by J. E. Keep
She put on a bright smile, despite feeling less than cheery, and placed her briefcase down at her side, “I’m just pleased you were able to make time for me. I understand how busy they all keep you down here.”
With a scoffing laugh he replied. “You have no idea,” he said, moving on in with her and shutting the door. “Being the only one in this department with any actual medical skill makes me something of a pariah,” he said, the man in a tweed blazer and sweater that bulked up his slender form some.
Leaning in he added, “It’s jealousy my dear. That’s all you’d ever have to fear by following in my footsteps and taking up pharmacology as an approach to the mind,” he tapped his temple and smiled at her wryly.
“If you’ll pardon my immodesty, I think it’s something I’ll have to fear regardless of what I choose to focus my further studies on,” she teased good naturedly, trying to push the unpleasant thoughts from her mind. Mrs. Sinclair’s body lying in the snow as Eva made love to her husband, sullied her name and their relationship.
“I’ve always found it interesting, yet my studies always lead away from it.”
If Turing was there last night, he wasn’t showing it, not with the way he laughed at her joke and the old man leered at her, much as the hawk he so resembled. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he said to her, “That is a travesty, my dear,” and waved her onto the couch. “Freud recognized the benefits of pharmacology, and though they’ve all gotten away from it, it’s a colossal error, miss Perkin’s!”
“Well if they were all perfect, there’d be nothing left for us to do,” she quipped as she settled into the sofa, her briefcase placed at her feet. “Jealousy, however, is a wicked creature. We should build onto one another’s successes, further proving or disproving theories and not get caught up in such pettiness against our lessors.”
“Well said,” he responded, smiling so pleasantly. “I know, dear girl,” he began moving around his desk, sifting through some documents and in the process nudging a pile of papers which revealed the open and seemingly read daily newspaper, with that now familiar headline across it.
“You’re quite the clever one. Which,” he began with a deep intake of breath, “is why it pains me to see you taken in by someone like Russell, who has nothing to offer anyone but his ego,” he declared so vehemently.
Her eyes rolled, “He’s a fool,” she lamented. “However, I would have rather spent a half hour with him one night and confirmed it than have him constantly chasing me for some more time. He’s like a child. He’s the typical result of an unresolved Oedipus complex.”
Turing let loose such a pleasured laugh at that, taking malicious delight in her insulting the other professor. “You are too right!” He declared and rubbed his hands together. “But enough about that British twit, hmm?”
There was a certain glint in his eyes as he searched through his things, and as he nudged the papers and documents around she could see some opened envelope poking out from the newspaper itself. “There’s a new drug I’ve been experimenting with, my dear. It has the delightful effect of treating most any ailment you can think of in some manner, but is especially useful for depressives.” Looking to her with excitement in his eyes he asked, “Would you like to give it a try? It’s quite harmless, I assure you.”
She laughed, though her keen eyes were focused elsewhere as she stood up to his desk, her fingertips pressing against the table as she stared up at him past the desk, “If you’re experimenting on it, how do you know that?”
Her fingers edged towards the envelope, but the provocative manner in which she stood, even in her modest garb, was quite distracting.
Her ploy had its desired effect, for Turing was far too enraptured with her and her provocative approach to notice the motions of her hand. “Ah, my dear,” he began much softer than normal, doubtlessly because of his distraction, “the uses of it are what’s under experiment. The safety, I assure you, is fully confirmed as safe,” he said reassuringly. “I have a feeling this drug could be used in the future to treat everything from chronic pain to depression and psychosis.”
“My, my,” she slipped the envelope into the sleeve of her blazer, “If that’s true, you’ll be heralded near and far, Doctor Turing. 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 the surface of her flesh and sensations becoming dramatically amplified.
Her breath caught as she felt the immediate sensation, and she stared at him longer than appropriate. “Ahh,” she exhaled finally, her lashes fluttering pleasantly, “That is such a shame.”
