Noses twitching, the furred creatures stood on their hind legs, their beady black eyes following the doctor as he walked. Nightly, he strolled in the derelict hospital, led by the street light filtering through the insect-littered windows. He passed the rows of bed frames standing sentry in the wards. Each one interspersed by wall lamps, their rusted necks craned towards the doorway as if watching him pass. On the walls faded cartoon characters guided him through the winding corridors and abandoned wards – but their smiles were macabre, their teeth sharp. Sometimes, as he passed, he could almost hear their whispers as they conspired against him. But then the air was different at night. That was when the shadows came to life and the walls began to breathe. Glass splintered underfoot as he returned to his surgery. The haunting smell of antiseptic filtered through his nostrils, but it was the memory of a scent from days long gone. He did not see the crumbling plaster, the missing ceiling tiles, nor smell the sour rodent urine laced with rotting brick. His mind brought him to a happier time – when he was respected and of value to the world. And now he was sure that time would come again. He froze, his feet temporarily stilled as he strained to hear a siren wail. Was it police or ambulance? In London, such sounds were part of the cacophony of city life.
People noticed less in the city. Plugged into the latest technology, like automatons, they filtered from work to the tubes. But he still drew the attention of those engaged with the world. Children would squeal and point, recoiling as he cast his one good eye in their direction. They were the most perfect creatures of all. But these days they were also the most guarded. Yet here he was, reduced to snatching dirty whores off the street. He licked his lips, a smile rising on his face. But then he did turn them into such pretty little girls.
His armpits damp with sweat, he unbuttoned his military coat and hooked it onto the rusted drip stand. He did not need it for his latest victim because he was no longer afforded the luxury of time. His newest victim had presented the greatest challenge, and he had come close to being discovered. It was a long time since he had made a house call, but they were next on the list. With the police investigation gaining momentum, they were hardly likely to come to him.
He smoothed the blanket over the sleeping form, his raspy breath cooling his parted lips. Excitement blossomed inside him. Escaping the tower block unnoticed had not been easy, but the drug he administered had been enough to make his latest guest appear drunk as they wobbled on their feet. In that estate, such behaviour did not raise an eyelid. All the same, it was a blessing that he had use of a lift because he couldn’t have dragged them all the way down the flights of stairs. Like an addiction, his compulsion was demanding and would have forced him to try just the same.
The pleasure he derived from creating his works of art dissipated all too quickly, leaving him thirsting for more. He clamped a hand on his chest, slowing his breathing and taking comfort as his heart relaxed into a steady beat. Why was he putting himself through all this? The answer lay in the full-length mirror before him. He forced himself to look at his reflection: it was a face where pain and anger were laid bare. He glanced at his milky left eye through the vision of his right. They had not just taken his sight, they had taken everything. His revenge would not be complete until each of his victims was struck off the list.
He glanced down at the sleeping form, taking in its potential. He had art to present to the world, but sometimes it felt like the world wasn’t listening. But many artists felt that way, tortured and undervalued. He was following in the footsteps of the greats. It was such a shame that fame had not come until their passing. Perhaps it would be the same for him. It gave him comfort to know that he would continue living long after his body had crumbled to powder and bone. He placed a hand on his victim’s warm brow as if he could absorb their energy for what was to come. They were sleeping now, at peace with their pathetic life. He glanced at his watch: it was time to get to work.