Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

room, his gaze roaming toward the ostentatious silk-embroidered gold and pomegranate tufted, tasseled, and fringed Rococo couch where the rather emaciated, white-bewhiskered Dr. Rustenberg stretched out, puffing from the winding stem of a Turkish water pipe. The pipe sat upon the oriental-carpeted floor next to him. Sam had to wonder if the good doctor would even be lucid enough to bargain with him today.
    "Constable Dart and his companion, Doctor," the guard said by way of introduction.
    "Lovely. Come in, come in, I've been expecting you," Dr. Rustenberg said in a rather high sing-songy voice. He then waved a be-ringed hand flamboyantly in the air, silently signaling the guard to leave, which he did with a disgusted look upon his face. Dr. Rustenberg took one last deep draw from the amber mouthpiece and released the stem to dangle unpurposefully. He turned his head to gaze at Sam, released a cloud of pale smoke, and smiled in a vacant sort of way that told Sam the good doctor was well on his way to his own piece of euphoria. Sam knew there was more than tobacco in that mixture. Much too sweet and fragrant for tobacco alone.
    Dr. Rustenberg rose languidly from the couch and stretched like a cat. He wore what looked like a pair of oriental red silk, gold-embroidered pajamas with a silk robe, the sash trailing to the floor. Matching red silk slippers shod his feet. This was a man who had moved long past the veneer of professionalism and descended into the lushness of pure unapologetic addict.
    "Ah, yes. It's your conjugal, isn't it, Constable? I'd almost forgotten." Rustenberg staggered over to the desk and dropped into the silk-sheathed reading chair behind it. He waved to a straight-backed wooden chair on the other side of the desk. "Sit please. Dr. Ophelian won't be ready for you for at least another twenty minutes or so. He's still undergoing restorative electrical therapy. In anticipation of your visit, of course."
    Sam ground his teeth together, but managed to force himself not to respond to the alienist in the way he wanted. "Do you really think that's necessary?"
    Rustenberg picked up a fountain pen and made some scratches on the folder he had opened in front of him. "Necessary? This is a conjugal visit, correct? We wouldn't want you to leave unsatisfied. And that satisfaction will translate to Ophelian's well-being also. A successful conjugal will settle him for a while."
    "Those electric belt straps have not been shown to add or improve anything," Sam said. The only thing it had ever done for Oberon was give him an unsettling hunger for heavier and heavier doses of shock to his system.
    Dr. Rustenberg shrugged. "Well, the… restraint… we apply intermittently between your visits tends to keep him under control. So it is rather necessary– impotence, you understand– to shock his system awake, so to speak. Really, I believe you will appreciate our efforts."
    Fucking crazy bastard . Sam gripped the arms of the chair. The torture that they imposed on their prisoners was truly horrific. All in the name of science, and of control. Five years of this sort of treatment had made Oberon into a sexual masochist, and by no means was Sam able to satisfy him completely on these visits, because Sam was not a sadist and could not adequately give him what he needed. Not anymore. Not in that way.
    "The guard will signal when Dr. Ophelian is ready for you," Rustenberg said.
    "How long has he been undergoing your 'treatment,' Doctor?"
    "Today?" Rustenberg squinted at the ornate bronzed gilt clock resting on the side of his desk. "Oh, dear. I forgot to rewind it. Too bad." He shrugged then waved a limp-wristed hand in the air. "Ah well, what is time anyway? It's simply used to break up a rather tedious day with hours that blend together down here." He startled a bit when he glanced up from the clock. "Oh, I'm not exactly certain how long he's been in treatment, but I expect it has been several hours at least. He should almost be ready."
    "Shall we get on with it then?" Sam said tightly. The sickeningly sweet smell in this room was starting to turn his stomach and make him feel light-headed. He wanted this over with. He wanted to be with Oberon.
    "Of course. I understand your… urgency. But then again…" The alienist glanced for the first time at Bobby. "So this is him. Your house companion. He's very lovely, isn't he?" Rustenberg held the fat silver filigreed fountain pen between his fingers, stroking sensually across its