Michael Palmer: The Last Surgeon

Belle stared in disbelief at the full-color projection. The footage was unquestionably taken from her sister’s tastefully and lovingly decorated condominium. She was certain that the woman sleeping alone in the queen-size bed was Jillian, also a nurse, and one of the main reasons Belle herself had chosen the profession. Following the automobile-accident deaths of their parents, Jillian had stepped in to raise her fourteen-year-old sister, often making major sacrifices in her personal life. Belle considered her to be the kindest, brightest, most centered person she had ever known. The camera had been placed above the valance in the bedroom. At the sight of Jillian, rolling languidly from her left side to her back, Belle began to hyperventilate again.

“Easy,” the man warned. “Slow down. That’s it… That’s it.”

“Please. Please don’t hurt her.”

The apparition holding the phone leaned forward. Belle cringed as his empty eyes came level with her own. His pale white skin was tinted blue, a ghoulish illusion cast by her ecologically friendly halogen lights.

“You must calm down your breathing and listen, Ms. Coates. To save your sister’s life, and yourself from a great deal of pain, it is essential that you believe I will do as I say.”

“I believe. I believe. Turn it off. Turn that camera off and leave her alone.”

“I’m going to make you a promise, Ms. Coates,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “I promise that if you fail to follow my instructions, Jillian will die, and die quite horribly. Do as I say and she lives. Want proof? Look here.”

He held the phone at eye level.

“Enough,” Belle pleaded. “Don’t hurt her.”

“I’ve placed small canisters of a potent nerve gas above the door frame inside the closet. Action almost instant. From this phone, I can control how much of the gas is released simply by tapping my finger. Incredible, yes? I am a virtuoso operating this setup. I put another camera in Jillian’s bathroom because I want you to see what happens when just a smidge of this gas is inhaled.”

“No, please. Please stop this. I believe you.”

The intruder paid no attention. It was as if he had planned this demonstration all along. Belle’s brain was spinning. How could she believe him? How could she not? What choice did she have? Would he really spare Jillian as he promised? Why would he? Why wouldn’t he? The unanswerable questions roiled on and on.

“If I wanted to,” he said as if reading her thoughts, “I could kill your sister-I could kill anyone -anytime, anyplace, and in any way I wish. But the point is I don’t have to. I don’t even want to. She seems like a nice woman. And as I said, there is nothing in her death for me.”

He made two gentle taps on the phone’s display, and Jillian’s quaint bathroom came into focus, illuminated by a night-light beside the sink and a small diamond-shaped window above the tub.

“There are four levels of gas I can administer. The first three will cause increasing pain and the symptoms you are about to see. The fourth will kill… slowly. This is level one.”

Within seconds, Jillian, wearing flannel pajamas Belle had bought for her, burst into the frame, fell onto her knees, and began retching violently into the toilet. Between bouts, she lay clenched in a fetal position on the tiled floor, shivering uncontrollably.

“Can you believe that’s only level one?” the man asked. “I think I should patent this delivery system.”

“Stop it! Stop doing this to her,” Belle cried.

“Keep it down or I’ll cut your larynx out and set it on the table. I’m sensing you need a bit more motivation, Ms. Coates. Allow me to oblige by upping Jillian’s misery to level two. I’ll keep it on level two until you start copying this note. Audio is really a must to get the full effect.”

He tapped his phone’s display again and now Belle could hear Jillian’s grunting, labored breathing, interrupted by fits of gut-wrenching vomiting and sobs of pain.

“Please… stop… I believe you. I believe you.”

He loosened her left hand and pushed the note she was to copy in front of her.

“Start writing your farewell letter, Ms. Coates. When you do, I’ll stop killing your sister,” he said.

Belle’s face contorted in agony at the sound of Jillian’s unrelenting anguish.

“Please…”

“Do you need more volume? Write the damn note!” the monster barked, pounding the table with each word. “You’re dead regardless. But you can still save your sister’s life-that is if you have the courage to do the right thing.”

The man shut off the gas as soon as Belle began to write. In just a minute, Jillian’s moaning stopped. Belle managed to pen the first four words before she began to sob.

“Finish,” he said, “or I’ll fire it up again.”

“Why me? I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t even know you. Why do you want me to die?”

“Not my call. Somebody in this great big world of ours has decided you have to go. And that somebody is paying me to make it happen. I can do it to you alone or to both of you.”

“This is insane,” she said, as much to herself as to the man who was about to murder her. “This is absolutely insane.”

“I guess you enjoy listening to your sister scream. Allow me to show you level three.”

The tormented retching Belle heard could scarcely be described as human. On the tiny video display, Jillian’s body convulsed more violently than before. As soon as Belle lifted up the pen again, the man pressed a button on his phone and her sister’s screaming stopped. Belle found the strength to finish copying the note.

“I’m a man of my word, Ms. Coates. I’m also very good with handwriting and I have a large sample of yours from your journal. Mess with this and I’ll dismember you joint by joint with that ball stuck back in your mouth. You’ll still be alive to watch when I finally jack up the gas in Jillian’s pad to level four.”

“I did as you asked. Let her go.”

“Sign it.” The man studied the note with great care. “Okay, now the pills.”

He shook the pills onto the table, motioning for her to take one.

“Please,” Belle begged, still trying to make inroads into the utter helplessness she was feeling. “Who’s paying you? Why do they want to kill me?”

“I’m running out of time and patience.”

The man pressed a button on his phone like a puppet master pulling on invisible strings. Jillian’s body again twitched with violent spasms.

“No! You promised!” Belle cried.

“You have the power to make this easier on Jillian. Think of all your sister has done for you. You owe it to her, don’t you? Make me stop. I want you to stop me, Ms. Coates.”

She could not listen to her sister’s cries anymore. Her only thought was of the man’s chilling proclamation.

You’re dead regardless.

As though in a trance, her hand reached out shakily. Jillian’s moaning abated as soon as Belle swallowed the first pill.

“Please… don’t. No more.”

“Keep swallowing and that’s the last time you have to hear that nasty sound, Ms. Coates.”

Belle tightened her jaw and nodded that she understood.

“Promise?” Her voice sounded like a child’s. “I said, do you promise?”

“Ms. Coates, I might be a killer, but I’m a professional. You have my word. But I’m going to resume torturing your beloved sister unless all these pills are down the hatch.”

It was too much to take. Belle raced to swallow the pills.

What else can I do? her mind kept asking. What else can I do?… What else can I do?

The action, in a way, was liberating. Her heart rate slowed and her tears stopped. In minutes, she no longer felt agitated or even frightened. The man’s eyes, once haunting, now made her feel nothing at all.