Page 53 of See Me After Class

My heels clicked a sharp staccato against the polished mahogany floor of the institute, the echo dampened by the plush Persian rug that stretched underfoot. Warm gaslight bathed the grand entrance hall in a soft, golden glow, illuminating the intricate Victorian details etched into the dark wood paneling. I crinkled my nose at the familiar scents of pipe tobacco and aged leather. Reaching the landing, I was met by a sudden stillness, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock at the end of the corridor. I started to climb, my hand brushing the cool railing.

Suddenly, a figure burst from around the corner, nearly colliding with me.

"Dessie!" Chelsea exclaimed, her voice breathless and strained.

I stopped, surprise etched on my face. "Chelsea? What's wrong?"

Chelsea grasped my arm, her grip tight. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I tried calling, but you weren't answering."

Confused, I frowned. "What's going on? Why are you out of breath?"

"It's Dr. Magnusson," Chelsea replied urgently. "He's been looking for you. He wants you to meet him in the operating theater... now."

My brows furrowed. "The operating theater? At this hour?" What an odd request… unless…

Chelsea nodded hurriedly. "He said it's important. You need to go right away."

I hesitated, my mind racing. Dr. Magnusson could have no reason to summon me for a late-night meeting in the operating theater.

Chelsea seemed to read into my discomfort. "Oh, don't worry," she said quickly. "He's a saint. Maybe he needs your opinion as a psychiatrist."

In the OT?I squirmed inwardly. Plus, Chelsea didn't know what that saint had been doing with me not three hours ago.

If it was what I suspected, I'd have to use it, him, to my advantage. Taking a deep breath, I threw my head back, squared my shoulders, and said, "Alright. Let's go."

I followed Chelsea as we wound our way through the bustling corridors, my heels clicking a frantic rhythm against the floor. Each step closer to the theater amplified the tension building inside my chest.

As we approached the operating theater, the double doors swung open, revealing a brightly lit room filled with gleaming stainless steel instruments.

Dr. Magnusson stood in the center of the room, his tall, imposing figure bathed in the harsh overhead lights. Somehow, the harshness only made him look God-like. He turned toward us, his eyes meeting mine with a piercing intensity.

"Dessie," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Finally. We have much to discuss."

"I'll get going," Chelsea remarked. "See you, Dessie."

I nodded.

Chelsea shut the doors behind her. At that very second, all the lights went off, casting me into an aching darkness.

A voice filled the blackness, all too familiar and tantalizing. "Time for your next lesson, Desdemona Davenport."

20

Viktor

"Sit down," I said, my voice silken as John secured the blindfold over Dessie's eyes. "And behave, or else."

Dessie didn't seem eager to resist, at any rate. She was breathing shallowly, her face flushed. "What are you going to do to me?" she whispered as she sat down on the edge of an operating table.

"We're going to see just how much trouble you're worth," said Leon, drumming his fingers on the surface of a table.

"Leon?"

"Who else do you think is here?" I asked.

"The three of you," she replied immediately. It hit me. She knew what was going to happen. But she didn't knowhow.

"Secure her," John told Leon.

---