Silly little bitch, he thought. So beautiful. So obedient. She had passed out just as he had exploded—exquisite, simply exquisite—and slumped, first onto the edge of the chair between his thighs, and then fallen to the floor, hitting her face on the base of his chair on the way. A small dab of blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. He retrieved his phone from his desk and tapped the square icon that would stop recording. Standing up, he buttoned his pants and fastened his belt. He then knelt by the girl and, first checking the pulse at her neck, pulled up an eyelid. Only white was showing. He stood up and stepped over the girl to walk to his desk, rolling his chair back with him. It could be a petit-mal seizure, he thought. Bloody good thing she didn’t bite. As he sat, he had a premonition that this could take a dangerous turn for him. From the bottom drawer of his desk he pulled out a small black leather bag. He opened it and peered in at the contents: foil blister packs of pharmaceutical samples, a variety of vials with metal caps that had little rubber dots at their centers, clear tubes of tablets and capsules of all colors, and a pack of disposable syringes.
