Your name will be on everyone’s
lips,” she quirked her own mouth into a smile. “Do you
take it, then?”
Giving a display of false modesty he touched his breast and
laughed lightly, “Of course I’ve tried it, a true doctor
of medicine has to understand such things before just prescribing out
these medications,” he said. “Just a moment dear,”
he touched her arm, “I’ll go grab a bottle from the other
room,” and he turned to go to the attached laboratory.
She quickly tried to glance in the envelope, moving to her
briefcase and sitting down, placing it on her lap to hide her
actions. Her heart pounded in her chest, fear rising within her, yet
it couldn’t overwhelm the sick curiosity she felt.
She could hear the man from the other room, still talking as she
checked out the envelope, “It’s not a new drug, of
course,” no return address on the front. “But then the
most interesting treatments are often from discovering new uses for
old drugs,” tugging the envelope open and peering inside she
saw writing in elegant cursive, appearing to be written in a ladies
hand. Without time to read it she had to suffice for peering to the
end, where it was signed ‘Sylvia S.’
Cursing her lack of time, she stood up and grabbed the paper,
acting as if the letter had fallen to the ground and gasping a bit as
she ‘read’ the front page.
Turing returned shortly after with a vial of amber fluid in hand
as he looked her over, “You quite alright?” he asked,
stepping back inside with a syringe in hand.
“Just...” she looked up from the paper, her face
looking a bit pale, “Have you read this yet?”
Turing was slow to look to the paper, but she could tell the
insincerity of his words, “Ah yes. A tragedy that.” With
a dismissive shrug he said, “The decadence of this place,
sometimes...” he trailed off as if disinterested in the topic.
“Decadence?” she asked as she set the paper back on
the desk, looking as though she just realized the envelope had fallen
out and placing it on top of the paper before moving back to the
couch. Her eyes were on him, wide and curious.
Testing the bottle he took the syringe and stuck it into the top,
“Oh yes, my dear. These society types of New England,”
rolling his eyes he filled the syringe,” endless drama over the
littlest of non-things. I say she probably leapt to her death over
some broken nail.”
“That would be a sad ending,” she mused before
remembering, quite suddenly, that he was about to stick her with some
drug. “Do you have a wife, Doctor Turing?”
A distinct look of annoyance crossed his face, “Ah, yes.
Indeed I do,” he stated in the most dull and disinterested
voice she had ever heard. “Betty,” he said with some
distaste as he took the syringe out and smiled to her toothily, “Lay
back on the couch, dear girl.”
“It’s a shame that all the educated men are married
with children already. The men my own age,” she sighed and it
spoke all too well of her experiences as she lay back, “What
will this feel like?”
Pulling his chair up to the couch beside her he gave such a smile,
“It is a shame indeed, sweet girl. If only I were a little more
unencumbered myself, hm?” he said to her, looking quite leering
as he moved to roll up her sleeve, “It shall feel quite nice,
but don’t let me ruin the surprise!”
Her gaze met his, and she suppressed all the worry and doubt from
her mind as she smiled, “I was speaking with a man not long ago
about the Elektra complex. Does that run in your family? I know the
theory is contentious, but I find it quite entrancing.”
With her arm exposed he sunk the needle into her skin. To give the
white haired old man credit, he had a steady, precise hand, and it
barely stung at all as he injected the fluid into her. “Ah,
no,” he said, “my wife never so much as provided me a
daughter, I’m afraid,” he said, the words sounding a bit
funny to her as she could feel heat rising to
lips,” she quirked her own mouth into a smile. “Do you
take it, then?”
Giving a display of false modesty he touched his breast and
laughed lightly, “Of course I’ve tried it, a true doctor
of medicine has to understand such things before just prescribing out
these medications,” he said. “Just a moment dear,”
he touched her arm, “I’ll go grab a bottle from the other
room,” and he turned to go to the attached laboratory.
She quickly tried to glance in the envelope, moving to her
briefcase and sitting down, placing it on her lap to hide her
actions. Her heart pounded in her chest, fear rising within her, yet
it couldn’t overwhelm the sick curiosity she felt.
She could hear the man from the other room, still talking as she
checked out the envelope, “It’s not a new drug, of
course,” no return address on the front. “But then the
most interesting treatments are often from discovering new uses for
old drugs,” tugging the envelope open and peering inside she
saw writing in elegant cursive, appearing to be written in a ladies
hand. Without time to read it she had to suffice for peering to the
end, where it was signed ‘Sylvia S.’
Cursing her lack of time, she stood up and grabbed the paper,
acting as if the letter had fallen to the ground and gasping a bit as
she ‘read’ the front page.
Turing returned shortly after with a vial of amber fluid in hand
as he looked her over, “You quite alright?” he asked,
stepping back inside with a syringe in hand.
“Just...” she looked up from the paper, her face
looking a bit pale, “Have you read this yet?”
Turing was slow to look to the paper, but she could tell the
insincerity of his words, “Ah yes. A tragedy that.” With
a dismissive shrug he said, “The decadence of this place,
sometimes...” he trailed off as if disinterested in the topic.
“Decadence?” she asked as she set the paper back on
the desk, looking as though she just realized the envelope had fallen
out and placing it on top of the paper before moving back to the
couch. Her eyes were on him, wide and curious.
Testing the bottle he took the syringe and stuck it into the top,
“Oh yes, my dear. These society types of New England,”
rolling his eyes he filled the syringe,” endless drama over the
littlest of non-things. I say she probably leapt to her death over
some broken nail.”
“That would be a sad ending,” she mused before
remembering, quite suddenly, that he was about to stick her with some
drug. “Do you have a wife, Doctor Turing?”
A distinct look of annoyance crossed his face, “Ah, yes.
Indeed I do,” he stated in the most dull and disinterested
voice she had ever heard. “Betty,” he said with some
distaste as he took the syringe out and smiled to her toothily, “Lay
back on the couch, dear girl.”
“It’s a shame that all the educated men are married
with children already. The men my own age,” she sighed and it
spoke all too well of her experiences as she lay back, “What
will this feel like?”
Pulling his chair up to the couch beside her he gave such a smile,
“It is a shame indeed, sweet girl. If only I were a little more
unencumbered myself, hm?” he said to her, looking quite leering
as he moved to roll up her sleeve, “It shall feel quite nice,
but don’t let me ruin the surprise!”
Her gaze met his, and she suppressed all the worry and doubt from
her mind as she smiled, “I was speaking with a man not long ago
about the Elektra complex. Does that run in your family? I know the
theory is contentious, but I find it quite entrancing.”
With her arm exposed he sunk the needle into her skin. To give the
white haired old man credit, he had a steady, precise hand, and it
barely stung at all as he injected the fluid into her. “Ah,
no,” he said, “my wife never so much as provided me a
daughter, I’m afraid,” he said, the words sounding a bit
funny to her as she could feel heat rising to
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