James Hayman - The Cutting

Maurice Kane swatted at something in his sleep, then said something McCabe couldn’t understand.

‘Mr. Kane? Mr. Kane, wake up. I need to talk to you.’

The old man squinted into the shadows, trying to locate the voice. ‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’ His voice the rasping whisper of a dying man, the accent more British than American.

‘Where is Lucas?’

‘Lucas? Lucas is dead. Who are you?’

‘No, Lucas is alive, Mr. Kane. I’m a policeman. Detective Michael McCabe. Portland police. I need to know where Lucas is.’

‘A policeman,’ Kane repeated. ‘How did you get in my house?’

‘Please, Mr. Kane. Lucas. Where is he?’

The old man looked at him blankly. This was taking too long, McCabe thought. Lucinda’s chances of survival were draining away with each passing moment. The hell with it. He’d search the house first. Find out what he could from the old man later.

Lights from a car swept through the windows, its beams crossed the far wall, finally lighting the dark corner where McCabe stood. He went to the window, peered through. He couldn’t see anything.

‘McCabe?’ Maggie’s voice whispered in his ear.

‘What?’

‘An ambulance just pulled up behind the guest cottage. I’m watching it through the binocs. I’m gonna move closer.’

McCabe could hear some rustling sounds and Maggie’s breathing. He waited.

‘Okay, I can see better now. Guess what? Dr. Wilcox is jumping out the back. Now a woman. Now the driver’s getting out. He’s unlocking a back door to the cottage.’

‘Is Kane there?’

‘No. Just the three of them. They’re pulling a stretcher out of the back.’ There was silence on the line for a moment. ‘There’s an old man on the stretcher. They’re heading into the cottage.’

McCabe figured it had to be transplant time. Lucinda’s heart was nearby, but where? In the cottage? Maybe here in the house? Was it still beating, still in her body? He didn’t know.

‘I’m calling Ellsworth for backup.’ Maggie’s voice again. ‘Uh-oh.’

‘What?’

‘Another light just went on. Directly above you in the main house. Third-floor window.’

Squinting into the sudden brightness, Lucy saw the man standing by the door, dressed in blue-green surgical scrubs. He locked the dead bolt and walked toward her. In his right hand, he carried a small red-and-white picnic cooler.

Lucinda’s eyes darted around. Yes. This was a different room. It looked like a child’s attic playroom with a single high dormer window. Toys and games lay stacked in the corner. Three low painted bookcases against the wall were filled with children’s books. Beside the window, a large stuffed bear sat upright inside an open cardboard box, its black button eyes peering directly at her. Reflected in the light, she saw a perfect spider’s web connecting the bear’s arm with the wall. On the other side of the web, a Pinocchio marionette hung, an idiot’s smile plastered on its pink painted face.

Closer to the steel platform on which she lay, Lucy could see a large electrical saw, its articulated arm hanging at a strange angle. Even closer, a tray of gleaming stainless steel instruments. The platform itself rose at a slight angle so that her head was higher than her feet. Near the bottom, between her ankles, she could see a round drain. For what? Water? Blood? The terror rose within her. Suddenly the bear and the marionette burst into hysterical laughter, pointing their arms directly at her, laughing at her because she was going to die. The laughter went on and on. She had to stop it. She had to shut it out. She tried to cover her ears, but her hands wouldn’t move. She closed her eyes and screamed.

McCabe ran into the open central hall, where the stairs rose up in a broad spiral toward the third-floor landing. He looked up and saw a heavy oak door blocking the entrance to the room where Maggie must have seen the light. His mind was racing. He could rush up the stairs, but the door would be locked. If he tried to break it down or shoot his way in, Kane, armed with a scalpel, if not a gun or a knife, would use Lucinda as a shield or, worse, simply cut her throat. He thought he heard a scream. Sharp. Short. Quickly cut off.

He ran back to the utility room just as Maggie burst in through the back door. He found the circuit breaker box. Removing a heart was easy, Spencer told him — but not in the dark. Not without power. Kane couldn’t see where to cut. The surgical saw wouldn’t work. He’d have to come out of the room to find out what was happening, to reset the breaker. That might give them the chance they needed. Maybe.

The scream barely escaped her lips. Moving with astonishing speed, the man slapped a strip of silver duct tape against her mouth and pulled it tight, cutting off the sound. She opened her eyes. His face was close to hers, his deep-set eyes shining brightly. She could hear his breathing, feel the breath on her skin. Short, shallow, rapid. He untied and removed her gown, then pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves. He selected a scalpel from the tray and placed it flat on her chest, between her breasts. He turned on a bright light clipped to a tall silver-colored metal stand, the kind she’d seen in photographers’ studios. He adjusted the light until it shone right at her. He picked up the scalpel and, using a sponge, washed her chest with something that felt cold and smelled antiseptic. He smiled at her. Then he leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed our time together, Lucinda,’ he said.

McCabe tugged at the panel door. Shit. Painted shut. He pulled again. Still it wouldn’t open.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ asked Maggie, her voice a whisper, but barely.

He ignored the question. His eyes darted around. He was losing precious seconds. He imagined Kane cutting a neat red line down the middle of Lucinda’s chest. He spotted a retractable box cutter on top of the moving cartons, grabbed it, and flipped it open. He ran the blade around the painted edges of the door. He pulled again. Still stuck. This was taking too long. He thought he could hear the whine of the Stryker surgical saw. Nearly frantic, he used the knife again and pulled even harder. The dry paint cracked. Then, finally, it gave way.

Her lover slid a surgical mask over his mouth. He placed the point of the scalpel against her skin at the bottom of her throat. Lucy retreated into the cold steel platform that held her, trying to pull back into its impenetrable hardness. He pushed. She felt a shock of pain as the blade broke her skin. She closed her eyes and prayed to a God she’d never believed in for the peace and redemption that death would bring. The lights went out.

The utility room went black. The Goldberg Variations ceased. McCabe flipped on his Maglite and raced for the stairs that circled the open hallway. He took them two at a time. He was breathing hard by the time he got to the third-floor landing. He could hear Maggie running close behind. Kane was nowhere in sight. Was he still in the room with Lucinda? What was he doing in there? Without power, Kane couldn’t see to cut, couldn’t use the saw. So what was he doing? The plan was for Kane to come out of the room to investigate the loss of power, to come out where McCabe could get him before he killed Lucy. Where the fuck was he?

McCabe forced himself to calm down. He pressed his body against the wall on one side of the door, his. 45 in his hand. Maggie took up a position on the other side. He flicked the Maglite off. An unholy blackness filled the space. Okay, Kane, get your ass out here. Investigate. Don’t you want to know why the power went off?

Finally the lock turned, the door opened, and Lucas Kane emerged into the blackness of the hall. He walked three tentative steps.