Creeping out of the examination room, I took care not to make a sound as I made my way towards the loud clacking.
Apart from the droning low hum of the AC, it was the only sound I could hear in the entire building, so it wasn’t difficult to locate its origin.
Soon enough, I was standing with my back against the wall beside the open door to Harlow’s office, where he could be seen crouched over the infamous typewriter, clambering away at the keys, typing up some document.
From my position, I could hear the crystal clear grumbles of the man as he read aloud the words he was putting on paper, allowing me to quickly verify that he was working on a Will for one of his victims to sign, just like I had hoped.
Of course, even if I had confirmed this information, that didn’t mean I would act on it, not so soon; I wanted to learn as much as possible about him and his victims, as only 15 were uncovered.
It was a perfect opportunity to not only get the answers I had when learning about Harlow and his slayings but also push the Descent Timeline by a marginal chunk.
I had no clue how much it would move, but if I, perchance, decided to let the families of the deceased know that their long-dead family members were actually victims and didn’t die of old age, that should push the timeline…right?
Frankly, although the safer route, it didn’t really scratch that itch in the back of my head; no, I wanted more, I wanted chaos, I wanted to see how far this man nicknamed Doctor Death could go…that was why…
I stepped out into the light emitted through the doorway and stood there like a looming shadow or ghost.
For a full hour, I didn’t move; I merely stood there listening to the chaotic storm of thoughts jumbling around Harlow’s mind; meanwhile, the man had no idea he was even being observed, as his full focus was on typing out the document that could potentially secure him the funds he desperately needed.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Harlow swiped the arm of the typewriter one last time, then removed the papers and read them over with a weird smile on his lips.
That was when I decided to strike.
"It won’t work, you know," appearing atop his desk like a specter; one second, I was in the doorway; the next, with my hood down, Hockey mask on, and in my full Xipher persona.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!" thoroughly shocked and frightened by my sudden appearance, Harlow kicked back in his chair and fell backward onto the floor while screaming and pointing up at me.
"Ahhh~ sigh, it’s always so annoying when they scream like cowards," shaking my head and holding my arms up helplessly, I struck a confident pose on the man’s desk and looked down at him.
"Woe is me, here I come, to try and help the poor foolish man about to sign his own demise and death warrant, yet all he can do is scream like a frightened child." Dramatically covering my face with my left hand, I pantomimed, being in despair, causing Harlow’s sreaks to cut off.
"Now then, as I have said, my appearance here today is no fluke, for you see, I know of all of your deeds and the lives you have taken." Slowly pacing from left to right on Harlow’s desk, I continued my monologue, with each work shocking the hell out of the Serial Killer, who knew that I somehow knew everything.
"Hundreds of lives, of those in who he had their trust, young and old, their age wasn’t just. His patterns were lame, simple, and rude."
"Stuck with a needle, no reason to be crude. Hundreds of lives, of which you have reaped, a shame you are dumb and took a false leap."
"Poor little Harlow, soon named The Angel Of Death, your crimes are coming to light soon, along with your final breath." After the last line, I fell silent and watched the terrified man who had believed himself to be a god.
It took some time, but eventually, Harlow collected himself enough to control his outward appearance, and I got a good look at the man.
At the tail end of middle age, in his early 50s, Harlow had thick Coke bottle glasses, which were the standard stock for doctors of the 80s, and a full white beard. His hair was salt and pepper grey and thinning in some places.
The sourc𝗲 of this content is frёeωebɳovel.com.
His nose was bulbous, and his eyes were filled with hidden murderous contempt. A simple scan of his mind told me that he, too, was scanning and observing me as much as I was him.
But unlike his outward appearance, which was on full display, all he could get from me was a pair of icy blue eyes hidden behind a horror-flick mask and me wearing all black.
Glancing down at him with contempt, the only thing that came to mind when giving him a good look over was how average the man looked.
To me, he seemed like just about any other doctor I had ever met: in decent shape, Caucasian, and around 5 foot 11 inches.
"Who..eh hum, who are you, and how do you know so much." The long silence was broken by Harlow clearing his throat.
"Me? Oh, it doesn’t matter who I am, foolish man, for what DOES is not my identity but how I can aid you in continuing to satiate that hunger deep within your depths."
"The urges which are so dark and depraved that they have led you to abuse your position as a doctor so that you may acquire your tool for killing and partake in what I don’t doubt is your favorite pastime."
FWOOOSH
After finishing my statement in a sing-song tone, I flung my arm forward, and it appeared as though it had vanished from Harlow’s view.
A fraction of a second later, he was stunned to feel a stinging in his wrist and realized that his right arm had now been pinned to the wall by a gnarly-looking black and red dagger.
"Now, now, I wouldn’t try that again, Good Doctor, let alone getting the chance to inject me being unlikely; I’ll have you know that weak drugs such as morphine have ZERO effect on me."