"The Doctor and the Mime" by Cardenio1611

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cardenio1611

The Doctor and the Mime


The Doctor and the Mime, Part One

By Cardenio1611

Dr. Janice Woodfield was just about finished packing her box of personal things while surrounded by the mountains of tapes boxes containing her files and less personal items. Knowing that the government car was due in just a few minutes, she reached for her coat on the hanger and then winched as the crowd outside her building let out another roar.

“Why in the name of all that is good and just did that have to put their stages outside of the physics department,” she said to herself. It wasn’t only her department. There were stages erected all over campus as the university celebrated “Revels.” Woodfield hissed to herself, “No doubt an ancient tradition concocted by a drunken engineering student in 1954!”

The stage in front of the physics department was at the moment occupied by mimes dressed in black tights with their faces painted white. Woodfield could hear them running up and down the stairs as they exited and entranced.

“Ah, well,” she said, putting on her coat and buttoning it over her brown business suit and white blouse. She was sorry to leave the university, but the government had made it clear that security required her presence at the Livermore lab. Her work was too important to have her at large and unprotected.

Just then her door popped open and a young women mime entered. She was Woodfield’s height, wearing a black derby and tights.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, get out of—“

But before Woodfield could finish her sentence the young woman silently produced an atomizer and sprayed it directly into Woodfield’s face. The physicist fell back at once and crashed into a stack of boxes. She lay with her legs sprawled open and her back leaning against the boxes.

The young woman closed the door and locked it. Without a word, she removed her hat and white gloves and stripped off her tights and white socks. Her face was still white, but otherwise she was naked.

She knelt down next to the doctor and started buttoning her coat, jacket ,and blouse. With an effort, she removed them at one time, leaving Woodfield in her white bra and brown suit pants. The woman unzipped the pants and pulled them down the physicist’s long, dancer’s legs, taking the shoes off with them. Next, she slid down the doctor’s white panties with one hand and with the other unfastened the bra from the front. Soon, Woodfield was naked too.

Quickly, listening to the laughter and noise outside for a sign of where her fellow mimes were in the skit, the young woman took her black tights and worked them up the doctor’s long, naked body. When she had them on her, the woman put the white gloves and socks on her.

Reaching up without looking, the mime took a black bag off the desk that she had dropped there as she had entered. She removed a jar of white makeup and spread it evenly around the unconscious doctor’s face. With a makeup pencil from the bag, she drew black eyebrows on top of the physicist’s own and stars on her cheeks.

The mime stood up and stared down at the sleeping doctor, who now looked exactly like the mime. The wetness of the white makeup had probably roused her. Woodfield began to stir. The mime knelt down again and took from the bag and small leather case that held three syringes.

Woodfield opened her eyes and looked up at a naked woman with a white face. She glanced down at her own body and saw she was wearing tights. She started to scream but before she could open her mouth the mime plunged one of the syringes into Woodfield’s leg.

Almost immediately, Woodfield’s eyes started to disappear behind her eyelids and a large smile graced her face as she leaned heavily against the boxes. “It’s the equivalent, so they tell me, luv, of ten glasses of rum. So enjoy,” the mime said.

The Doctor and the Mime, Part 2


The Doctor and the Mime by Cardenio1611, continued

Just then, the woman heard the sound of people running down the stairs. She unlocked the door and started to gather the doctor up as the door was pushed open and two male mimes rushed in, ignored the woman’s nakedness, grabbed Woodfield, and half carried her up the stairs.

They dragged her on to the stage and shoved a wooden bottle in her hand with x’s on it. Then the two men started to make believe they were drunk. They jostled Woodfield and mimed laughing. They pushed her back and forth between the two of them as the crowd roared. Woodfield didn’t have to make believe she was drunk; she was.

In Woodfield’s office, the young woman relocked the door, took a mirror from the doctor’s purse, and with a cloth from the bag, wiped the white makeup off her face. When she was done, she looked again in the mirror and saw Dr. Woodfield.

She had told them that plastic surgery was not necessary since she would beon view as the doctor for such a short period of time. But they had insisted. And money does talk.

The young woman dressed in the doctor’s clothes. On stage, one of the two men flung the drunken physicist over his shoulder and carried her down the stages, through the laughing crowd, and into a waiting car that pulled away once the three of them were in. The car passed the government vehicle that was coming to take the doctor to Livermore.

The young woman came down with the single box. A driver, tall and obviously ex-military, held the door for her. “Do I know you,” she asked as she climbed in.

“No, Dr. Woodfield, but I’ll be your assigned driver from now on. My name is Ralph.”

She was sitting behind him and waited until she saw the landmark they had agreed on. “Ralph, stop the car!” he pulled over, put the car in park, and turned to her. “What is it, Dr.?”

“This,” she said, jabbing the second syringe into his next. As Ralph fell happily sideways, the right side passenger door opened. A young man in a black motorcycle jacket had a dead woman on his shoulder. He put her in the back seat, tossed some overalls to the young woman, and then went to retrieve the gasoline cans that had been hidden in the bushes. Meanwhile, the young woman undressed and tossed the clothes on top of the dead woman beside her. Probably a hitchhiker, she thought as she pulled on the overalls.

The young man doused the corpse and Ralph with gasoline, put a rock on the accelerator, and then put the car in gear. The car almost flew into a wooden area, crashed, and exploded in a ball of fire that could be seen from the campus on their revel’s night.

The young man and woman hopped on the motorcycle and sped away with the flames shooting higher and higher behind them.

After a mile, just before they reached the town limits, the young woman shouted into the man’s ear, “Pull over here.” It was there that she used the third syringe, placed his drunken body on the seat, and pushed the bike down the hill. She started walking down the road even before the motorcycle exploded. A busy night for the cops, she said to herself.

As she sat on the bench at the bus stop waiting for the 4:11, she thought of how Dr. Woodfield was now regarded as dead, the victim of a drunken limo driver, much like the Princess Diane affair. She thought of how the tights and white makeup had been removed from the unconscious physicist and how she was now dressed in an overall much like the one the young woman was wearing.

Soon, the woman thought, while I’ll be on a bus to Mexico, you’ll be on a plane, good doctor. No one will look for you. No one will know you are alive. Except for your interrogators, there will just two people who know about you—my supervisor and me. She took some comfort in the fact that she and her supervisor were lovers, but then wondered if that would be enough.



12/12/2008, 8:47 pm