His own leech

What a world

The doctor walked down the street, with his cane tapping the stone of the streetside walkway. There weren't as many bodies that day, which was good, as the doctor didn't quite feel like stepping over decaying corpses and chancing to ruin his cloak with plague-ridden blood.

Through the black-tinted goggles of his beak-like mask, he watched as a carriage passed him. The sight made him look back to make sure he hadn't just been seeing things. It had been so long since he'd seen a carriage ridden through the pathways of the town, he almost forgot they even existed.

A bit of hope rose in his stomach. Perhaps now the dreaded plague had slowed, or even stopped altogether? Though that would leave him mostly out of a job, the thought of not having to deal with the struggles daily life had become was almost enough to make him click his heels.

However, that hope quickly faded as soon as he saw someone come around the nearby corner. He was an older fellow, with streaks of grey in his blackened mane. Around his pale, thin face and withered hands were spots of black, almost like frostbite. The doctor could even hear him cough from as far away as he was.

The doctor silently hoped the man would ignore him. But of course, the man saw him and started picking up his walking speed. The doctor sighed and stopped, waiting for his inevitable approach.

He coughed, and in a dry voice, he croaked. "Please, sir. Help me." The doctor motioned for him to speak, though he already knew what was troubling the stranger. "A few weeks ago, I came to, with a horrible fever, my head is pounding like mad, and I've started-" Before he could finish, he hunched over and coughed hard. Blood trickled from his throat and coated his chin, some droplets finding their way to the ground.

The doctor stood there, motionless, waiting for his coughing to stop. Finally, the man stood up straight again, or at least, as much as he could, with a wheeze. "Please sir."

The doctor sighed, with pity in mind, though he'd been around long enough to know what'd happen next.

Unless-

The doctor nodded, and through his mask, he spoke, with a comforting voice. "Now, now. You don't need to fret good sir. I know the perfect cure for this plague." He saw the sparkle of pure hope in the man's eyes. Like that of a child. One who's been told a wondrous tale of good defeating evil before being sent to bed. "If you'd follow me back to my home, I shall grant you peace from all this hardship that'd befallen you."

The man thanked the doctor, profusely. Before they could go, the man asked about how he could ever repay the kindly doctor for his aid.

"No need to think of that now." He replied. "We'll discuss those details after I've cured you."

It didn't take long before they finally arrived at the doctor's home, refurbished into a make-shift clinic. By the time they appeared to the door, it had begun to drizzle, washing the land of muck and scum. The doctor opened the door for his patient and motioned for him to walk inside. As he did, the doctor slowly stepped in after him, closing the door, only to quietly lock it from within.

"Go sit. I'll be with you in a moment." The doctor instructed. To which his patient so obviously obeyed.

The doctor went into his kitchen and gathered a few ingredients from the shelves and a few potted plants by the windows. With that, he took a bowl and a many-paged tome. He set them both on the table and thought for a moment. Questioning himself on the decision that he was about to make.

He opened the tome and began to follow to the recipe listed.

There was Lavender, Valerian root, A strangely-coloured seaweed, and Mandrake root, to name a few of the ingredients.

After having crushed them all, he poured the contents into another bowl, filled with water. A stir later, and he had a sedative.

He strode inside, to the delight of the patient. Before he could ask, the doctor handed him the bowl. "Drink this, you will feel dizzy, but it will help slow the disease so I can treat it."

The man took the bowl and drank it fast without hesitation. He cringed a bit at the bitter taste, but every last drop had gone from the bowl.

Just as the doctor said, he started to feel a little dizzy, before he knew it, his eyes closed, and he fell onto the couch, unconscious.

The doctor snapped his fingers in front of the man's face, no response. The doctor took the mask he wore in one hand, and in the other, grasped his hood. He took both off, revealing his face.

He had a younger face, with pale skin, Hazel eyes, with dark circles, and short, black hair. As he sighed yet again, preparing himself for what would come next, his breath appeared in the air, despite the room being warmer than the outside. Fangs protruded from his jaws.

"I'm sorry." He whispered under his breath as he put his mask to the side and kneeled on the floor. He lifted the man's chin with one hand and bit down hard on his neck.

Blood seeped out of the wound, as the vampiric doctor began sucking the man's body dry of the precious, red, nectar of life.

Soon enough, the man released one final breath.

All was silent. The doctor released his jaw and stood back up, staring down at his patient; he felt a twinge of guilt in his heart. The man was so hopeful for a cure, and now? He was dead.

The doctor could hear a storm brewing outside. As the drizzle turned to harsh rain, and thunder rolled in the distance. As if nature itself was furious at him for what he'd done.

At least the man didn't hurt anymore. At least he had a peaceful death in his sleep, with hope in his mind. That was more than most vampire victims could say.

The thunder rolled louder as if insulted by that thought.

The doctor put his mask back on and picked up the corpse over his shoulder. He unlocked his door and gently placed the man's body on the ground. Only then did he hear the creaking wheels of the corpse carriers cart. With the sound, he turned and walked inside.

And as he heard the corpse carrier load his patient's body into the cart, he locked the door.