The company will say that none of their lives matter.
The company will tell him that he should have simply shot the doctor in the face, executed all of the possible witnesses, and then blamed it on the armed assailant. They are going to tell him that this is a situation that is practically gift wrapped for him that he shouldn’t have allowed to get so very out of his control. Nathan just doesn’t have it in him to let Logan die, not like this. He doesn’t deserve some nameless, silent execution or to die choking on his own blood. He’s not a man who should have to endure such a thing. Nobody should, other than the doctor. Nathan still has every plan to execute him at the first available moment.
The man behind him is more competent than he was expecting. The man fights back, countering each of Nathan’s blows with blows of his own. Nathan manages to knock the large gun out of this man's hands but at the expense of losing his own. They both go skittering out into the lobby somewhere that he is not going to be able to get to in time. Nathan delivers punch after punch. He blocks and weaves, he moves until the man finally is able to pull out the pistol from his thigh holster and aim it at Nathan—but Nathan doesn’t stop. He can be healed. The company will take care of him, and he can be replaced; seeing this clearly written in Nathan’s eyes, the new assailant aims the gun at Logan’s head and gets the reaction he wants—Nathan stills, just for a fraction of a second.
“Now, get on the ground like a good little boy, would you?” The new assailant's voice seems foreign. It sounds like he isn’t from anywhere within the States, but it could be false. It could be a voice that he is doing specifically to make himself sound like he’s from anywhere other than here to make himself different. Nathan cannot see anything about his face other than his hazel eyes bordering on a golden brown. He can tell that this prick is smiling though; he can see that written on his face. Nathan doesn’t move. “I will shoot him. I must tell you, I don’t care if any of you live. As you can tell, my partners are making quick work of the men outside. It will be only a few moments before the rest of you are all cleared out.”
“No,” Nathan answers, calling his bluff.
“I do not wish to play this game with you; do as I say, now.” The assailant cocks the gun aimed at Logan’s poorly armored head. There won’t be any coming back from that. While Logan no doubt would be willing to make that sacrifice, strangely, Nathan doesn’t want him to die. “You, get your hands off of him. If he dies, he dies.” The man in scrubs doesn’t move; his face is a mask of resolution to his Hippocratic oath that he will do no harm. Not that the doctor seems to be nearly as dedicated. Really, the whole thing seems to be a joke. Would the man have dove over the doctor if he knew about all of the things that the doctor has done? Perhaps he does know and admires him still. Nathan isn’t much of a fan of the world he lives in. The real hero is here, lying on the ground with a bullet in his shoulder. Nathan takes a half step toward the assailant slowly. “No? Very well.”
The assailant shifts the aim of his gun and shoots the man in the scrubs right between his eyes.
6
S omewhere above them on the roof gunshots start to match those firing at the police cars, to the point where it’s nearly impossible to hear anything happening inside of the building. The armed man seems completely indifferent to the fact that the man who likely thought they were a team is lying on the ground, dying if not dead already. Nathan can remember what he said. The man had been pacing, sounding terrified out of his wits remarking that they had left him behind. Were they hiding in the safe the entire time? Was that the real reason the lights had been out? Nathan and the Smiths had just assumed that the lights were out because the door was closed. They had been so stupid to overlook something so simple. That door should have been open, of course it should have. Vault and safe doors are supposed to be kept open for the duration of business hours. This is messing with the entire timeline of events that Nathan has made in his head.
Regardless of the timeline, he needs to get this man under control and he needs to make sure that Logan makes it out of here alive. Mostly in one piece would be preferable. The woman near the entrance sounds like she’s sobbing; the scrunching sound of her skin against the polished floors is almost unnoticeable. At least to everybody but Nathan, who is trained to hear these sorts of things. With any luck, she might make it out of here so long as she can keep from drawing any more attention to herself. Nathan doesn’t know where she was shot so it’s also possible that she could bleed out any moment now. Nobody will be in a position to find out until this man is under control.
