of his strength to remove the blade before falling limply to the side.

While Benjamin detested the use of drugs like cocaine, he had to admit having a junkie as a victim certainly made things easier. Like the previous kill, there was almost no struggle.

Christopher's body seized and let out one last breath before growing still. Benjamin nodded, as though Christopher had played his part particularly well. He hoped his next victim would be just as easy.

It was the one he had been saving for last.

But he couldn't dwell on that now. He needed to focus on the delicate task at hand, which involved carving out an incision that reached the long, coiled tubes that were Christopher's intestines.