December 12th, 1894 — Samuel's old laboratory, Whitechapel
Samuel was surrounded by fog. He was not sure where he was. He watched his hands. Time seemed sluggish. His fingers attempted to undo the last button of his stained shirt. The round button, mother-of-pearl, caught on the fabric. His hands stopped moving. Then, exasperatingly slowly, they moved again and started over. It was the last button. If only he could get it to slip through the buttonhole. It would be the accomplishment to set him free. Or he would be stuck in this loop for eternity.
A noise to his left startled him. Samuel turned his head, and through the clouds he saw him approach. He had seen him looking brighter, but one could not have such expectations for a dead man. "I thought I wasn't dead.", he said, and it contained some doubt and the question if he was. He was glad to see him. He did not smile, but the warmth shone in his eyes. It set his hands free, and with a uncoordinated movement of his elbow, he swept away a bottle that appeared to have been standing right next to him. It shattered on the floor. The smell of some essential oil spread trough the air. One of the shards cut the side of Samuel's foot, alerting him to the fact that he was not wearing shoes. The pain and the pearls of bright red color suddenly shifted his environment.
Sam looked around and saw that he sat on the edge of a heavy claw-footed bath. The water ran from the tap, and steam rose thick through the air and fogged up the large mirror on the wall across. It looked like a cloudy landscape seen from above a summit.
Don Juan stood in the doorway. "Careful. There is glass on the floor," Samuel told him. The realization who it really was dampened the eerie happiness he briefly felt. But the cold contempt he once held for Don Juan was likewise gone; he had misplaced it somewhere along the way during this harrowing night.
Now he vaguely recalled getting up from the floor some time after taking the last dose. That was some time after Don Juan died and he dragged him back. He had been lying on the floor, waiting for it to hit. It did, eventually. But instead of the usual rushing, Samuel had a heartbeat in his ear, and he did not think it was his. The pulse accelerated, then dropped off to nothing. After a while, the sequence repeated. And so on. Eventually, the room appeared as if he were looking at it through a mirror, observing himself and the outline of the man beside him. That's when he got up. He might have told Don Juan that he was going to change and clean himself up. Or he might have said nothing. He did not recall and now he shivered, only lightly aware that he was still close behind the last dose.
A noise to his left startled him. Samuel turned his head, and through the clouds he saw him approach. He had seen him looking brighter, but one could not have such expectations for a dead man. "I thought I wasn't dead.", he said, and it contained some doubt and the question if he was. He was glad to see him. He did not smile, but the warmth shone in his eyes. It set his hands free, and with a uncoordinated movement of his elbow, he swept away a bottle that appeared to have been standing right next to him. It shattered on the floor. The smell of some essential oil spread trough the air. One of the shards cut the side of Samuel's foot, alerting him to the fact that he was not wearing shoes. The pain and the pearls of bright red color suddenly shifted his environment.
Sam looked around and saw that he sat on the edge of a heavy claw-footed bath. The water ran from the tap, and steam rose thick through the air and fogged up the large mirror on the wall across. It looked like a cloudy landscape seen from above a summit.
Don Juan stood in the doorway. "Careful. There is glass on the floor," Samuel told him. The realization who it really was dampened the eerie happiness he briefly felt. But the cold contempt he once held for Don Juan was likewise gone; he had misplaced it somewhere along the way during this harrowing night.
Now he vaguely recalled getting up from the floor some time after taking the last dose. That was some time after Don Juan died and he dragged him back. He had been lying on the floor, waiting for it to hit. It did, eventually. But instead of the usual rushing, Samuel had a heartbeat in his ear, and he did not think it was his. The pulse accelerated, then dropped off to nothing. After a while, the sequence repeated. And so on. Eventually, the room appeared as if he were looking at it through a mirror, observing himself and the outline of the man beside him. That's when he got up. He might have told Don Juan that he was going to change and clean himself up. Or he might have said nothing. He did not recall and now he shivered, only lightly aware that he was still close behind the last dose.
CONTEN WARNING -- drug use, dark themes, etc.
Edit: minor phrasing edit