Doctor Cox doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest that his co-worker has been killed and it just leaves the four of them here. Slowly, with steady hands, Doctor Cox attempts to reach over to the bleeding wound. Logan is keeping his teeth clenched shut to keep from making noise. Nathan needs to distract the assailant. “Hey!” he calls. The assailant’s attention snaps over to him and so does the aim of his gun as he chambers another round into the pistol. The assailant appears to be breathing rather heavily. Nathan wonders if he managed to break or crack a couple ribs in their scuffle.
“What do you want? You got what you’ve come here for, haven’t you?” Nathan breathes, attempting to keep focus on himself entirely. The man’s eyes crinkle as he looks at Nathan but Nathan cannot tell if it’s because he’s disgusted or if it’s because he’s grinning. “You got the money? That’s what all of this has been about, right? Just the money? You have it, so why don’t you go? None of us are going to stop you.” It’s a long shot. It’s not like the man has anywhere to go. He goes out back, he will be shot.
“I will, when it’s time,” the man says.
“What does that mean?” Nathan asks.
“Like I’m going to tell you,” the man scoffs, clearly mocking Nathan’s audacity for asking anything in the first place.
“You have no reason not to,” Nathan says. “Are you waiting for something?”
“Good job. You want a gold star? Of course I’m waiting for something, you idiot. You think that I planned on dying today? No, I don’t fucking think so. I’m going to be leaving here with my money and if you want to be able to walk out of here then you would do well to shut the fuck up. Your voice is so fucking annoying.”
Nathan wants to laugh. He likes that he is annoying him. Nathan has been shot before; he can survive that sort of pain again if he needs to. He’s not afraid to antagonize this man until he gets shot. Yet another thing that has been instilled into him by the company throughout all of his training. Nathan knows he is replaceable. While he doesn’t have any active or present desire to die he knows that should he fail this task, the company will just send out another Doe to replace him. The doctor will still die, one way or the other. The outcomes will always be the same. Nathan doesn’t really want to ruin his track record though.
“So why not just let us go if you don’t want to kill us?” Nathan presses the envelope just a little bit further.
“Because you’re obviously my insurance policy that nobody is going to come charging in the back again. They should have more than enough to be keeping them busy right now, but just in case they decide to get squirrely.”
This tells Nathan a couple things—that there is a getaway car coming for him, also that he doesn’t have any other teammates or people coming with guns to cover the back of the building. They must not have factored any employee entrances into their original heist plans.
The gunshots assailing the police out front sound like they are slowing. Nathan just needs to stall him for a tiny bit longer. He wonders if that car with the heavy fire coming from it is supposed to be the getaway car or if there is another one coming. The masked assailant keeps looking from Nathan’s face to somewhere over Nathan’s shoulder. So he takes advantage of that to sneak a glance over to Logan on the floor where the doctor, somewhat infuriatingly, has gotten the silent message that Nathan is distracting this armed gunman for the sole purpose of giving Doctor Cox more time to work, to save hi
s life and hopefully to keep his arm from needing to be amputated. Of course, living with one arm is perfectly doable, but for a person like Logan who is such an active person and relies on his limbs so heavily there’s always the chance that he would take it as a fate worse than death.
Nathan has heard far too many stories about men and women whose whole identities are wrapped up in their fitness, in their bodies, and their sense of self comes from being able to move and protect. A violin player without any fingers could very well lose his will to live if he could not do what he loves any longer. Nathan wonders for just a moment if Logan would be one of those or if he would become a success story. Those sorts of inspirational tales of a man with one arm, leaning into his friends and then overcoming all in the face of adversity. Then again, he could still bleed out and die, get an infection and die. Nathan needs to find a way out of this as quickly as he can.
