It was strange and really rather odd. He didn't remember leaving his office in total darkness; in fact, he seemed to remember that when he began the day's appointments, the morning sun was shining through the window and onto his desk. The only way that could have happened was if the blinds were open, and it was obvious now that the blinds had been drawn. It was something he didn't remember doing, or asking anybody else to do for him. He crossed the office, intending to go over to the window, and open the blinds. He didn't realize that he wasn't alone until he was halfway across the room.
"I should think, Dr. Moriarty, that the light switch on the wall would be of greater help to you now."
It was when he heard the voice that he smelled the cigarette smoke in the air. He turned, and saw the orange glowing ember of a cigarette. "Would you rather I turn on the lamp on your desk?" The visitor asked. When he didn't answer, the visitor switched on the lamp on his desk. When his eyes adjusted, Dr. Moriarty realized that the visitor wasn't a stranger at all.
"This is a non-smoking office," he said slowly. The visitor took a long drag off his cigarette, and exhaled, expelling the blue smoke from his lungs. Had the visitor had any vestige of a soul left, it would have been carried aloft in the smoke. But he did not. "I should think not," replied the visitor. "What kind of message would you send, doctor, if it were? It may be a non-smoking office, doctor, but I am a not a non-smoking person. Nor do I intend to begin now."
Doctor Moriarty thought it best to choose his next words carefully. "I don't believe we have an appointment," he began. "I don't NEED an appointment," the visitor snapped. The man with the curly, salt-and-pepper black hair leaned forward across the desk. "I grow weary of having to remind you of just who works for whom. I believe that you need to think of this visit as a performance evaluation. I, to say the least, am not at all pleased with your recent job performance, and would advise you that unless I see a marked improvement in that performance, you will be subject to a severe reprimand."
"I have done everything you've told me to do, as instructed," the doctor replied. "Both subjects have been given treatment as prescribed and on the schedule that you yourself dictated. A schedule which, I might add, goes against my best judgment as a medical doctor."
"Really, doctor," mused the visitor. "On schedule? Does that include today's scheduled treatment for your patient, Meena Cartwright?" Moriarty opened his mouth to speak, but the cigarette smoking man with the salt-and-pepper curls stopped him. "I should tell you, doctor, that I am a firm believer in the use of surveillance to get the answers I want. The answer I got today was that your patient snuck out right under your nose. There was no treatment today, doctor, nor the day before that or the day before that. In fact, she's missed more scheduled appointments than I care to recount."
Dr. Moriarty nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I certainly can't be held responsible if patients choose not to keep their appointments." Before the doctor could continue, his visitor clucked his tongue in disapproval. "You see, this is the kind of job performance and attitude I find so deeply troubling..."
The bullet hit Dr. Moriarty in the chest before he could utter a single syllable in his defense.
The last two visions the doctor had on this earth was that of the overhead lights as they came on and of the cigarette smoking man with the curly, black salt-and pepper hair as he stood over him.
"I'm afraid I no longer have need of your services, doctor."