Gord Rollo

by The Jigsaw Man v2. 0

  with plastic blood bags that had surely j u s t been har¬

  vested from the group of cruelly vivisected men strapped

  to the beds inside.

  . "What are you doing up here?" the nurse said in a

  tone that made me want to beat the life out of her with

  my bare hands. W h o the hell was she to treat these

  men like this, robbing them not j u s t of their life juices,

  but of their dignity—hell, their humanity—as well? I

  kept my cool, though. No sense blowing things now,

  not when I was so close to success.

  "Mr. Drake told me to deliver a message to one of

  the guys in there. Said he'd be up soon to talk to him

  personally. I'm supposed to wait here."

  Pretty crappy cover story, I know. W h a t possible

  message would the chief of security want delivered

  up here, and even if he did, why would Drake pick me

  to do it? In my winter coat and boots, no less. I was

  counting on the fact that this nurse—whoever she

  was—wouldn't really give a shit what I was doing. She

  had work to do and probably wanted to get it done and

  over with so she could go home. Thankfully, I was

  right.

  "Well, hurry up then," she said, already dismissing

  me and moving away. "Don't you stir them up, or trust

  me it'll be your ass, not mine."

  With that rather empty threat, she wandered off to¬

  ward the front of the building. I slipped inside the

  Bleeders' room before she thought things through and

  turned back to ask me anything else. So far I'd been

  lucky—major league lucky—but I knew it wouldn't last

  forever. Time was r u n n i n g out.

  Just give me another half hour, I prayed to the ceiling

  tiles, then looked around the sterile white room into a

  hellish scene I remembered all too well.

  There were ten of them now—four on one side of

  the room, six on the other. Ten limbless sacks of meat

  that had once been decent men but had now been r e

  duced to kegs of blood for Dr. Marshall to tap any¬

  time he needed. It was diabolical—there was no other

  word for it—and it made me sick to my stomach to

  look at them. I couldn't suppress my shudder when I

  realized I knew most of these guys. His flaming red

  hair drew my eyes to Red Beard first, and then old

  Lucas, too, in the bed right next to him near the back

  window. Charlie, the confused guy whose shouts had

  led to my capture, the first t i m e , was still h e r e , blankly

  staring at the ceiling along with at least four other men

  whose faces I recognized but whose names I couldn't

  remember.

  Shit!

  This wasn't a homecoming, or, for that matter, a

  friendly reunion, and I'd actually been hoping to walk

  into a room full of strangers. That would have been

  easier for me. Familiar faces only made things harder

  and pissed me off more. These same poor bastards had

  been lying here all this t i m e , day after day,, week after

  week, month after month, doing n o t h i n g but getting

  slowly bled dry and hoping to die.

  I was here to answer their prayers.

  I didn't want to do it—hell, I wasn't even sure I could

  do it—but I was here to try. These men had suffered

  enough and although I'd only promised Lucas I'd help

  him along to a better place, I felt I owed this same act of

  kindness to all of them. W h a t other choice did I have?

  I couldn't save anyone, or make things better, but I could

  damn well put a stop to their endless misery and guar¬

  antee they wouldn't somehow live through the coming

  explosion. That was the last thing any of them would

  want. Death and, well, me were the only friends these

  guys had left.

  Lucas must have heard me come in, because he

  turned his head and looked my way. I raised my hand

  and waved, moving toward him, but my smile froze

  half-formed, when I noticed the look of fear on the old

  man's face. He looked like he was about to scream.

  Didn't he know who I was? Or maybe his mind had fi¬

  nally shut down from the constant abuse.

  Thisplace wears a man down after a while. Wears him

  until he snaps.

  I could still remember the day he'd said those words.

  Seemed like yesterday, and certainly n o t h i n g had

  changed around here to make me think his assessment

  wasn't bang on. I stopped walking and held my hands

  out in front of me. Hopefully he'd understand I wasn't

  here to hurt him.

  "Don't be scared, Lucas, it's j u s t m e , Mike."

  At the sound of my voice, Red Beard opened his eyes

  and looked at me from the next bed over. His eyes

  opened really wide and I was scared he, too, might be

  considering screaming. His mouth dropped open and

  several long seconds passed before he said, "Mike? Is

  that really y o u ? "

  Lucas's head snapped toward Red Beard and some of

  the worry left his wrinkled brow. "You see him too,

  Red?"

  " 'Course I see him," Red Beard's deep voice boomed

  in the quiet room. "He's standing right in front of us,

  ain't he?"

  "You two okay?" I asked, not knowing what else to

  say as I walked up to stand at the feet of their beds.

  Lucas flinched again at the sound of my voice, but he

  followed it with a nervous laugh that answered my

  question better than any words could have.

