The Vivisectionist

by Hamill, Ike

  **********

  Jack was relieved to finally get underway on Tuesday morning. So far, everything was perfect. His mom had agreed that they could go play until lunch again, and Stephen hadn't backed out.

  They walked along the path to the hotel in silence until Stephen asked, “Hey, what do you think ever happened to Ben?”

  His tone surprised Jack. Stephen sounded a little sad.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Jack replied. “Probably just on vacation with his mom.”

  “I bet your mom tries to track him down before long,” said Stephen.

  “You’re probably right,” Jack admitted. After Gabe disappeared, his parents had been extremely overprotective. Jack couldn't leave the house by himself for months. If something happened to Ben, Jack couldn't even imagine how his parents would react. He hoped for his own sake that Ben would call, but secretly believed that he wouldn't hear from Ben any time soon, if at all.

  When they reached the hotel, Jack prepared Stephen for some small changes—“I think we’re going to have to do the whole trip. I accidentally let the secret door in the chimney close behind me the other day.”

  “Oh, bummer. How did that happen?” asked Stephen.

  “I don’t know,” Jack lied. It had taken him almost ten minutes to figure out how to close that door. He needed Stephen with him in the other part of the hotel, so it had been a necessary expense.

  They worked together, exchanging few words, to set up the ladders and climb down into the drawing room.

  Stephen hadn’t seen the anatomical drawing for several trips. “What do you think this means?” he asked, pointing to the painting which featured a half finished, half dissected man.

  “Maybe we’re seeing inside him—you know, how he thinks of himself?” suggested Jack. “It kind of reminds me of a diagram we had in biology. But that one showed half a skeleton, and half exposed muscles.”

  The boys climbed the ladder into the bishop’s room.

  “We never did check behind those other doors,” said Stephen.

  Jack noted that Stephen's voice had an air of finality. Jack saw all the possibilities of interesting things to discover, and Stephen talked about the things they had never done, as if they never would.

  “Want to try them now?” asked Jack.

  Stephen stopped mid-stride—crossing the floor of the bishop’s room from white tile to white tile. “I thought you needed my help moving something,” he said.

  “Yeah, I do, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take a detour, right?” asked Jack.

  “Nah, let’s keep moving,” said Stephen.

  At the end of the tripwire hallway, they waited patiently in the dark for the door to the white room to open. Next, they made their way up the ladder to the attic. Both boys looked for the nest of baby rats, but the home had been vacated.

  “Shit, how are we supposed to trigger that door?” asked Stephen. “Don’t we need something alive?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got another way we can go,” said Jack.

  They hunched over the empty nest. Stephen straightened up and looked at Jack. “Another way?”

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “Remember that vent that ended with the pole? That’s a shortcut to the basement. You just have to know how to get out from there.”

  “Oh,” said Stephen. Jack expected him to be more inquisitive and had prepared a story about finding that shortcut when he had gone back for Stephen’s bag. It was a flimsy story, time-wise, but he thought that Stephen would buy it. In truth Jack had stolen away to the hotel the past couple of nights. The pole did descend all the way to the basement, but Jack knew even more about it.

  Jack continued on to the long jump, and Stephen followed. They made it across the gap with practiced ease. Walking down the stairs to the spiral room, Stephen commented—“I forgot how long it takes to go this way.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Jack.

  The boys didn’t communicate much through the next few obstacles. Stephen needed help scaling the ledge in the wide passage, but it was easy for Jack to jump up and then give him a hand. When they arrived at the door that progressed to the smaller vents, Jack led the way to remind Stephen the way to the pole.

  “Okay—I’ll see you at the bottom,” said Jack, grabbing the pole. “it’s like thirty feet down, so you’ve got a ways to go. I’ll shine a light for you so you can see when bottom is coming.”

  “Cool,” said Stephen from behind Jack.

  Jack kept his flashlight out and tucked it under his arm. He had studied the trap at the bottom of the pole, and was pretty sure he could avoid sliding all the way down. If Jack's plan worked, he could capture Stephen without harming him. If it went wrong, he would certainly lose Stephen’s trust.

