Ike Hamill: The Vivisectionist

Jack and his mom pulled into the garage sometime after eight. Jack struggled to unbuckle his seatbelt with his right hand. His mom watched him for a minute and then reached over and helped him get untangled. He opened the door and stepped carefully out of the car. Jack’s camping gear was still in a pile near the wall.

As soon as they reached the door, Jack could smell fried chicken. He looked at his mom and they shared a smile. Whenever he was called upon to provide dinner, Jack’s dad made an emergency trip for fried chicken.

Their big kitchen was normally very organized. Tonight, trash littered every counter. Jack’s dad, Greg, sat at the table surrounded by containers of food.

“Let me see,” said his dad as they walked through the door.

“It’s just a sling and an isolation thing — not a real cast,” said Jack.

“Purple, though. Suits you. It brings out your eyes,” said his dad as he cupped Jack’s chin. “What’s wrong? I’m sure you’ll break it next time.”

“It’s just totally going to screw up my vacation,” whined Jack.

“You’ll survive. You won’t even notice after two days,” interjected his mom.

Jack was relieved that his mom was starting to look more in control. She had looked frantic all afternoon.

“Well let’s eat already. Can’t let all this effort go to waste,” his dad ushered them to the table.

They sat down and passed around each container.

“You seem in good spirits, all things considered,” Jack’s mom said to her husband, Greg.

“I had a particularly good day. We got the civic center contract again, and it includes all the out-buildings this year.”

“Greg! That’s wonderful!” Kate said and squeezed her husband’s hand.

Jack could tell when his dad was about to launch into an excited rant. He never paid attention when his parents talked about their contracts. His parents had started the business together, and remained the only two employees six years later. They had a language all their own.

Jack’s thoughts turned back to his inventory. Ben would arrive the next day, and he wanted to make sure that he had found everything they would need. The cooler would have to wait for Ben, but Jack thought he could move the rest of the stuff with his one remaining arm.

If Ben showed up by noon, they could set up by four, and then have plenty of time to walk to the store. Then they would get back in time to cook their own dinner outside. Making their own meals seemed crucial to their independence during their back-yard camping.

Soon his parents were starting to clear the table.

“You hardly touched your food. What’s wrong with your appetite lately?” his mom asked.

“I don’t know. Just tired I guess,” replied Jack.

“Why don’t you go curl up in front of the TV and we’ll be there in a sec,” said his mom.

“Okay,” said Jack. He sensed they were going to talk about him.

Jack couldn't find anything better than nature shows. His mind had been wandering a lot lately. He wondered if he was thinking too much; was there such a thing? As soon as the lions started stalking their prey, Jack started to really pay attention. He was engrossed by the time his dad came in a few minutes later.

“Everything okay, Jack?” his dad asked.

“Sure, well, except for this,” Jack said as he gingerly raised his left arm.

“Yeah, but even before that — you seem a little preoccupied lately. Have you been thinking of Gabe?”

Jack flinched a bit at the mention of the missing neighbor kid.

“I don’t know — not really,” Jack lied.

“It’s okay. It certainly was quite a shock. Nothing like that ever happened when I was a kid.”

“What do you mean ‘ was a shock’? It’s not over yet, is it?”

“Well no, no, of course not. It’s just that, well there’s a period time where they really want to find some sort of lead. I think it’s forty-eight hours or so, but the odds of finding something after that,” his dad said. He slowed down as the sentence progressed. “Nobody is giving up on Gabe, but we do have to be realistic. It's been several months and from what we know there hasn’t been any information.”

“Maybe they’re not thinking about it right,” said Jack. “Did they try to think about it backwards?”

“They have the best possible people working on it. You’re right — it’s a puzzle, but this is what they do, and I’m sure they’ve thought about it every possible way,” consoled his dad. “Just don’t fixate on it, Jack. Sometimes things happen that we can’t control.”

Jack hadn’t realized that he had been thinking about Gabe until his dad brought it up. Now it was all he could think about.

“Get some rest, you’ve got to get healthy for your vacation,” said his dad. He settled into a chair next to the sofa. “What are you watching, anyway? Gross!”

When Jack got up the next morning, he had barely slept. It was early — Jack was still on his school schedule — but it was already hot, and Jack’s father wouldn’t run the air-conditioner until it got even hotter. Jack normally didn’t mind, he preferred the windows open, but this morning the heat added to his discomfort. He had lived the same dream over and over all night. In his dream he was on the Vigue’s deck when Mr. Vigue burst through the screen door. Instead of kicking over the grill, he came right at Jack.

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that?” dream-Vigue screamed, inches from Jack’s face. “What are you, stupid or something?”

His dream ended with Mr. Vigue lifting him up by the front of his shirt. The neighbor’s dream-breath smelled like sour milk, ammonia, and dirt. His eyes were bloodshot and blank. They weren’t focused on Jack, which was unnerving, but his eyes also seemed to be missing the spark that would make them look human. Jack’s shirt was giving way under the armpits as the angry man held him up with no effort. It was the most realistic dream Jack had ever experienced.

Something tugged at the boy's sleeve. Scissors pulled and then sliced the fabric. The cold metal touched his arm briefly when the scissors opened, and then they sliced again. When the cut came around to his armpit he raised his arm as much as he could. He could imagine the tip of the scissors poking his sides and he wanted to give them as much room as possible.

Soon the cut around the sleeve was complete and the scissors made a journey down his arm. The shirt-sleeve couldn’t be shed normally because of the restraints.

During this process, he heard no sounds from the man except the slice. He detected no breathing. The cutting seemed to continue for hours. Each garment went through the same careful extraction until the boy believed that he was completely naked except for his underwear and the burlap hood on his head.

He smelled paint. His house had smelled the same way for weeks after his parents had remodeled the bathroom. The man brushed cold paint onto the boy's chest. The smell was incredibly strong, but not unpleasant. It smelled clean and orderly.

This touch was much more delicate than the scissors.

“What a strange sensation,” he thought as the liquid on his skin began to dry. It was tight and itchy. He squirmed in his restraints.

By breakfast, Jack’s outlook was improving. Getting showered and dressed had helped him wake up and forget the dream. His mom cooked a feast and Jack ate everything set before him.