Ike Hamill - The Vivisectionist

They retreated down the trip-wire hallway and gingerly stepped through the Bishop’s room. Jack left faint red footprints on the tile. Down in the drawing room, Jack and Ben headed for their rope ladder, but Stephen studied the artwork.

“C’mon, man,” said Ben.

Jack was the first back in daylight. Ben and Stephen followed soon after. Accustomed to the routine, they quickly stowed the rope-ladder, reset the hatch, and hid the stepladder.

“How’s it look?” Jack held up his dyed shirt.

“Better,” said Ben.

Jack was washing his clothes in the creek. He stood ankle-deep in the cold water, wearing only his underwear. Stephen was wringing out Jack’s socks.

“We should hide clothes over there,” said Jack. “In case something like this happens again.”

Ben was sitting on a rock, eating a sandwich from his backpack. They didn’t have to ask him his opinion of this plan — it was clear from his silence and his body-language that he disapproved of all their recent plans.

“You should wash your hair,” said Stephen.

The boy woke with a clear head. He could tell the difference, and it was a tremendous relief to not feel drugged. He knew that he had to act now; he couldn't survive just by waiting for the crazy man to let him free. His next realization brought a warm glow to his neck and cheeks — he had hope at last: his wrist was loose and he could move his right arm.

He looked feverishly around the room and saw no trace of the crazy man. No lurking lab coats or bull’s heads were in sight. The boy clenched his teeth and pulled back on his right arm slowly. It was caught. Of course, he realized, it would never be that easy.

He lifted his head to look at his wrist, and hope dawned again. The strap that should be holding his hand in place was just caught on his thumb. Rotating his hand he quickly shed the strap and had his right arm free. His hand flew to his face and he swooned as he looked closely at his withered hand.

Instantly, he understood why his hand was free — he had lost so much weight that the straps had become loose. His hand danced across the strap on his chest until he found the buckle. Unlatched, he could lean over to work on the strap holding his left hand. At first his hand was trembling too much to grasp the strap, but he took a deep breath and unhooked it.

With both hands he removed the strap from his waist. A jab of pain shot through his left arm as he leaned forward to work on his feet. The port in his vein was being pulled back at a severe angle by the intravenous tube. The boy bit his lower lip and removed the tape from the inside of his elbow. He grasped the shaft of the port and pulled back quickly. He shuddered at the ease with which it slid out of his vein.

Back on task, he leaned over and freed his legs and ankles. The drug-fantasy of abdominal surgery and a half-skinned foot now seemed foolish. He had a bruised incision on his right thigh that was a bit swollen, but it didn’t look nearly as bad as he thought it would. Only now did it occur to him that he wasn’t painted with pictures of organs.

The last thing holding him down was the catheter, taped on. He cringed and closed his eyes as he removed it.

The boy turned his body and slid his legs over the edge of the chair. He could finally see behind the chair and he turned quickly, expecting the man to be standing there. There was nobody there.

He released a sigh — so relieved he felt light-headed. He attempted to stand.

His legs had never felt that sore. He had difficulty straightening them. He settled for an upright hunch and staggered away from the chair. When he got to the wall he turned to lean against it. The chair he had been strapped to all this time was blue — he had known that already. What he was seeing for the first time was how much like a body the chair looked. It had a head, torso, arms and legs, with straps for each part. He pressed away from the wall.

He had to find a way out.

“You don’t seem too hungry,” said Jack’s mom at dinner.

“We ate lunch late,” said Jack. “We’ll probably be starved later.”

“That’s right,” said his mom.

“You boys want to earn some money?” asked Jack’s dad.

“I don’t know, Dad. What would we have to do?” Jack asked.

“I’m doing a big installation up the road,” said his dad. “I thought you guys could wrap pipes.”

“Jeez Dad. We don’t want to have to be inside all day,” protested Jack.

“Hey — no big deal,” said his dad. “I’m sure we can get someone interested in easy money.”

“Don’t forget — you all owe me another two-hundred words tonight ,” his mom said.

“Okay, mom,” said Jack.

Upstairs, each had a notepad and pencil.

“What did you put?” Stephen asked.

“I said we trespassed, broke in, and got painted by a boss-trap,” said Jack. “What did you put?”

“I can’t think of anything,” laughed Stephen.

“Just write about a frog or something,” said Ben.

“I know,” said Jack, “write about the puzzles, but say they were in a book or something.”

“We all have to write about the same thing, or we’ll get busted,” said Stephen.

“Nah, I don’t think we’ll get busted,” said Jack. “But, just in case, we should come up with something we were doing.”

“I know,” said Ben. “We’ll just write about that field-guide we were using before. We just need to figure out what pages to say we read, so we’ll all agree.”

“I’ll get it,” said Jack. He walked over to his bookshelf to retrieve the book.

“I can’t stop thinking about that dye,” said Stephen. “Maybe it was a warning.”

“Of what?” asked Jack and Ben in unison.

“Maybe it means that if you go up there, you’ll get covered in blood,” said Stephen.

“Jesus,” said Jack. “I hope not.”

“Could be the next rung, like, triggers a blade or something,” Stephen offered.

“How are we going to test for that?” asked Jack. “I mean, it could be really hard to detect that kind of trap.”

“Exactly,” said Ben.

“We should definitely bring a long stick next time to try to push on things before we go touching them,” said Jack.

“That’s a start,” said Stephen. “Do you have any night-vision goggles or anything?”

“Are you crazy?” answered Jack with questions. “Why would we have those?”

“I don’t know — just asking,” said Stephen. “Our flashlights aren’t helping us much.”

“I can’t wait to see what’s on level two,” said Jack.

“I can,” said Ben, getting up and stretching. “I’ll be back.” Ben went down the hall to the bathroom.

“Hey,” whispered Stephen when Ben was out of earshot, “I found this on the painting.” He handed a small memory card to Jack. “Check it out when Ben’s not around.”

“Why don’t you want Ben to know?” Jack asked.

“He’s already freaking out about the hotel, I think you should look at it before we let him know about it,” Stephen replied. “He’ll probably want to tell your parents or something. He’s really freaking out.”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Jack, putting the card on his desk, next to his keyboard.

July 15, 2007

By Jack Randolph

Today is Sunday, July fifteenth, and my friends and I went into the woods. We were trying to see if we could find some of the plants listed in my field guide that I got for my birthday. I started out looking for the Ostrich fern. In the spring the Ostrich fern can be picked and they are called fiddleheads. My mom picks fiddleheads down near the creek so I thought she would like to know where else they grow. It is very difficult to find Ostrich ferns because they look so much like all the other ferns this time of year. The guide says that you have to cook fiddleheads because otherwise they could make you sick. While we were looking my friend Ben saw an Indigo Bunting so we checked that off the list of birds we have seen this summer. We also tried to find some Lady Slippers but I think it is too late to find those. You should not pick Lady Slippers if you see them because then they won’t come back. I would like to find those next year because I read that they can be found in the same spots as the fiddleheads.