The door clicked shut, and Lucas finally let the mask of composure drop. His breath quickened, and a twisted thrill coiled tight in his chest as he glanced down at the worn doctor's suitcase in his hand. It was heavier than it looked, the leather cracked and faded, marked by years of use and secrets. The buckles creaked as he slowly unclasped them, a sense of anticipation tightening his gut.
His fingers traced the cool metal as he opened the case, revealing an assortment of strange and sinister objects inside. Surgical tools, old and polished to a gleam, lay carefully arranged on black velvet lining. There were scalpels with fine, sharp blades, bone saws, and forceps—all tools meant for precision, but in Lucas's eyes, they seemed more like instruments of chaos.
His heart pounded harder as he gingerly lifted a scalpel, its edge catching the faint light. His reflection distorted in its gleam, and for a moment, he imagined it slicing through flesh—not of animals, but of something more delicate. His fingers itched to feel the resistance of skin and bone beneath the blade. A smile curled on his lips as he ran his thumb along the scalpel's edge, savoring the near-perfect craftsmanship.
He set it down carefully and turned his attention to the next object. A small glass vial, still filled with something murky and dark, caught his eye. He picked it up, shaking it slightly, watching the liquid swirl and coat the glass. Whatever it was, it was old. He wondered what it could do—if it was poison, medicine, or something far more sinister.
Lucas's excitement began to surge. His breathing became shallow as he dug deeper, discovering more vials, a syringe, and a set of leather-bound notebooks—yellowed with age and filled with intricate, handwritten notes. He flipped one open, skimming through the delicate, spidery script. Diagrams of anatomy, strange symbols, and detailed descriptions of experiments littered the pages.
He could barely contain his growing fascination. His pulse quickened as he imagined the possibilities. His mind raced with thoughts of what he could do with such tools. The power they represented was intoxicating, each item a gateway to something darker, something forbidden.
His fingers caressed the pages of the notebook as though it were a sacred text. The excitement he felt wasn't just curiosity—it was a hunger. A hunger for control, for the sensation of bending life to his will. The thrill of knowing that these tools could give him the means to push boundaries that no one else dared approach.
A dark, bubbling laughter escaped him as he closed the notebook, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. This gift from Mr. Morton wasn't just some token. It was a challenge, an invitation to embrace the darkest parts of himself. Lucas could sense it in every object, every carefully placed tool, as if the case itself whispered promises of power and destruction.
He stood, clutching the handle of the doctor's bag with trembling fingers, his mind alive with the possibilities. This was more than just an addition to his collection—it was an extension of his desires, a way to make them real. He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face, his heart pounding with a wild, uncontained excitement. His thoughts spiraled, imagining what he could do, how far he could go. And for the first time in a long while, Lucas felt something akin to joy.
As he closed the suitcase and set it aside, a voice in his head whispered, urging him on. He'd explore every item inside, every possibility they presented. But first, he had to plan. A new game had begun, and Lucas was more than ready to play.
........
The days passed in a blur, Lucas barely leaving his room as he immersed himself in his new collection. Each day brought something new—another tool to sharpen, another experiment to perfect. His face, though healing, still bore the marks of recent violence, the faint bruising around his eyes and cheekbones reminding him of his need for patience. He couldn't face Dimitri looking like this. Not yet.
He spent hours with the doctor's suitcase open before him, meticulously studying the items as though they held secrets only he could unlock. His room had become a sanctuary of sorts, the outside world reduced to background noise while he honed his skills. Every time he ran his fingers over the scalpel's edge or examined the vials, he felt a surge of power.
Lucas began sneaking out whenever Mr. Morton wasn't home, slipping behind the house to a secluded spot hidden by overgrown trees and bushes. The treehouse was marred by the passage of time, but now it was his hideout. It was small, dark, and damp, but it served his purpose perfectly. The smell of decay and damp wood didn't bother him—in fact, he found it oddly comforting.
Here, in this forgotten corner of the estate, he could practice his craft in peace. He started with small then went for the bigger animals—rabbits, stray cats, even birds—anything he could catch in the thick woods surrounding the property. He'd bring them back to his hideout and lay them out on a makeshift table he'd fashioned from an old door, and there, he'd experiment.
At first, his hands were shaky, unpracticed. But soon, with each cut, each incision, he grew more precise, more confident. The animals' soft bodies provided little resistance, and Lucas reveled in the feel of their fur, their skin parting under his blade. He took his time, studying each reaction, each movement. Every experiment was an opportunity to learn, to understand the intricate mechanics of life and death.
The vials from the suitcase became a particular fascination. He tested their contents on the creatures he caught, injecting them with the dark liquid to see what effect it had. Some of the vials were harmless—old, degraded substances that did little more than cause minor discomfort. But others… others brought the kind of reactions that made Lucas's heart race. Tremors, violent spasms, death within minutes. He noted every detail in a notebook he'd stolen from Mr. Morton's study, careful to keep his writing neat, just like the ones he'd found in the suitcase.
As the days wore on, Lucas's face slowly began to heal. The swelling had gone down, the bruising faded to a dull yellow-green. He studied his reflection in the cracked mirror in his room, running his fingers over his cheek. Not perfect, but close enough. He could face Dimitri now. He was ready.
But before that, there was one last thing to perfect. His art wasn't just about precision—it was about control, about pushing limits. He needed something more than just animals. Something… bigger,something that struggled more and brought him a twisted excitement.
Lucas's gaze drifted to the woods beyond the window. Soon. But for now, he'd return to his hideout, sharpening his skills for the moment he could finally reveal his work to the world—or, more specifically, to Dimitri. He smiled to himself, imagining the look on Dimitri's face when he finally saw what Lucas had been working on. The fear, the awe, the realization that Lucas had become something far more dangerous than anyone had anticipated.
With a final glance at his reflection, Lucas grabbed the doctor's suitcase and slipped out the back door once more, heading toward the woods. There was still work to be done, and he wasn't going to waste a second.