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Anything Else, Doctor?

Eric Burbridge

    Mrs. Poole dried the last dish while the doctor hurried through his dinner and retreated to his newly attached laboratory. Glass shattered and the outside door slammed. Out the window she saw a tall slim figure in a black overcoat and top hat with a gold cane leap over the stone fence. Was that the doctor? She unlocked the door. What were the broken vials that littered the floor? He once spoke of separating stress from the male psyche to relieve male problems, but his colleagues thought him crazy, he’d said.
    She told her husband she might work over a few hours and not to wait up. She changed and dashed into the balmy London air to hail a taxi. A lamplighter tipped his hat as the driver steadied the horses while she boarded. Her flesh got the best of her. She couldn’t get to the opium den nestled in the rear of the local house of ill-repute fast enough. Old man Wong escorted her to a discreet spot so her euphoric dreams wouldn’t be disturbed listening to the moans and groans of couples spread throughout. She went to relieve herself and other females spoke of a tall gentleman, a horse of a man, who never got limp or parted with his gold cane. He often whacked one woman while pile driving in another.
    A gold cane?
    That sounded like the doctor. The smell of smoke and sweat lingered in the hallway. Poole followed the line of taller females returning to their various rooms. Screams of passion aroused her and she peeked through a cracked door and it was him...or was it? He was more muscular riding a woman doggy style. He opened a small vial and drank. “Call me, master.” He hissed. “Master.”
    What was that...is that what changed him?
    He turned when she accidently pushed the door. His eyes and features were puffy. In a panic she pulled the door shut and ran down the hall, cut the corner and ducked into an empty room. If he saw her she was out of a job. Who would hire a fortyish full figured plain Jane? People ran up the stairs from the opposite direction. “There he is.” They ran past, it sounded like the entire bar was fighting in the hall. She shot down the stairs to avoid the chaos, stumbled and landed on her side. She witnessed the doctor toss a guy over the balcony rail like a doll then leaped over it landing on his feet like a cat. One swing of his cane and he virtually beheaded a huge dock worker. The doctor stood in the middle of the floor and let out a hideous laugh and ran out the door.
    Did the vial’s contents transform him? It had to be.
*
    Curiosity was killing her. She opened the laboratory door. The same light was on and no noise. She stepped over broken glass, opened his notes and read. The formula had given him the strength and sexual prowess desired. But, eliminating the stress related inhibitions gave birth to the urge to dominate and destroy. A key entered the outside lock. She shut the book, grabbed a couple of vials and left.
     She felt good about her discovery, but prayed for her husband’s safety while she mixed the potion into his warm milk. He sat up and drank and she went to bathe. She combed hair long blonde hair and was shocked by the image in her mirror. Edward stood in the doorway naked and erect. He perspired heavily and his breathing was erratic. He grabbed her, tore off her gown and threw her on the bed. The next morning she was bruised all over her back and thighs, but satisfied beyond belief.
*
    Mrs. Poole glanced at the morning paper while she fixed the doctor’s breakfast.
    Mysterious well dressed man killed dock worker in massive barroom brawl.
    It went on to say the killer displayed super human strength and agility. She figured the doctor took too much too often. He was an addict like many associates at the opium den.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Poole.” The doctor whispered. His head was covered with a bath towel and he took his breakfast into the lab.
    After sunset there was the commotion in the lab, he leaped over the fence and Poole stole more vials. She left on schedule and somebody grabbed her from behind and pulled her into the bushes. It was the doctor! “This is for stealin’, bitch!” After he brutally raped her she lay there shamefully satisfied. She dare not tell anyone and vowed not to return.
    She purchased a small derringer and plotted his demise, but she needed more of the potion. On the weekend she waited until dark. She prepared to go in when she saw a crowd chasing someone limping down the street. The well dressed gentleman fell and they surrounded him. He fought gallantly, but the flurry of feet and fisted pounding him into the cobblestone street overwhelmed him. Poole was pleased and horrified. She hurried inside took the remaining potion and his notebook. The doctor died two days later and Scotland Yard briefly questioned her and left. After all what would a commoner know?
    The Pooles saved enough money for a small stretch of unemployment. Helen read the doctor’s notes when she could. She accepted her pregnancy; the morning sickness was gone and she could concentrate on making more of the potion. Whoever the father she needed to keep her family and newly potent husband happy.

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