  Either way, Jack had the advantage because he knew the way out. He swung his legs over the edge and started a very controlled slide down. When the room opened up, Jack gripped the pole to stop his descent. He pushed off so he could extend his left leg backwards. He felt the ledge and shoved with his arms, away from the pole. He stood on a small ledge built out from the wall. Jack jumped to the floor and leaned over to the pole so he could look up to Stephen.

  “Okay,” Jack yelled, “come on down.”

  Stephen slid down fairly quickly. Jack pointed his light upwards as a beacon to Stephen. As soon as he saw Stephen’s feet come into the room, Jack shut off his light, leaving Stephen in the dark.

  “Hey!” yelled Stephen. Jack didn’t want Stephen to see the wire-mesh cage below him.

  “Keep going,” said Jack. “Just my batteries.” Jack heard Stephen touch down on the floor and then heard the clank of a cage closing around his friend.

  “What the fuck?” asked Stephen. Jack flicked on the room lights with a switch next to a door. The bright lights made both boys squint. The lights revealed the steel cage around Stephen, which had sprung up to pin him in the corner of the room.

  Jack reached for the gas mask hanging from a hook on the wall.

  Just before he donned the mask, Jack said “Sorry buddy, but I need a gift.”

  Jack pulled the mask over his face and Stephen’s protests were briefly silenced by the noise of pulling the straps past his ears. Breathing through the mask, Jack reached over and flicked the other switch on the wall. The first switch was marked with a little picture of a light bulb, but this one showed a small cloud. Throwing this second switch caused white gas to emerge from small holes in the walls around Stephen. Ninety-nine percent sure that the gas wouldn’t harm Stephen, Jack watched with excitement and curiosity as the gas reached his friend and Stephen began to pass out.

  “I can’t believe you. Why are you doing this?” slurred Stephen.

  Jack didn’t have a chance to answer before Stephen slumped to the floor of the cage. Jack sighed into his mask and nearly made the mistake of removing it. Instead, he kept the mask on and strode over to the lever to release and reset the cage. He saw no marking on this lever, but its position led Jack to believe that it would disengage the metal walls confining Stephen.

  He was right, but hadn’t expected the force with which the cage would disengage. One of the panels crashed down on Jack’s foot and numbing pain shot up his leg. Jack staggered back, once again reaching for the mask, but stopped himself before he removed it. He hunched over looking at his shoe. The way his left foot felt, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find half of it amputated by the crashing cage, but there it sat, looking normal.

  Jack looked up at the dissipating cloud and waited for his foot to stop throbbing enough for him to continue. Unshouldering his pack, he unzipped the big compartment and dug to the bottom. He found several tie-wraps, a roll of tape, and a bandanna. He considered his next moves: roll Stephen over to bind his hands, gag him, and blindfold him.

  Stephen had slumped against the wall with his head turned away from Jack. Just then something occurred to Jack: he should have checked on Stephen immediately. Stephen might be asphyxiating, or already dead from the gas.

>   Jack limped over to Stephen and nearly entrapped himself before he remembered the cage. The trigger for the cage wasn’t obvious, but it had something to do with putting weight near the base of the pole. Jack noted the missed detail as he realized that he didn't have a good plan for getting Stephen out of the cage area without getting imprisoned himself.

  Jack slowed his thoughts, emptying his head so he could consider the problem from the designer’s perspective. A good trap must have a way to extract the victim with no danger to the predator. He looked around the room, but saw no other controls.

  Jack returned to the cage lever to give it a second look. Pulling it again, he discovered a feature he missed the first time: after pulling it down, you could lock it to the side. Jack smiled—that must be the way to lock-out the trigger, he thought.

  With this small victory, Jack limped back to Stephen, confident the cage wouldn’t engage. He rolled Stephen over and grabbed his wrist. He felt a strong pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief, removed Stephen’s backpack, and arranged Stephen’s limbs so he could pull him away from the wall. Jack found it difficult to work with the gas mask on, so he moved quickly to immobilize Stephen.

