The End
It was her last client of the day and Dolores was feeling it. She’d had Mr Fredericks (whose neuroses had neuroses; although this did make him a fairly solid source of regular income) followed by Miss Malone (who rampant narcissism was truly exhausting by the end of the allocated hour) and that double whammy always left her drained and a little fractious. Dolores checked the calendar. Ah, this should be interesting.
As a matter of course, Dolores didn't really like to continue a professional relationship with the ones that she considered to be truly delusional but there was something different about Cynthia Hunter. Dolores couldn’t pinpoint exactly what made Ms Hunter different which, admittedly, was a source of mild concern for someone who spent their time helping people work out what was going on in their heads.
A gentle knock at the door. Dolores smiled. “Come in.”
There was something about the way that she moved that always struck Dolores. She’d struggled to put her finger on it before but now, as she watched Cynthia approach the couch and position herself upon it, Dolores realised what it was. Dolores had recently become the slightly obsessed owner of a relatively young cat (not really a kitten anymore but not quite a cat) which, for reasons not even entirely clear to Dolores, she’d decided to name Humphrey Bogart. She’d watched it with amusement the first time that Humphrey Bogart had gone outside and discovered the small family of birds living in the apple tree at the end of the garden. The watchfulness, the stalking, the preparations for pouncing (all of which she’d allowed as the birds were too far away and not in any real danger). This was what Cynthia put her in mind of. A cat sizing up its prey.
“How are you today, Cynthia?”
Cynthia sighed. “Wearing a little thin, Dr Miller.” (Always went with the title despite Dolores’ repeated requests to use her first name.)
Now that Dolores took a good look at her, she could see what Cynthia meant. There was something different about her today, a certain wanness that she didn't usually exude. If anything (and Dolores felt a little silly admitting this even to herself), there was usually something almost too solid, too healthy about her. Dolores suspected that the reason she felt that way may well be a subconscious reaction to Cynthia’s claims about herself.
“I did meet someone recently.” Cynthia had a tendency to just launch in on something (which, at the end of a long day, Dolores was thankful for). “Our eyes met across a crowded room - a dreadful cliche, I know, but sometimes they are cliches because they happen so often. There was a definite spark there - I felt it and I could tell she felt it too.” Cynthia sighed. “But what’s the point? I’ve been through it before. It’s fine for a while but then they get old and wither and die and I just… keep going.”
Cynthia stared off into the middle distance, a pensive look on her face. Dolores was about to say something when a sudden smile illuminated Cynthia’s face. “I do like the chase, though. I’ve always liked the chase.”
Cynthia turned to look at Dolores. Dolores knew her mannerisms well enough now to know that this was usually the precursor to a conversational shift.
“I miss worshippers. They’re just not there anymore. Back in the old days… ah, they knew how to worship back then, you know. Really worship. None of this half-hearted praying and putting on your smart stuff on a Sunday. Proper, one hundred percent worship. The Athenians knew how to do it - sending their girls for a year of servitude. That’s how you worship. And as for the Spartans? Proper blood sacrifice, that’s the way you show your fealty. Not these bloody mournful hymns.”
Dolores nodded. This was a well worn routine, usually trotted out when something had been agitating her. She had an idea what it might be.
“How’s your brother?”
Cynthia huffed. “A pain in the arse as always. That whole overprotective thing wore thin a millennia or so ago but Sol just doesn’t seem to get it. He’s obsessed with this whole ‘defending my honour’ schtick. It’s just so… tiring.”
She sighed and leaned back with her eyes closed. Dolores let the silence stretch out for a moment. Always a fine line this point between waiting for them to fill the silence again and letting it go on too long. Dolores was just about to ask something when Cynthia chimed in.
“You’ve never really believed me, have you? You just think I’m delusional.”
“We’ve discussed this before - it’s not about what I believe, it’s about what you believe and why.”
Cynthia looked at her again. “I’m wearing thin. This body, that is. We can wear them for a while - much, much longer than they would normally last anyway - but they always wear thin in the end.” She smiled an odd smile. “The form will fade but I will endure. I always endure.”
In a swift motion that seemed to come out of nowhere, Cynthia reached into her handbag and pulled out a large bright red handkerchief which she folded diagonally, making a triangle shape with it. Before Dolores realised what was happening, Cynthia had closed the distance between them with a frightening speed and draped the handkerchief over her shoulders (neckerchief now, she supposed) and delicately tied it around her neck.
"This is going to hurt. A little."
Dolores started. She felt...something. She couldn’t say what it was but it was something. A sting, a jolt, a notion, an understanding of something except she wasn’t sure quite what. Like a sudden icicle through the brain but one that faded into memory almost as soon as it happened.
Cynthia stepped back and observed her handiwork. She nodded with apparent satisfaction.
“I have enjoyed our times together.” She smiled as if at a private joke. “And I shall continue to do so in the future. Goodbye for now, Dr Miller.”
With that, Cynthia turned and left the room. Dolores sat there for some time, hand on the neckerchief, head filled with the sounds of thundering hooves and arrows being loosed, blood pounding in her temples...
The Prompt
Here is what I had to work with courtesy of Morag:-
Story title - The End
Character name - Dr Dolores Miller
Object - A bright red silk handkerchief
Line of dialogue - “This is going to hurt”
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