Gord Rollo

by The Jigsaw Man v2. 0

  Suddenly the water was shut off and I thought the

  torture was over. Wrong. Drake wasn't finished with

  me yet.

  "Get scrubbing, Alike. We haven't got all day."

  Having no real choice in the matter, I began rubbing

  the bar of soap all over myself, making a half-decent ef¬

  fort to get myself cleaned up. It was great to smell the

  fresh pine-scented fragrance slowly replacing the rotten

  odor of congealed blood, but hampering my enjoyment

  was the certain knowledge that after I'd finished lather¬

  ing u p , Drake was going to order them to rinse me off.

  Sure enough, I'd barely had time to run the soap

  through my tangled, sticky hair, when the j e t spray of

  frigid water pounded into me again, unannounced.

  The merciless force of the water hurt even worse this

  time, battering and bruising my body until I could no

  longer stand. Only then did Drake order the water hose

  turned off.

  "Get up," the chief of security ordered without a

  trace of compassion in his steely voice.

  Drake walked closer, tossing a towel in my face and

  stood watching me as I dried off. He was standing too

  close, leering at me in a way that made me uncomfort¬

  able.

  "You clean up pretty good," Drake leaned closer,

  whispering in my ear. "Not bad at all."

  Is Drake gay, or just crazy?

  "Can I have something to wear?" I asked, looking

  away from my muscular captor's lustful eyes.

  "Shy, Mike?" Drake smiled.

  Ever so slowly, he reaching behind me and I shud¬

  dered, thinking he was going to grab my ass. Fortu¬

  nately, all he was doing was unlocking the handcuff

  attached to the door. Once free, he nodded to one of

  the guards to bring over my clothes. I thought they

  were only giving me a white dress shirt to wear, but

  once I unfolded the garment I noticed it was way too

  long, extending down past my knees, and that the open¬

  ing was intended for the back instead of the front. Why

  were they giving me a hospital gown?

  "What's this?" I asked.

  "Have you forgotten already? You signed a contract

  with Dr. Marshall, my friend, and I'm here to make

  sure you keep up your end of the bargain." After con

  sulting his wristwatch, he said, "It's j u s t past nine o'clock,

  Mike. Your surgery is in fifty-six minutes. Dr. Marshall

  will be expecting you shortly, so let's get moving."

  My arm! They're gonna take my arm!

  Panic swelled within m e , this primal emotion be¬

  coming almost a physical entity, wrapping its greasy

  fingers around my heart, squeezing fear out of every

  pore. Acting on instinct alone, with no destination in

  mind, I tossed the hospital gown in Drake's grinning

  face and ran like the devil himself was chasing me.

  Realistically, there was no place for me to go, but I ran

  anyway, the need to escape my appointed fate com¬

  pletely taking over my body.

  Everyone started screaming, and of course gave

  chase, but a desperate man can be faster than greased

  lightning, given the proper motivation. W i t h the threat

  of losing my arm h a n g i n g above my head like D a m o cles's proverbial swordj I was more than fast—I was

  flyingl Unfortunately, it's impossible to outrun bullets,

  so when I became lost in the jumble of boxes, dashing

  between two large crates to find myself staring down

  the barrel of a big black gun, I knew enough not to try

  anything stupid.

  The guard with the minicannon, a pimply-faced red¬

  head who looked about nineteen years old, started

  shouting to Drake that he had me, while backing me up

  until my back was against a hard metal surface. I had

  nowhere left to run. W i t h i n seconds, other guards had

  found us and Drake was rounding the corner of the

  storage crate too.

  "Let me plug him, Drake," the overzealous y o u n g

  redhead shouted. "He's more trouble than he's worth."

  Re's gonna do it. I watched his finger starting to tighten

  on the trigger. He's gonna kill me!

  I closed my eyes as tight as I could, not wanting to

  see the bullet heading my way. At any second, I ex¬

  pected to hear the loud BOOM and feel my head begin

  to vaporize, but what I heard was Drake screaming a

  long, drawn out, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" I opened my

  eyes j u s t in time to see Drake run up and knock the

  gun out of his y o u n g recruit's hand.

  "What kind of an idiot are y o u ? " Drake screamed.

  "For Christ's sake, Brad, take a look where you are.

  W h e r e he is. You'll kill us all."

  The y o u n g guard looked confused, uncertain what

  his boss was angry about, but then his eyes opened

  wide, and I saw realization wash over him like a splash

  of ice water. The look on his face made me wonder what

  the guards knew that I didn't. All it took was for me to

  turn around, and I understood right away. I was leaning

  against one of the two huge spherical-shaped tanks Fd

  spotted from atop the incinerator. From this close, I

  could see the word O X Y G E N painted in bright red letters

  with the unnecessary warning, D A N G E R : E X T R E M E L Y

  F L A M A B L E below'it.

  So that's what they were... oxygen tanks.