  Pulling Stephen’s wrists behind his back, Jack used his tie-wraps as handcuffs. Next, he put tape over Stephen’s mouth and tied a blind-fold across his eyes. Jack finished with several loops of tape around Stephen’s legs. Jack didn't secure Stephen's legs tight, but wound the tape around several times.

  Jack heard a distant electronic beep, just once, and couldn’t pinpoint its origin. He stood straight up, his ears tingling. Jack took several deep breaths and then returned to his mental checklist. Stephen was ready. Now he needed to take Stephen’s limp body to the examination room.

  Jack rolled Stephen onto his back, and checked Stephen's breathing. Jack limped over to the door. While searching the hotel on Sunday night, Jack had established a fairly detailed mental map of this part of the hotel—he knew that down the hall, on the left, he would find a closet which held several jugs of liquid and a big dolly.

  He returned to the pole room, pushing the dolly ahead of him, and leaning on it to take the weight off his throbbing foot. Stephen still appeared unconscious. Jack checked Stephen’s pulse again—still normal—and rolled him on his side. Tipping over the dolly, Jack slid it up the length of Stephen’s body and inserted it between Stephen’s cuffed hands and his limp torso.

  Jack had tethered Stephen to the dolly with Stephen's arms braced against the handle. Jack used more tie-wraps to attach Stephen’s ankles to the upright bars.

  Admiring his planning and execution, Jack returned to the top of the dolly so he could lift Stephen into a standing position. The body slipped down more than Jack anticipated, and he considered using the tape to secure more points, but he wanted to avoid cutting off Stephen’s circulation.

  Stephen began to stir and solved Jack’s problem. As he regained consciousness, Stephen stiffened and Jack could raise him vertical. Stephen thrashed at first, but stopped as pain from his pinned arms registered. The more Stephen moved, the more his arms would wrench painfully upward.

  Jack tilted the dolly and backed towards the doorway. Stephen swung his head around, trying to get a look past the blindfold, and yelled into the tape, producing a low muffled sound.

  “Shhh,” said Jack. “It will be over soon.” Jack's voice sounded muffled by the gas mask. Jack had to pause to pick up their packs and almost dumped Stephen on his back, but regained control moments later. Once in the hallway, Jack turned on his flashlight and closed the door to the pole room. Gas from the room might have leaked into the hall, so he pushed Stephen several feet before removing his gas mask.

  When he reached the light switch in the hall, Jack braced the dolly against his shoulder so he could flick it on. Bright light washed the hall—it looked almost as bright as the white room. Nearly the entire ceiling was populated with fluorescent bulbs. Stephen thrashed a bit at the change in lighting and swayed from side-to-side.

  Getting in rhythm with the instability of the dolly, Stephen started to rock it back and forth. It was all Jack could do to keep it upright.

  “Listen, buddy,” Jack whispered into Stephen’s ear, “if you fall over, I’m going to drug you again. I don’t know all that much about anesthesia, but I’m pretty sure that it’s touch-and-go when you get your second dose in a short period of time. So, if you want to play that lottery, I can re-dose you. By all means, keep trying to tip over.”

  Stephen stopped thrashing to listen to Jack, and didn’t start again. Tilting him back, Jack continued down the hall to what he had dubbed “The Exam Room.”

  He rolled Stephen past the door and turned the handle, pushing it open with his right hand. Glancing around at the cold, white tile inside, Jack backed Stephen into the room.

  The bright lights in the examination room reflected off the shiny tiled floor and tiled walls. Jack figured he could spray this room with a fire hose and do no damage; it was built for easy cleanup. The center of the room featured a large circular drain. Next to that, sat the examination chair.

  Jack scanned the room, taking it all in. He had seen this room a few times now, but hadn’t really studied it. It had seemed inappropriate without bringing his own victim. But now, Stephen would help him achieve that. Jack stood the dolly up near the chair and then thought better of it. He pushed the axle away and lowered Stephen to the floor so he wouldn’t tip himself over.

