Dr. Killington … Part 1

The office smelled faintly of peppermint and lavender, a strange mix that clung to the air like a memory. Soft jazz floated through hidden speakers while the receptionist’s smile never wavered.

“Dr. Cole will see you now,” she said, her tone calm and almost melodic.

Emily rose from the chair, her palms damp. She’d been nervous about dentists ever since she was a child, but Dr. Cole’s reputation was impeccable. Everyone said he was gentle, that he put you at ease.

Inside the exam room, everything gleamed: stainless steel tools aligned perfectly on a white cloth, a single dental lamp shining like an interrogation light. Dr. Cole entered without sound, his crisp coat immaculate, his teeth dazzlingly white.

“Emily,” he said warmly, “welcome back. Let’s get you comfortable.”

She sank into the reclined chair, staring at the ceiling tiles dotted with cheerful stickers. “Just a cleaning, right?” she asked.

“Of course.” He adjusted the lamp and gently placed a small mask over her nose. “A little nitrous oxide. Nothing to worry about.”

Emily inhaled, a cold sweetness flooding her lungs. The room began to soften at the edges. Dr. Cole’s voice became syrupy and far away.

“That’s it… just breathe. You’re safe.”

Her vision flickered. For a moment she thought she saw something beyond the half-closed door — a shadow moving where no one should be. Her heart thumped, but her arms felt like sandbags.

She tried to speak. Only a muffled sound escaped.

Dr. Cole leaned closer, his eyes no longer warm but glassy, clinical. “Such beautiful teeth,” he murmured. “We’ll take very good care of them.”

Then, with a practiced motion, he reached past the tray of dental tools and pressed a hidden switch beneath the counter. A section of the wall slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a stairwell that descended into darkness.

Emily’s pupils dilated. The last thing she heard before the mask fully claimed her was his voice — no longer a dentist’s, but a collector’s:

“Down below, perfection awaits.”

The door sealed shut, and the soft jazz kept playing in the empty room.

Emily’s eyes snapped open to darkness.

At first, she thought she was blind, but then she saw thin strips of light cutting through slats in the walls — pale and sterile, like hospital lighting.

Her mouth was dry. A strange metallic taste coated her tongue. When she tried to move, her arms jerked only a few inches — straps held her wrists and ankles to a padded chair.

She drew in a trembling breath. I’m not in the exam room anymore.

Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily into a basin. She could hear a soft mechanical hum, like a ventilation system. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

A voice came from the shadows. “Ah. You’re awake sooner than expected.”

Emily’s neck strained as she turned toward the sound. Dr. Cole emerged from the dimness, still immaculate, still smiling, but without the gentle mask of his public persona. His gloves snapped as he pulled them tighter.

“What… what is this?” Her voice cracked. “Where am I?”

“Below the office.” He said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “No one ever thinks to look here. It’s quiet. Private. Perfect.”

He wheeled over a stainless-steel cart covered with a white sheet. Underneath, shapes hinted at dental tools — but longer, sharper. Some were fitted with tubes.

Emily struggled against the straps. “Please… I just came for a cleaning—”

“You have exceptional teeth,” he interrupted softly. “But perfection isn’t just about smiles. It’s about preservation. About symmetry.” His eyes glimmered in the dim light.

She felt her breathing hitch. “You’re insane.”

Dr. Cole tilted his head, almost pitying her. “Insane? No. Driven.”

Then he pressed a button on the wall. The drip of water stopped. Somewhere, a door unlocked with a heavy clang — but she couldn’t see it. The sound of footsteps echoed from farther in the dark, multiple sets, moving closer.

Emily’s mind raced. I can’t just sit here. Her fingers clawed at the straps, nails digging into the leather. One of the seams gave a little. She froze, hiding the movement as Cole adjusted his instruments.

If she could keep him talking… if she could rip free before the footsteps reached them…

She swallowed hard. “Why me?”

Cole smiled faintly, leaning in so close she could smell the peppermint on his breath. “Because you still smile when you’re afraid”.

Emily’s fingertips kept working the seam of the strap. Every second Cole spent rearranging his tools was another second closer to freedom. The footsteps in the dark grew louder—heels clicking, rubber soles scuffing, like more people were coming.

Cole picked up a slim silver instrument and angled it toward the surgical light. “You’ll appreciate this one. It keeps the nerves intact,” he murmured.

Emily forced a trembling laugh. “You talk a lot for a dentist.”

He glanced up, eyes narrowing, but before he could speak she wrenched hard at the strap. The seam ripped. Her right arm shot free.

Cole lunged for her wrist, but Emily snatched the nearest object from his cart—a heavy steel retractor—and swung it wildly. It caught his forearm with a dull crack. He hissed and staggered back, clutching his arm.

Emily tore at the other straps with frantic jerks. The footsteps broke into a run now. She could hear voices, low and indistinct, just beyond the door.

She ripped free her left arm, then clawed at the straps on her legs. Cole straightened, his face drained of charm, eyes like glass beads. “Don’t make this worse for yourself,” he growled.

She yanked her last leg free, toppled off the chair, and grabbed the metal tray from the cart. With a sharp shove she sent it crashing into Cole, the instruments clattering to the floor like knives.

Emily bolted toward the far wall. Her eyes caught the faint outline of a heavy steel door—the one that had clanged before. She sprinted, shoes skidding on the tile.

Behind her, Cole roared, “Stop!”

She reached the door just as it swung inward. Two shadowy figures stepped into the room. Emily didn’t hesitate—she barreled into them. The first went down under her shoulder; the second staggered sideways, enough for her to slip past.

Now she was in a dim corridor lined with old brick and dangling pipes, the air colder, reeking of disinfectant and earth. Alarms hadn’t gone off yet. She ran blindly, following the faint hint of fresh air, heart hammering in her ears.

A voice echoed from behind her, still calm but edged with fury. “You can’t escape, Emily. Not from me.”

But she didn’t look back. She just kept running, the corridor tilting upward, a square of pale light appearing ahead—maybe a loading dock, maybe a maintenance hatch, she didn’t care. She slammed her hands against the ladder rungs, climbed three at a time, and shoved at the grate.

Cool night air burst over her face.

She hauled herself out, rolling onto wet asphalt behind the office building, chest heaving. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. For the first time, she dared to hope.

Behind the grate, far below, she heard Cole’s voice—soft, almost a whisper—but it reached her all the same:

“Smiles fade. But I’ll find you.”

Emily staggered to her feet, still clutching the bloodied retractor, and ran into the night.

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