Pulling the needle from her and putting it away he stroked her arm, and it was as if her skin were aflame with sensations so acutely pleasant they nearly transcended sexual intimacy. “It is indeed,” he said, “though she is not the beauty you are, my dear. So perhaps in a way, it’s fortunate she didn’t. They’d not have turned out to have your beauty or intellect,” he said, and perhaps it was the drugs, but that remark felt remarkably more complimentary and endearing than it logically should have.
Her lips curled and she could feel her body relax into the couch, the sensation so pleasant all around her. Even the thick clothes she wore were a delight.
“I can definitely say it’s working,” she mused, sucking in another long breath as she felt her body excite at the simplest touch of his finger. “How long does it last?”
“A few hours,” he said softly, “so it’s best to enjoy while it lasts.” And he stroked his hand along her arm again, the knuckles of his fingers brushing against her clothed breast, “If only I had a pretty student such as you as my wife. Or daughter even. What lovely fortune that would be,” he remarked with a bizarre affection.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she could swear she heard herself moan, though she didn’t entirely feel it. It was something altogether new and tempting, and she vaguely recalled what she had said to him only the week prior, goading him about exploring pharmacology.
Licking over her lips she tried to smile, a weak, “Thank you,” tumbling over her lips.
Her limbs felt weak, but she had no particular desire to want to move those muscles. It felt so exquisite to just lay there and enjoy, after all. The old doctors stroking hand caressing her dark curls and cheek, “There’s so much enjoyment to be had here with me in this department,” he stated softly, “especially for such a beautiful, promising young student such as yourself, Eva. Wouldn’t you enjoy that?”
“I don’t know I can be tied down li—” her breath caught and her face grew so hot under his hand as the memories of just hours below flooded her. She hadn’t had time to reflect upon the exquisite evening with her lover in the wake of his wife’s death, and it all came to her so quickly. The pleasurable sensations of the drugs only made her feel hotter, and her lidded eyes stared at the professor.
It was such a pleasant heat, stoked only higher as the doctor touched her cheek and on down to her neck, skirting her collar as he smiled. “Why tie you down when we can enjoy things like this?” he asked, standing up and pulling his tweed blazer off, looking more the thin man he was without it. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”
She was so experienced with things like this that she had figured out his intents, even in her drugged state. She likely would have been more concerned, if the drug he’d filled her veins with didn’t make it feel so pleasant.
Besides, she was warm.
Eva watched him with a passive interest, her skin burning under her heavy clothes, and she nodded lightly, “I guess.”
Returning back to her he smiled and caressed her jawline, “Let me help you out of that, hm? The two of us could be a great team here, you know?” He began to slowly undo the buttons of her top, his fingers so dextrous and nimble.
“Is this right?” she murmured, each brush of his fingers against her shirt, flesh and blazer feeling so positively delightful, all in different manners. It was an experience that was beyond compare, even as she wondered at the wrongness of it all.
She wasn’t so much panicking, but she could feel some tension tickle her spine as she watched him reveal her smooth, pale flesh.
Though it was hard to stay focussed on being upset when it felt so good! Her mind was full of thoughts of those other men who satisfied her so well, and as Turing opened her top, exposing her generous bust, it was a losing struggle to stay bothered by it.
“Of course it is,” he smiled after opening her top completely, then reaching in under her, undoing the bra. “It feels fantastic doesn’t it?”
She nodded, trying to swallow yet finding her throat dry, “Yea,” she murmured.
She had bathed before she’d left, and all residue of her love affair had been washed away, leaving her pale skin lotioned and slightly pink as the blood ran to the surface. Already her buds were puckered and excited against the rush of sudden air, and she inhaled sharply.
With the reveal of those large mounds, the doctor gave such a deep and pleased sigh, “Ahh, more exquisite than I imagined they’d be,” he said, palming each, rubbing and squeezing them with the excitement of a much younger man. “No wonder none of us can stop talking about you, Eva,” he said with a leer on his face.
“What do you say?” she murmured, her eyes closing shut as the ecstasy of his greedy hands rushed through her body. Her breasts were round and firm, still so youthful despite their size, and the sensation was intensified by whatever drug he’d given her. She couldn’t find it in her to say no to the sensation, no matter how wrong it felt.