There’s nothing around him that he can use as a weapon. “How much did you get?” Nathan blurts. It’s an unexpected question, enough that the armed man turns his focus right back onto him. “You heard me, how much did you get? Maybe …ah … maybe I want to help you for a cut.”
The man squints at Nathan before belly laughing. “You? You think I would give you a cut? That’s a laugh. You’re a scrappy fighter, to be certain, but you couldn’t run with the likes of me and mine.”
Nathan doesn’t even want to begin to speculate what that comment might mean, how many there might be based on that implication alone. Then again, he might be lying. The armed man isn’t looking exactly comfortable with the way that things are playing out on the street.
“I just… Look; I don’t want to die, man. I'm just making conversation since you gotta wait … what’s your name?”
The man lifted his gun back directly at Nathan’s face with a snarl. “You talk too fucking much, boy.”
Nathan really doesn’t like being called a boy, but this man’s anger is going to be his downfall. Just a step closer—Nathan just needs him to take another step closer. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Logan’s clenched fist slacken at his side and the tension lines in his forehead go out. The doctor’s hands haven’t stopped moving and he tears off a long section of his once white doctor’s coat and starts to bind the shoulder and pack the wound as much as possible. Nathan hopes that means that Logan’s still alive. However, the tearing noise catches the attention of the armed man and the gun whirls from being pointed at Nathan back to Logan.
“Hey, I said hands off!” the assailant barks—and Nathan lunges forward and rams the hard part of his forehead into the assailant’s temple while his hands wrench the pistol right out of his hands. The assailant stumbles forward, disoriented from the blow to his head, and Nathan takes advantage of the momentary confusion and punches the tender spot in the man’s ribs that he has hit before and hears a sickening crunch of fractured ribs giving way and likely puncturing an organ.
The assailant grunts in pain and uses the very last of his concentration in an effort to keep his hands on the gun, but Nathan’s had enough time to rest and his only focus is getting Logan out of here and managing to get the gun away from this idiot. The rest will be just icing on the cake. Nathan cocks his fist backward and rams it forward into the side of the man’s jaw and he finally surrenders the gun. Nathan then holds it in his fist poised with the barrel in his palm and slams the metal of the gun down hard enough on this man’s temple that he will internally bleed inside of his brain until he is dead. It will only take a matter of minutes.
Breathing heavily and staving off an adrenaline rush, Nathan staggers over to Logan. The heist is over, there is no more noise coming from the street. This will all be over in a moment. Nathan bends to see if Logan is still breathing as Doctor Cox leans back onto his heels, a triumphant smiling passing over his annoyingly handsome face. Blood is smeared across his skin as Cox lifts his arm up to his brow and wipes at it, pleased that he’s managed to use enough of his torn jacket to keep the bleeding from getting any worse. While he’s distracted, Nathan grabs the assailant's gun from the ground, careful to hold it with his T-shirt in such a way as to keep any fingerprints or any other semblance of DNA from getting onto the weapon, before he aims it at the doctor. Logan is unconscious but still very much alive.
“Oh, ha, ha, very funny. They are coming to get us now, right? Thanks for saving our lives.” The doctor seems like a normal person at this moment. He’s smiling and all of the stress lines have smoothed away from his face giving him the mask of a stand-up citizen. Nathan knows that all of the worst, most debauched humans always look normal. It’s a sign of the intelligent killers, the ones that he is normally contracted to eliminate.
“I was never here to save you; I am here to kill you, for all of those lives you’ve cut short on purpose, doctor.”
Confusion flicks over the doctor’s face before he slowly seems to mentally put all of the little pieces together into an order that makes sense. “Who are you?”
