Dr. Killington …… Part 3

The footsteps thundered toward them — quick, sure, closing the distance in seconds. Holt braced himself, leveling his gun at the sound.

“Moore! Left flank!” he barked.

Moore pivoted just as Cole burst from the shadows, his white coat smeared with his own blood. In one gloved hand gleamed a hooked dental tool, its edge catching the low light like a scalpel. His face — once calm and immaculate — was wild now, eyes glassy, smile stretched too wide.

“Perfection!” he hissed, lunging at Holt.

Holt sidestepped and fired. The shot cracked the air, tearing into Cole’s shoulder. He stumbled but didn’t fall, swinging the blade in a savage arc. Holt ducked; the blade sliced past his ear, grazing skin.

Moore fired twice. One round hit Cole’s thigh. He staggered, dropping to one knee but still clutching the blade.

“Stop!” Holt shouted. “It’s over!”

Cole’s smile twitched. “It’s never over. I only need—one—more—” He lunged again, dragging himself forward despite the blood pouring from his wounds.

Holt fired point-blank. Cole jerked, the blade clattering from his hand, then collapsed onto the cold concrete. For a heartbeat he seemed to hover between life and death, his lips still forming a word.

“Smile…” he whispered, and then he was still.

Silence crashed into the chamber. Only the faint drip of water and Holt’s ragged breathing filled the space.

Moore lowered her gun, eyes sweeping the room. “Is he—?”

Holt checked for a pulse. Nothing. “Yeah. It’s done.”

They stood among the tables, the surgical lights glaring down like spotlights. Around them, evidence of Cole’s horrors stretched in every direction — photographs, x-rays, and unmarked sealed containers stacked like trophies.

Moore holstered her weapon. “This place is a nightmare.”

Holt’s gaze drifted to a wall of patient photos. Near the top hung a fresh space — a blank frame waiting to be filled. The date scrawled beneath it was today.

He looked at Moore. “Call it in. Every unit we’ve got. We’re going to need days to process this.”

As they started up the tunnel, Holt glanced back one last time. Cole lay sprawled beneath the surgical lights, his perfect teeth bared in death — the last smile of the Smile Collector.

Two weeks later, Emily sat on the edge of her hospital bed, sunlight pouring through the blinds. Her hands still trembled when she tried to drink from a glass, but at least the nightmares were starting to fade.

On the small television mounted to the wall, a news anchor recapped the story: “Authorities confirm that Dr. Adrian Cole, known locally as a beloved dentist, was killed during a police operation inside a secret underground facility. Dozens of missing person cases are now being linked to him…”

Emily muted the sound. The screen flickered with photos of the victims, rows of smiling faces she’d seen on the walls below. She was lucky — one of the few who had made it out.

A knock at the door. Detective Holt stepped inside, wearing plain clothes instead of his usual suit. He carried a small evidence bag.

“Brought you something,” he said quietly. Inside the bag was the steel retractor she’d grabbed during her escape, now cleaned and tagged. “It saved your life. Thought you should keep it.”

Emily accepted it with both hands, feeling the cold metal bite into her palms. “Thank you.”

Holt hesitated. “It’s over now. He’s gone.”

Emily nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice.” She stared out the window at the city beyond, the bustle of ordinary life. “I just hope the smiles I see out there are real.”

Holt gave a small, tired smile of his own. “They are. And so is yours.”

He left her alone with the sunlight. Emily traced the smooth curve of the retractor and took her first steady breath in days. Outside, children laughed on the sidewalk.

For the first time since the chair, she felt almost human again.

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