  That explained the network of small pipes rising up

  through dozens of spots in the ceiling. The pipes sup¬

  plied the various laboratories and operating rooms

  throughout the entire medical center. Drake had been

  right. If the guard had fired his gun, we'd all be dead

  by now.

  Well, at least 1 won't be getting shot today.

  I clung to the base of the oxygen tank like a capsized

  sailor might grasp a life preserver in the middle of the

  Pacific. W i t h the threat of death by explosion taken out

  of the mix, Drake quickly regained control of the situ¬

  ation. He ordered two of his men to grab m e , threaten¬

  ing to break their scrawny necks if they let me get away

  again. Then he marched right up to me until we were

  actually touching nose to nose and said, "I'm done fuck

  ing around, Mike. You're coming.with me whether you

  like it or not. We can do this one of two ways: the hard

  way, or the really hard way. What's it gonna be?"

  Neither sounded particularly good, so I j u s t kept my

  mouth shut. I knew anything I said would end up earn¬

  ing me a fist in the face, or worse, so I quietly waited for

  whatever would come next. Had I known Drake was

  hiding a large hypodermic syringe behind his back, I

  might have struggled more than I did, but as it was, the

  chief of security grabbed me by the throat and ruth¬

  lessly jabbed the needle into my right shoulder before I

  knew what hit me.

  Whatever drug he injected into me, it packed a hell of

  a wallop, because before I even had the chance to call

  Drake a sneaky bastard, my vision began to dim. The

  image of Drake's toothy grin froze in my mind, and

&
nbsp; began swirling around and around in my head, spinning

  faster and faster until someone finally pulled the plug,

  letting my dizzy consciousness drain down into the

  black sewer of oblivion.

  C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

  W h e n I woke u p , I had a throbbing headache, so bad it

  felt like someone had backed over my skull with a trac¬

  tor. My eyes were crusted shut, but I blinked a few times

  and managed to get them open. Bad mistake. The bright

  light on the tiled ceiling above me practically blinded

  m e , sending daggers of shooting pain through my brain,

  making my poor head hurt even more. Refusing to make

  the same mistake twice, I kept my eyes closed as I tried

  to gather my senses and get my bearings.

  Gotta stay away from that damn Sterno. I need a drink of

  water... bad.

  T h i n k i n g about water made me remember the fire

  hose shower I'd recently been given. Once my mind

  started along that memory path it didn't take long to

  remember where I was, Drake giving me the knockout

  drug, and his promise to deliver me to Dr. Marshall for

  my scheduled surgery.

  Oh God, no!

  Had Drake already done that? Had Dr. Marshall al¬

  ready taken me to his operating room and removed my

  right arm? I was too frightened to open my eyes and

  check. Other than my head I wasn't in a whole lot of

  pain, but I was still woozy and half out of it so I might

  be pumped full of happy drugs for all I knew.

  Almost as if on cue, my right arm started to itch. I

  felt it first near my elbow, and then slowly it began tick¬

  ling its way up toward my neck. That should have been

  a good sign, assured me I was still in one piece, but I

  wasn't at all convinced the itch was real. I'd heard all

  sorts of strange stories of people feeling phantom sensa¬

  tions in limbs that had been amputated—even ones r e

  moved years earlier—so I wasn't getting my hopes up.

  Open your eyes, Mike. You gotta know for sure. Do it,

  man. Do it now. Maybe it's not too late?

  That was true. Maybe I hadn't been unconscious for

  as long as I thought. The surgery m i g h t not have started

  yet, and I might be lying in one of the waiting rooms. I

  might still be able to get up and sneak out of here. One

  way or the other, I had to find out.

  Steeling myself against what I might see, I said a quick

  prayer, opened my eyes, and reluctantly let them slowly

  drift down the length of my body.

  My right arm was gone, severed clean at the shoulder.

  And so was my left.

  C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N

  Dr. Marshall kept me heavily medicated with a mor¬

  phine drip for the next two weeks, then slowly began

  weaning me off the highly addictive painkiller. It was a

  hell of a lot easier dealing with my double amputation

  when Fd been high as a kite than when I started to crash

  back down to earth. Call me crazy, but I much preferred

  a drug-induced fantasyland where I still had both my

  arms to the cold sterile world of my disfigured reality.

  Healing was a slow and painful experience, made worse

  by my murderously foul mood and combative attitude.

  The doctors and nurses who attended to me were pro¬

  fessional and somewhat sympathetic to my plight, but

  whether they were j u s t doing their j o b or not, they were

  part of the enemy camp and I hated them for it.

  N o t once, in the entire three weeks I lay recuperating,

  did Dr. Marshall come to see me. I liked thinking maybe

  he was a little scared of m e , but it was more likely he just

  didn't give a damn, labeling me as so unimportant I didn't

  merit'the wasting of his precious time. I was nothing but

  a commodity to him, flesh and blood spare parts kept in

  cold storage in case he had further need of me.