  Eyes wide open and roaming, he walked a slow lap around the room. A freestanding bathtub with a host of stains scarred into the enamel graced one wall. Along the back, a set of cabinets held mysteries. Two sinks with gooseneck faucets were set in the counter. On the next wall, a rolling cart held a strange device mounted on an articulated arm. Thick power cables ran back to the wall and plugged into a large circular outlet.

  Stephen kicked and yelled muffled complaints against his tape.

  “I’m right here,” said Jack. “Settle down.”

  Jack heard the same beep again. This time it came from behind him and he spun around, but couldn’t see anything unusual. It sounded like it had come from above, but the only thing above him was a drop-ceiling of tiles, poked with random holes.

  Raising his voice, Jack said, “What are you waiting for? I’m here. I brought you your gift, Baal.”

  Jack could feel himself beginning to sweat. He reminded himself that this was what he had worked towards, that he was supposed to be enjoying this anticipation. It bothered Jack that only his fear and anger bubbled up. He knew that The Management must be watching, and didn’t want to betray his weakness, so he leaned against the chair and tried to look bored. He waited.

  Stephen stayed still, except for his chest. He breathed rapidly—his heaving chest showed his fear. Jack fixated on the rise and fall of Stephen’s chest and used it to keep his own breathing under control. He only inhaled on Stephen’s second breath at first and then later slowed to a three-to-one ratio. Jack felt calm and in control of his body. He waited.

  Jack pulled out his phone and checked the time. He felt like he had been standing in this room for hours, so he decided to set a limit. Ten more minutes and he was going to walk. He wanted to feel in control of his own destiny.

  “Okay,” he challenged, “five more minutes and we’re leaving.”

  Two minutes later, The Management contacted Jack.

  A scratchy, dusty voice came from the ceiling. Jack looked up.

  “(click) Jack. (click),” said a man's voice. “(click) How good of you to come. (click)”

  “My pleasure,” said Jack, “what’s next.” He could hardly keep his voice calm. The gravity of his situation threatened to collapse on him and ruin his facility for rational thought.

  Jack waited, this had turned back into a one-way conversation.

  “Hello?” asked Jack after several more moments.

  “(click) First, we’ll need to teach you patience. (click),” said the voice. “(click) Next, manners. Do you know what yo
u’re supposed to do with Stephen? (click)”

  “I think so,” said Jack. “But I want to meet you in person first.”

  Jack waited through another long pause. Some of his adrenaline started to fade, and he considered different ways to get The Management to comply.

  Jack decided to start with logic and work his way over to threats if that didn’t work. “How long have you been looking for me?” asked Jack. “I’m guessing it’s been years, maybe decades. Am I right?” Jack continued.

  Jack looked at the ceiling and waited for an answer, but none came.

  “Okay,” said Jack. “I’m going to assume that I’m right—you’ve been searching for me, or someone like me, for at least ten years. Maybe a few have come close, but they weren’t smart enough. Or maybe they were smart, but didn’t have the stomach for the blood.” Jack lowered his voice, “Maybe some of them liked the blood a little too much.”

  Jack focused on the ceiling and circled the chair as he spoke—“But I’m the real thing. Not psychotic, but just detached enough to do what you do, and follow in your footsteps. I’ll study your writing, and learn from you.” Jack had come back around to Stephen again. He placed one foot on his blindfolded friend and looked at the ceiling. “But being all those things, I have to know that you’re right too. I won’t jump into this before we meet,” said Jack.

  “(click) Yes. (click),” came from the speaker.

  Jack waited ten seconds, holding his position. Stephen began to squirm again and kicked out violently, sending the dolly sliding away. Jack removed his foot from Stephen’s stomach and crossed around him to get to his bag. He plucked it off the floor and sat it on the chair in front of him, removing items and laying them on the counter: duck tape, his mother’s big carving knife, tie-wraps, and a stack of plastic bags.

  The door behind him clicked, and Jack paused. He heard the ambient sound of the room change when the door swung open. Jack spun slowly to glimpse The Management for the first time. On the floor, Stephen squirmed towards the wall, making a muffled, humping racket, but Jack didn’t hear. All of Jack’s senses focused on the empty doorframe.