Ike Hamill - The Vivisectionist

“Well, regardless if he’s found guilty or innocent, I think that the Vigues would always have their suspicions, and it would be uncomfortable for them to live next door,” his mom said.

“How long has Mr. Anderson lived in Maine?” asked Jack.

“Um, let’s see, he moved here in nineteen ninety-eight,” she replied.

“Oh,” said Jack. “Where did he live before that?”

“He was in Europe,” she said. “France mostly, I think.”

“What was he doing there?” asked Jack.

“Why are you so curious about Mr. Anderson’s history all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know — just curious,” said Jack.

“Okay. Well I don’t really know that much about Mr. Anderson before he moved in there. I think his work sent him overseas.”

“Thanks mom,” Jack turned to go.

“Hey Bub, did I get your essay yet from yesterday?” she asked as he walked away.

“Oh, I’ll go get it,” said Jack.

“Don’t worry — give it to me with tonight’s,” she said.

Back upstairs, Ben and Stephen discovered the website of a local newspaper. They searched for information about Anderson, but they didn't turn up anything new.

“What’d you find out?” Stephen asked as Jack entered.

“Not much, but she did say that he was living in France before nineteen ninety-eight.”

“Really?” asked Stephen. “Why France?”

“Who knows,” said Jack.

“So she doesn’t know why he’s moving?” asked Ben.

“Nope,” said Jack. He opened the second drawer of his dresser and moved his shirts aside. The drawer-liner hid the letter they found at the hotel. Jack took it over to the bed. “This was supposedly written in nineteen ninety-one.”

“I wouldn’t trust that thing,” said Ben.

“Yeah,” said Jack, distracted. “He talks about a trust for the taxes and stuff. Really sounds like he’s planning to not be around. Maybe that’s because he was going to France.”

“So you think that this Anderson guy set up the hotel? If he did, wouldn’t he start looking after the place himself when he got back?” asked Stephen.

“I don’t know, maybe he wanted to be anonymous,” said Jack.

“Well I don’t think the hotel guy is Mr. Anderson,” said Ben. “I’m not sure if Anderson snatched the Vigue kid, but I think that the hotel guy is still at the hotel.”

“That’s super sketchy — what makes you think that?” Stephen wrinkled his nose.

“It just feels planned. Like he’s there and waiting for us,” said Ben.

“You know, one thing makes sense about Anderson being the manager of the hotel — this kind of creepy stuff has to be really rare. I mean, what are the odds that one town would have a crazy hotel and a kidnapper?”

“Yeah,” said Jack, “that’s why I keep thinking they’re connected.”

“You just want everything to tie up neatly,” said Ben.

“Well I guess it doesn’t really matter much,” said Jack. “If they are connected Anderson is in jail anyway, and if they’re not, there’s no reason to believe that the hotel guy is still around.”

“Except that’s exactly what I believe,” said Ben.

“Yeah,” smiled Jack, “but aside from that.”

“You think it’s a joke,” said Ben. “We’ll see.”

“Hey, that reminds me, we have to do those essays,” said Jack.

Wednesday was sunny and the boys told Jack’s mom that they were going to catalogue the species of reptiles near the creek. They had already written essays about it and hidden them in Jack’s shirt drawer. They planned to set out after breakfast.

While Jack and Stephen did the dishes, Ben tried to reach his mother on the phone. He came back to the kitchen to find his friends just wrapping up their chores.

“What’d she say?” asked Jack.

“I still can’t get her,” said Ben. “At the house the answering machine picks up, and her cell phone is off.”

“What about your brother’s phone?” Jack asked.

“Nothing,” replied Ben.

“I bet she lost her cell again,” said Ben. “That’s all I can think.”

“Yeah, but why wouldn’t she get your message?” asked Jack.

“She hardly ever checks it,” said Ben. “Whatever. I’m sure she’ll get back to me soon.”

“We ready?” asked Jack.

“Why not,” said Ben.

They grabbed their packs, put on sunscreen so Jack’s mom wouldn’t worry, and headed out. Since it was fairly early, they decided to risk the path, but they didn’t talk to one another so they could listen for Smoker. Jack took the lead and paused every hundred yards, to hear if anything was following them. They verified Jack’s fishing line still stretched across the path, and were unsurprised that the new envelope hadn’t arrived.

Jack led them rapidly through the hotel’s passages, checking his notebook at each room to be sure they remembered each trick. They had grown accustomed to waiting for the white room, so they talked and sat in the dark for over fifteen minutes.

“This sucks — it’s not going to open,” said Jack. He turned on his light.

“Maybe it’s us,” said Ben. “Try turning off the light again and let’s all just be quiet.”

“You think someone is listening?” asked Stephen, dubious.

“It could be simpler than that. Maybe it’s just a motion or noise sensor,” answered Ben. “I’m pretty sure the light has to be off, but maybe we have to be still and quiet too.”

“Worth a shot,” said Jack.

After they had extinguished their lights and sat quiet for two minutes, the door began to open.

“See?” gloated Ben.

When they arrived at the spiral room with the door under the stairs, the scene jogged Jack’s memory. “Hey Ben, set your watch alarm for eleven a.m., would you?”

“Sure,” said Ben. “Why? You want to turn around then?”

“Not necessarily, but I want to make the decision then,” said Jack.

“Okay,” said Ben.

Today the maze was no challenge. On the way out on Monday they had added to their markings. Each time they reached a new decision point they had marked the way out, but when they followed those markings, they also marked the way they had come. This gave them a series of indicators that showed both the way in and out.

“This is awesome, Jack,” commented Ben. “I’m going to tell my brother about marking both directions.”

When they reached the ledge none of the boys wanted a boost. They wanted to try Jack’s method of vaulting up to the next level. Stephen had to try several times, but Ben was a natural once he watched Jack accomplish the jump.

Soon the door stood before them. Jack approached it first. He hunched over; it only came up to his stomach.

“This thing is tiny,” said Jack. He ran his hand over the panels. The hinges were visible, so he guessed that it would open towards him. Jack got down on the plywood floor and tried to look under the crack of the door. He saw only black.

“Let’s just try it,” said Stephen. “What’s the worst that could happen.”

“Plenty,” said Ben.

“I’m going to try it,” said Jack.

Ben retreated a step and Stephen moved to Jack’s side as he reached for the ornate handle.

“I wonder where you even get a door handle that size,” said Jack, stalling.

Jack knelt and put his hand on the door knob. His grip swallowed the small brass knob. “Won’t turn,” he said.

“What?” asked Stephen. “Let me try.”

Jack backed away and let Stephen try the knob. Failing his first attempt, Stephen handed back his flashlight and tried with both hands.

“It’s not like it’s locked,” said Stephen, grunting. “It’s like it’s stuck. If it were locked, I think this handle would turn. I mean it has a separate hole for a key — so it’s not the deadbolt. Anyone got a credit card? My dad showed me how to open a door with one.”