  Drake popped in and out all the time, unfortunately,

  laughing at my pain and taunting me in childish ways

  like tossing me a tennis ball and saying, "Here, Mike,

  catchy He'd shriek like a loon when the ball would whack

  me in the face, or thud painfully against my bandaged

  shoulders. He enjoyed pissing me off, and loved hurting

  me even more. As helpless as I was, I vowed to someday

  pay that muscle-headed sadistic asshole back in spades.

  The first day the doctors let me get out of bed was the

  day my mind turned away from revenge and started l i n k ing seriously about escaping. The minute my feet hit the

  floor, I was already planning and scheming, keeping my

  eyes and ears open for a chance to bolt. Ironically, it was

  Drake—the big cheese of security around here—who

  gave me the opportunity I'd been waiting for.

  He strutted into my room with his chest puffed out,

  cocky as usual, and ordered the two nurses who'd just

  finished changing my dressings to get out and stay out.

  "Dr. Marshall's on his way to see you, Mike."

  "What's he want?" I asked, curious, but more than a

  little nervous to hear the answer,

  "I think he needs your legs," Drake smiled, clearly

  happy to be the bearer of such shocking news.

  He pulled an apple out of his coat pocket, leaned

  against a filing cabinet by the door, and silently enjoyed

  his snack while relishing the terrifying effect his words

  were having on me.

  God no, not my legs! Not my fucking legs!

  I had a vivid picture of me carved down to nothing,

  lying upstairs in a bed beside Lucas and Charlie while

  three nurses began sticking the IV tubes into my head,

  neck, and torso to begin draining my first of countless

  donations of blood. The vision was so powerful, so real,

  I found myself unable to stand on my own power. Dis¬

  oriented as I was, I tried grabbing hold of my dresser

  drawer to support myself, but I had no arms to clutch

  onto anything with, so I ended up sprawled out on the

  floor near Drake's feet.

  Drake found my spill comical, naturally, nearly

  choking on the last bite of his apple he was laughing so

  hard. "Oh man, I've got to get out of here. You're killing

  me Mike, killing me!" Tossing his apple core toward the

  garbage can, he headed out the door, pausing only long

  enough to look back and say, "Dr. Marshall will be along

  soon, so be nice. I'll see you later on, back in rehab."

  Then he was gone, the heavy metal door swinging

  behind him so that he assumed he'd left me alone in a

  locked room. That was his mistake. Although the door

  was automatically set to lock, as always, the chief of se¬

  curity had failed to notice that his gnawed apple core

  hadn't fallen into the trash can as he'd intended. Instead,

  it had bounced off the top rim and rebounded to the

  floor, coming to rest between the closing door and its

  j a m b . Wedged between the two, the locking device

  couldn't engage, leaving the door open about an inch.

  Lying where I'd fallen, I held my breath, waiting to

  see if the weight of the door would compres
s the apple

  core enough that the latch would click, but it never h a p

  pened. Hope surged through me like a charge of light

  ning, b u r n i n g away my ghastly thoughts of the Bleeders'

  room upstairs, and fueling my weakened body into ac¬

  tion. I was back on my feet in seconds, rushing over to

  the door. Getting out of this room didn't guarantee me

  freedom, but it sure as hell was a good start.

  How was I supposed to open the door? The knob was

  way too big to try grabbing with my teeth, and if I tried

  to nudge it open using my hip, I might j u s t as easily

  push the door shut, locking myself in. I ended up using

  my toes, t u r n i n g my left foot sideways, pushing them

  through the gap, and prying the door open enough that

  I could get my head and neck around to shove it open.

  Drake was nowhere in sight, the hallway in both di¬

  rections blessedly empty. Outside my room for the first

  time in almost a month, I felt great, almost giddy with

  excitement, thinking maybe this time luck would be on

  my side and I'd be able to j u s t stroll on out of here un¬

  noticed and unchallenged. I should have known better. I

  hadn't made it more than a few steps when Dr. Marshall

  wheeled around the corner, obviously on his way to my

  room. He was dressed in a blue sweatshirt and faded

  j e a n s , looking quite comfortable until the shock of see¬

  ing me out wandering in the hall spread across his face.

  "How did you get out of your room?" he asked, a

  trace of alarm creeping into his normally confident

  voice. "Where's Drake?"

  "Right behind you," I answered, and as soon as he

  spun his wheelchair around to look, I turned tail and

  took off at full speed the opposite way.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Dr. Marshall pull a

  Iong-bladed knife from under the cushion he was sit¬

  ting upon, clamp it in his teeth so he could push with

  both arms, and race after me. I was out in front, but the

  small lead I'd bluffed for myself wasn't enough to stay

  in front for long. W i t h every push of his powerful arms,

  Dr. Marshall was m a k i n g up ground, closing in on me

  at an alarming rate.

  It was hard to run last with my arms no longer there

  to pump back and forth. I felt constantly off balance, and

  was having a heck of a time trying to run in a straight

  line down the hall without veering off to one side or the

  other. This wasn't going to work. I had to find someplace