They quickened their pace. Sad faces peered down at them as they strode past. Most looked shattered. Even the eyes were dimmed. The doctor seemed cheered by their mournful state and was still in a jocular mood when they approached the third row. Suddenly, his pace faltered.
'Third row, fourth jar on the right,' Tom prompted.
The doctor stared at him as if in a trance.
'You are referring to the esteemed 3R4R.'
'I'm referring to the sod who has hijacked your mind.'
Tom propelled the doctor forward.
'Take me to him.'
He counted the jars. He didn't trust the doctor to take him to the right one. The man had been too close to 3R4R for too long. Some sort of bond must exist between them. And there was the ever-present threat that 3R4R would regain control of the doctor's mind.
He needn't have worried. There was no mistaking the jar when they got there. The head inside radiated pure hatred and the refined voice was unmistakable. Tom last heard it from the lips of a death troll. Now it came from a speaker below the jar.
'You will suffer agonies, Professor.'
Tom kept one eye on the doctor's face and the other on his sash. For the moment the sash remained brown. But the doctor's expression had changed. He was clearly intimidated by the encounter with the head that had controlled every aspect of his life for so long.
'You think you can subvert what has taken centuries to achieve ...'
The voice was filled with malice but remained steady. Tom noticed that the doctor had slipped a hand inside his gown and his sash was changing colour.
'You did not fool me with your ridiculous nonsense about realms ...'
The sash was now a muddy shade of blue. Tom watched the doctor remove a scalpel from his gown. He guessed it was intended for him and prepared to deliver a killer blow.
Then another thought occurred to him.
'Fight! Doctor!'
He kicked in the speaker and the ranting voice ceased.
'Don't let him take over your mind again.'
He pointed to the scalpel.
'You have the means to free yourself ... use it!'
The doctor's hand shook. Tom felt his agony as he struggled to fight the forces that had ruled his body for most of his adult life. Then the hand stopped shaking and the sash reverted to its normal shade of brown.
What followed took place slowly and methodically. There was no frantic slashing or jabbing as the scalpel moved towards the tubes supplying the jar with life-sustaining nutrients. First one tube was cut then the next. Liquid spilt onto the floor. The top of the immortal's head appeared above the surface then his eyes and shrunken nose. A short while later all signs of life ceased.