“Who I am is unimportant, I suppose you could say I’m yet another ‘Doe’ that’s bent on revenge for all of my other nameless brothers and sisters. How many have you cut down? How many have you had the availability and skill to save and yet you corrupted it for no purpose, for nothing more than an adrenaline rush? For some sort of sick pleasure? Is that how you get your rocks off, you sadist? No, who I am isn’t important. I think it’s only justified that you will be ended in yet another setting in which your name will be forgotten. This isn’t at all how I planned on eliminating you. I planned on making you suffer. I still wish I had that ability, but we’re running out of time. Your name will be pushed into the background of some insignificant casualty of a bank robbing gone wrong. At least you can die knowing that nobody will remember you. That will have to be enough.”
“Wait … no … we can work something out, what do you want—money? You want drugs? I can get you drugs—”
Nathan cut his final pathetic words short. The doctor likely never let any of his victims have the chance to beg for their lives and Nathan certainly isn’t going to give him that chance either. Nathan makes it clean. He shoots him right through the left eye socket. It will be passed off as the last casualty and Logan is unconscious so he will not be able to contradict it. Everything is a mess, but it will be handled.
Without satisfaction, Nathan lays the gun back into the hand of the assailant and moves back to Logan, monitoring his breathing as William and Denzel come busting in through the back door. “NO!” Denzel cries as he rushes to Nathan’s side on the ground beside Logan and William swiftly goes to check the rest of the bank, only to find all of the rest of the would-be hostages dead. Hopefully the woman and her child are safely at one of the nearby hospitals by now.
Nathan doesn’t bother asking what happened outside. He knows that it doesn’t matter in the long run. The job is over. He will be moving on before the night is over. As soon as he sends the check in to the company they will contact him with his next job. It’s just a reality and one that he accepted a very long time ago.
With the room cleared, William comes back to join them and signals for Denzel to take his feet while William and Nathan take one of his arms each to carry him carefully and steadily back out through the back doors. “On the count of three … one, two … up,” William commands softly, and the concern for their fallen brother is deep and obvious on both of their faces.
They carry him through the hallway and out the back employee entrance door and lay him down on the hood of a police car where they start to manually check his vitals and Denzel takes off running, looking for a medic, and they finally hear the sirens of an ambulance coming around the corner. Movement is everywhere and Nathan doesn’t even want to begin to speculate how much damage has been done or who these robbers are. It will all be covered by insurance he’s sure, and they didn’t get away with the money. It seems that luck favored the police on this side.
Paramedics fly out of the back of the ambulance. Two rush inside to confi
rm the status of the hostages while another two rush over to the Smiths with a blue plastic gurney in their hands. They are assisted by the two standing Smiths to get Logan onto it and strapped down securely; then all four of them carry him back over to the ambulance to ride with him to the nearest hospital without blinking. They have forgotten that Nathan, or Locke, is even here. Perhaps that’s for the best.
This will be the only chance that he has to slip away unnoticed into the background. Nathan needs to get back to his rental car and check in with the agency. Strangely, it hurts him to leave without saying goodbye to the Smiths, but he knows he must. He has to move on and he needs to get back to his assignments. He has his own life path to return to. The job was done incorrectly; there are far too many bodies, but the important ones, at least as far as he is concerned, have all made it out. Nathan can be alright with that. He can deal with whatever comes next knowing that he did the right thing. He’s never had an opinion as to what the right thing might or might not be before.
It doesn’t take long for him to get back to his motel room and shower quickly. He lets the icy-cold water rush over him despite his shaking and the headache that it’s starting to cause because it’s easier to focus on that than on anything else he has felt today. The cold keeps his skin numb and his muscles tense. He doesn’t want to relax. He doesn’t want to feel better or to attend to any of the numerous cuts and scrapes all over his body, nor does he want to do anything about the bruises mottling his torso from the fight. He prefers to keep them there despite knowing that he could have them healed. It gives him something simple to focus on. Something easier to stomach.
He stays there for a long time. Finally he dresses and checks out of the motel the same day, just like he thought that he was going to do. There will be no trace of him left here. No marks at the Smith house, no trace of him at the motel. He never even checked in under his real name but rather yet another pseudonym given to him by the company.
The Preying Doctor Page 4