Ike Hamill - The Vivisectionist

He returned to the pole room, pushing the dolly ahead of him, and leaning on it to take the weight off his throbbing foot. Stephen still appeared unconscious. Jack checked Stephen’s pulse again — still normal — and rolled him on his side. Tipping over the dolly, Jack slid it up the length of Stephen’s body and inserted it between Stephen’s cuffed hands and his limp torso.

Jack had tethered Stephen to the dolly with Stephen's arms braced against the handle. Jack used more tie-wraps to attach Stephen’s ankles to the upright bars.

Admiring his planning and execution, Jack returned to the top of the dolly so he could lift Stephen into a standing position. The body slipped down more than Jack anticipated, and he considered using the tape to secure more points, but he wanted to avoid cutting off Stephen’s circulation.

Stephen began to stir and solved Jack’s problem. As he regained consciousness, Stephen stiffened and Jack could raise him vertical. Stephen thrashed at first, but stopped as pain from his pinned arms registered. The more Stephen moved, the more his arms would wrench painfully upward.

Jack tilted the dolly and backed towards the doorway. Stephen swung his head around, trying to get a look past the blindfold, and yelled into the tape, producing a low muffled sound.

“Shhh,” said Jack. “It will be over soon.” Jack's voice sounded muffled by the gas mask. Jack had to pause to pick up their packs and almost dumped Stephen on his back, but regained control moments later. Once in the hallway, Jack turned on his flashlight and closed the door to the pole room. Gas from the room might have leaked into the hall, so he pushed Stephen several feet before removing his gas mask.

When he reached the light switch in the hall, Jack braced the dolly against his shoulder so he could flick it on. Bright light washed the hall — it looked almost as bright as the white room. Nearly the entire ceiling was populated with fluorescent bulbs. Stephen thrashed a bit at the change in lighting and swayed from side-to-side.

Getting in rhythm with the instability of the dolly, Stephen started to rock it back and forth. It was all Jack could do to keep it upright.

“Listen, buddy,” Jack whispered into Stephen’s ear, “if you fall over, I’m going to drug you again. I don’t know all that much about anesthesia, but I’m pretty sure that it’s touch-and-go when you get your second dose in a short period of time. So, if you want to play that lottery, I can re-dose you. By all means, keep trying to tip over.”

Stephen stopped thrashing to listen to Jack, and didn’t start again. Tilting him back, Jack continued down the hall to what he had dubbed “The Exam Room.”

He rolled Stephen past the door and turned the handle, pushing it open with his right hand. Glancing around at the cold, white tile inside, Jack backed Stephen into the room.

The bright lights in the examination room reflected off the shiny tiled floor and tiled walls. Jack figured he could spray this room with a fire hose and do no damage; it was built for easy cleanup. The center of the room featured a large circular drain. Next to that, sat the examination chair.

Jack scanned the room, taking it all in. He had seen this room a few times now, but hadn’t really studied it. It had seemed inappropriate without bringing his own victim. But now, Stephen would help him achieve that. Jack stood the dolly up near the chair and then thought better of it. He pushed the axle away and lowered Stephen to the floor so he wouldn’t tip himself over.

Eyes wide open and roaming, he walked a slow lap around the room. A freestanding bathtub with a host of stains scarred into the enamel graced one wall. Along the back, a set of cabinets held mysteries. Two sinks with gooseneck faucets were set in the counter. On the next wall, a rolling cart held a strange device mounted on an articulated arm. Thick power cables ran back to the wall and plugged into a large circular outlet.

Stephen kicked and yelled muffled complaints against his tape.

“I’m right here,” said Jack. “Settle down.”

Jack heard the same beep again. This time it came from behind him and he spun around, but couldn’t see anything unusual. It sounded like it had come from above, but the only thing above him was a drop-ceiling of tiles, poked with random holes.

Raising his voice, Jack said, “What are you waiting for? I’m here. I brought you your gift, Baal.”

Jack could feel himself beginning to sweat. He reminded himself that this was what he had worked towards, that he was supposed to be enjoying this anticipation. It bothered Jack that only his fear and anger bubbled up. He knew that The Management must be watching, and didn’t want to betray his weakness, so he leaned against the chair and tried to look bored. He waited.

Stephen stayed still, except for his chest. He breathed rapidly — his heaving chest showed his fear. Jack fixated on the rise and fall of Stephen’s chest and used it to keep his own breathing under control. He only inhaled on Stephen’s second breath at first and then later slowed to a three-to-one ratio. Jack felt calm and in control of his body. He waited.

Jack pulled out his phone and checked the time. He felt like he had been standing in this room for hours, so he decided to set a limit. Ten more minutes and he was going to walk. He wanted to feel in control of his own destiny.

“Okay,” he challenged, “five more minutes and we’re leaving.”

Two minutes later, The Management contacted Jack.

A scratchy, dusty voice came from the ceiling. Jack looked up.

“(click) Jack. (click),” said a man's voice. “(click) How good of you to come. (click)”

“My pleasure,” said Jack, “what’s next.” He could hardly keep his voice calm. The gravity of his situation threatened to collapse on him and ruin his facility for rational thought.

Jack waited, this had turned back into a one-way conversation.

“Hello?” asked Jack after several more moments.

“(click) First, we’ll need to teach you patience. (click),” said the voice. “(click) Next, manners. Do you know what you’re supposed to do with Stephen? (click)”

“I think so,” said Jack. “But I want to meet you in person first.”

Jack waited through another long pause. Some of his adrenaline started to fade, and he considered different ways to get The Management to comply.

Jack decided to start with logic and work his way over to threats if that didn’t work. “How long have you been looking for me?” asked Jack. “I’m guessing it’s been years, maybe decades. Am I right?” Jack continued.

Jack looked at the ceiling and waited for an answer, but none came.

“Okay,” said Jack. “I’m going to assume that I’m right — you’ve been searching for me, or someone like me, for at least ten years. Maybe a few have come close, but they weren’t smart enough. Or maybe they were smart, but didn’t have the stomach for the blood.” Jack lowered his voice, “Maybe some of them liked the blood a little too much.”

Jack focused on the ceiling and circled the chair as he spoke — “But I’m the real thing. Not psychotic, but just detached enough to do what you do, and follow in your footsteps. I’ll study your writing, and learn from you.” Jack had come back around to Stephen again. He placed one foot on his blindfolded friend and looked at the ceiling. “But being all those things, I have to know that you’re right too. I won’t jump into this before we meet,” said Jack.

“(click) Yes. (click),” came from the speaker.

Jack waited ten seconds, holding his position. Stephen began to squirm again and kicked out violently, sending the dolly sliding away. Jack removed his foot from Stephen’s stomach and crossed around him to get to his bag. He plucked it off the floor and sat it on the chair in front of him, removing items and laying them on the counter: duck tape, his mother’s big carving knife, tie-wraps, and a stack of plastic bags.