“Not things for ladies ears,” he chided wryly then lowered his face down, plunging his mouth about her teat and suckling with such a hunger for her. His mouth felt moist but cool compared to her heated flesh, and it was a pleasant sensation, delightful really. Coupled with the extra sensitive nature of her stiff nipples it was absolute joy to have him use her so, and no matter what she logically thought of the situation, she could not escape that reality.
His words and actions felt so contradictory, but the thought was gone almost as quickly as it occurred to her, replaced instead by the enjoyment of his mouth on her body. Another loud moan pierced the air and she tried again to moisten her mouth and lips.
She remained so still atop the couch, even as she wanted to shift and guide him, and she forced her eyes open to stare at the lascivious old man.
She watched him lose himself in her flesh, revelling in those large mounds that were so clearly at his disposal. The sensations, her weakness and heated body all mounted, and the world seemed to grow fuzzy and dim.
When she awoke next upon his couch, she was, she realized, fully dressed. Though her head still spun, and she felt weak and warm. Not to the same degree though, certainly not enough to keep her laying there without any sign of the doctor but the open door to his lab.
She blinked her eyes, looking down at herself and wondering for a moment if it was all a dream. She took her time, slowly turning her body and sitting up, barely even breathing. With the pleasure of his touch gone, all she could feel was a rising sense of indignation, and her gaze scanned his desk for the envelope she found earlier.
The envelope was exactly where she dropped it, having passed beneath his notice somehow. And though the hazy memories of what happened seemed so diluted and hard to grasp, feeling indeed like a dream, the soreness in her teats attested to the truth. She could hear the sound of footsteps in the other room and a light humming.
Once more she reached for that envelope, trying to discretely ascertain the contents without his notice, her entire body feeling sore and as though she needed a very warm bath.
Direct and to the point the letter read:
‘Sir, if you do not turn yourself into the authorities post-haste, your activities—and proof thereof—shall be made public. The things you’ve done to those girls with your drugs is horrendous, yet all the same, you have until this Saturday before I personally see to it that your crimes are exposed.
For the sake of the reputation of Clarford, I would hope you choose the dignified route of turning yourself over and confessing.
Signed,
Sylvia S.’
Chapter 8
The sound of those footsteps seemed to be approaching, the humming becoming clearer.
She almost laughed, the smile
tickling her lips in some cruel, gallows humour before she pocketed the letter in her briefcase. Sitting back down on the couch, her hand rubbed along her forehead groggily, acting as though she had just awoken.
Entering into the room Turing gave her a bright smile, “Ah, you’re up then. Good,” he said stepping back in, looking more pleased than she’d ever seen him. “The dosage was a bit high for you I think,” he said, seating himself on the corner of his cluttered desk. “We’ll dial it back next time, no?”
She gave him a hazy smile that hid her panic, nodding, “I can’t really remember,” she agreed. “What was it anyways?”
Batting a hand at her he got up and went towards her and the door, “Oh, we’ll go over that next time,” he said. “Doubtless you’re a bit weary of all this pharmacology talk right now, hm?” With one hand on the doorknob he reached out to take her hand and help her up.
She accepted his hand graciously, grabbing her briefcase, “I’m just so pleased we got a chance to connect,” she said, her voice a bit breathless. She was doing everything she could to remain natural, but it was difficult, and she could feel her facade cracking. “Best of luck, Doctor. I’ll be seeing you again shortly, no doubt.”
Ushering her out the door he seemed almost as eager to be rid of her as she was to be gone.
In that panic of hers to get away, she made for the closest place of comfort she could think of. Martin’s place was on campus, a large room, secluded and by itself in the dorms, it didn’t take long for her to be knocking on his door.
Opening it up, dressed in his usual attire of shirt, tie and sweater, he began speaking before really noticing her condition, “Can you BELIEVE what’s been happening, Eva?” His voice high at his astonishment, “There’s talk of making Turing the new department head should Sinclair go to prison!”