  "Jesus, Mike, I thought you were a freakin' ghost. No

  foolin'. Red and I thought you were dead a long time

  ago and then you j u s t show up out of nowhere, walking

  in like y o u ' r e — "

  Then he stopped, dead, the color draining from his

  already pale face. Both Lucas and Red were eying me

  up head to toe, a bit of fear creeping back into their

  eyes, and I knew right away what was going through

  their minds. Last time they'd seen me, I'd been getting

  wheeled out of this room strapped to a leather gurney,

  and I'd had the same number of arms and legs, as they

  had—none! N o w here I was standing in front of them a

  whole man again. No wonder they were freaked out. I

  would have been too.

  I really didn't have the time or energy to go through

  the entire story and, in the end, it didn't make a hell of

  a lot of difference bow I'd walked in here; the important

  part was what I'd walked in to do.

  "Listen, guys, it's a long story and I j u s t don't want to

  get into it. The short, no frills version is that Dr. Mar¬

  shall is still up to his old tricks and he pieced me back

  together again using a lot of different people's body

  parts. I've been through hell and back so don't go think¬

  ing I'm luckier than you guys j u s t because I'm standing.

  Trust m e , I'm not."

  The room was silent for thirty seconds as they chewed

  on what I'd j u s t told them. They looked at each other a

  few times, puzzled expressions on their faces, but both

  seemed to buy it without any more questions. For that

&n
bsp; small mercy, I was grateful.

  "Why are you here, Mike?" Lucas finally asked.

  "Yeah, what's up?" Red chimed in.

  N o w how was I supposed to answer those questions?

  H o w do you tell y o u r friends you've come to murder

  them? Damned if I knew. Instead of answering, I turned

  and went to the empty bed directly across from them. I

  paused for a moment, still fighting my inner demons as

  to whether I should be doing this, but in my heart I

  knew a mercy killing was the proper thing—the decent

  t h i n g — t o do.

  I bent down and picked up the thin white pillow.

  "Pillow fight?" Red asked, laughing hard at his j o k e .

  "I have a feeling you'll win that one, buddy."

  Ignoring Red Beard, I turned and looked at Lucas,

  stared straight into his eyes, and in that instant knew

  he understood exactly what I'd come here to do. If he'd

  screamed, or showed me any trace of fear, I might have

  backed out and tossed the pillow away, but only one

  emotion was shining clearly in his eyes—hope.

  "Bless you, lad," Lucas whispered.

  It was barely audible, but those three small words gave

  me the strength I needed to see this awful task through.

  Even Red Beard had caught on, and was nodding his

  head, smiling at me as tears started to run down his once

  jolly cheeks.

  "Do it, Mike. Please,," Red Beard begged.

  I looked at them both, nodded my head, and then

  went right to work before my nerve deserted me.

  For no reason at all, I chose to do Charlie first. I knew

  he was basically comatose back when I'd been sleeping

  here and was probably worse now, so I figured he'd be

  as good a place to start as any. I'd already decided I

  would be leaving Lucas and Red Beard until last. These

  other guys were three-quarters dead already and j u s t

  needed a little push to send them on their way. Putting

  the pillow over my friends was going to be a whole

  different ball game, so like the coward that I was, I

  would avoid it as long as possible.

  Charlie never moved. Didn't struggle at all when the

  pillow covered his gaunt face. I wasn't even sure I was

  accomplishing anything until I noticed his skinny chest

  had stopped expanding and contracting. He'd died si¬

  lently, in less than a minute, and tears sprung to my eyes

  as I realized I'd j u s t murdered another h u m a n being.

  Jackson I'd killed in self-defense, and that hadn't both¬

  ered me in the least, but Charlie's death was my first

  murder. The first of many on this day but I forced my¬

  self not to think about it, tried to shut it out of my mind

  and j u s t flick the switch over to autopilot. I hated my¬

  self, sure, but I truly believed I was doing these guys a

  favor—one they'd do for me if our roles were reversed.

  Still, murder was murderA no matter how hard I tried to

  justify it. But. there was no t u r n i n g back now. W i t h

  shaking hands, I moved to the next bed.

  Thirty minutes later, seven more men were dead.

  Some I knew, some I didn't, but all of them went to

  their great reward silently and without a fuss. Well, al¬

  most all of them. One man—his name was Glen, or

  maybe Ben—fought me a little, twisting and wiggling

  weakly beneath my hands, but it was his body reacting

  more so than his mind. I'd looked into his eyes before

  placing the pillow over his face, and I knew the lights

  were out upstairs.

  Eight down. Two to go.

  Ah, man!Here we go.

  The entire time I'd been playing God with a pillow, I'd

  intentionally avoided looking at Red Beard and Lucas. I

  wasn't ashamed of what I was doing, and I wasn't afraid

  I'd lose my nerve, I j u s t didn't want to see the look of

  anticipation on their tired faces. I didn't have to look to

  know they would be smiling, crying, and practically

  salivating at the prospect of escaping this rotten plane

  of existence for a chance at a better one Unfortunately,

  I couldn't avoid Lucas and Red Beard any longer. Hold¬

  ing the pillow in front of me like a shield, I walked over

  to them and looked up.

  It wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Sure, they looked

  excited and happy to see their suffering come to an end,

  but they also looked scared, not sure what—if anything—

  waited in the afterlife. It was a sobering thought, one

  that hit me equally hard as I expected to be j o i n i n g my

  friends in death shortly myself. Would we recognize

  each other if we met up on the other side? N o t my con¬

  cern. Hopefully Heaven had a nice place waiting for

  Lucas and Red, but I was surely headed straight to Hell

  for the things I'd done today and I doubted I'd see ei¬

  ther one of them again.

  Stop stalling, Mike. Do what you gotta do.

  "It's okay, Mike," Lucas said in a soft voice, seeing

  my trepidation at approaching any closer. "We've been

  dead for a long time already, our bodies j u s t won't let

  go. N o n e of this is your fault, lad. I know it's a lot to

  ask, but you gotta help us."

  I silently nodded my head. W h a t he was saying was

  true, but I still couldn't find the strength to make my

  legs take a step closer. Lucas had more to say.

  "I never told you this before, but my wife, Charlotte,

  she died eight years ago from the cancer and I j u s t

  know she's waiting for me on the other side of death's

  door. Help me open the door, Mike. I don't have the

  hands to do it myself and I miss her. I miss her so damn

  much!"

  Lucas started to cry then, and I couldn't bear to see

  him suffer for one more minute. Before I chickened

  out, I walked over and kissed him on the forehead.

  "Kiss her once for me," I said, my own tears running

  freely now.

  " T h a n k y o u , Mike," he said, "I will."

  Then I put the pillow on his smiling face and pressed

  down with all my might. It hurt so much inside but I

  smiled, too, thinking the whole time about Lucas walk¬

  ing through that door, seeing his wife's beautiful face

  and r u n n i n g to throw his arms around her. Maybe that

  would never happen, but it was nice to think about and,

  for Lucas's sake, I sure hoped it would. Either way, Dr.

  Marshall would never hurt him again and I guess that

  was good enough. The rest was out of my hands.

  Red Beard had been quiet for a long time, but he

  spoke to me now. "I think he's gone, Mike."

  I checked to see that Lucas's chest had stopped mov¬

  ing, and it was still, but I held on to the pillow another

  minute before I took it off his face. I'd failed him last

  time and I wanted to make damn sure I'd done the j o b

  right this time. No worries, Lucas was gone and had

  died with a smile on his face.

  "You got anyone waking on the other side for you,

  Red?" I asked, hoping for the best.

  "Not really. My parents, I guess. Be nice to see them

  again. Maybe a
few old firemen buddies. W h o knows?

  How about you?"

  "My wife and little boy. Car accident. I don't know

  much about this stuff, Red, but if there is a Heaven,

  and they'll consider letting a fool like me in, I'm look¬

  ing forward to seeing them soon too. It's crazy to think

  about, but it helps, you know?"

  Red Beard nodded, tears flowing down his cheeks al¬

  most as much as mine. "Let's do this, Mike. I'm ready"

  I waUted over beside him, kissed him on the forehead

  too, and was about to put the pillow on his smiling face

  when I saw his eyes open wide in surprise. There was

  fear in those eyes as well. W h e n I turned to follow his

  gaze, I understood why.

  Drake was standing in the doorway.

  Too long, Mike. You took too long.

  The head of security looked astonished to see me.

  He was still sweaty and breathing, hard from his search

  in the forest, and finding me standing here in the castle

  had him at a temporary loss for words. He got over it,

  though, quickly.

  "Are you out of your fucking mind, Mike?"

  I didn't say anything.

  "You somehow get the j u m p on Jackson, and instead

  of hightailing it away from here, you. decide to come

  back to say good-bye to y o u r friends?"

  Then he took a few steps into the room and a closer

  look at the men lying in their beds, then down at the

  pillow still clasped tightly in my hands, and he started

  laughing. Laughing hard, the thought of me killing the

  Bleeders somehow hilarious to him.

  "You are crazy I knew it. Hot damn! This is one for

  the record books. We're out r u n n i n g around in the

  damn forest, and here you are playing Kiss-the-Pillow

  with your old buddies. Dr. Marshall's gonna love this."

  "How'd you find m e ? " I asked, stalling for time.

  "Nurse Harper," he answered. "She mentioned some¬

  one delivering a message up here for me and I knew it

  was bullshit. Tell you the truth, though, I thought it was

  one of my guards slacking off. I came up here to rip him

  a new asshole for not helping us look for you, I damn

  near fainted when I saw you standing there. You're full

  of surprises; I'll give you that. It's almost a shame to kill

  someone like you, but I gotta—"

  "Leave him alone, Drake, you bastard!" Red Beard

  shouted, his voice seemingly far too loud and powerful

  to have come from such a small, wasted body.

  Drake laughed again. "Fuckyou, Torso Boy. Shut your