Ike Hamill: The Vivisectionist

One of the tiles below had a damaged corner, and Stephen could see down into a small closet with a folding door. A high shelf sat only a couple of feet below him. His arms and back shaked with exertion, so Stephen decided to try a descent. He pulled the ragged corner of the tile and slid it to the side. He didn't want to reveal himself, but realized that if he didn’t climb down now, he might soon fall.

Stephen tested his weight on the shelf and then lowered himself into the closet. He couldn’t get low enough to replace the tile above him, so he left it and climbed carefully down to the floor. He peeked between a gap in the folding doors. In one direction he saw a long wall with a bureau, topped with a television. In the other direction he saw a door with a peephole and emergency fire evacuation diagram. A “Do Not Disturb” sign hung on the doorknob. Behind him, on the closet rod, the hangers had solid loops instead of hooks.

He couldn’t see around the corner to the bed, or the other direction to the bathroom, so he listened closely for almost a minute. Detecting nothing, he decided to make his move. If this was the room that he and Jack had entered before, he knew he would find a hole behind he dresser that would lead to the secret passage. Stephen folded the doors and moved into the room; he closed the doors, trying to get them positioned just as they had been.

On the balls of his feet he started to creep towards the bed and then changed his mind. He moved backwards towards the bathroom. The lights were on and he looked up to see that the ceiling in here was solid — not tiles like the rest of the room. Something caught his eye: he saw a painting on the bathroom mirror. He felt a chill tingle up his back. A sinister bull’s face looked back at him. Stephen shuddered and crept back to the living space.

This looked just like the room that he and Jack had found. More than the look though, he had that feeling again, like he shared space with where a monster — a murderer of children — had lived. He'd spent weeks in this building, but only this room had a lasting effect on him.

Stephen poked his head behind the heavy bureau and verified the hole to the secret passage. He could pull it away from the wall enough to fit behind, but he was compelled to put it back once he had crawled through the hole, and this turned out to be extremely difficult on his own. Stephen grunted and tugged to get the bureau back to its proper location.

He slunk through the passage, arms outstretched. The ambient light from the hole faded quickly as he rounded the first corner, but he had a couple of rays of light from holes in the passage walls. Once he rounded the next corner, he found only darkness.

Stephen struggled to remember if there was another corner before the vending room. He felt his way along. He turned a corner. After groping for several minutes he reached a dead end. It made sense, once he pieced it together — the hole in the vending wall led to a passage that ended quickly in one direction and continued on in the other. He must have passed the vending room, and the lights must be off in there as well.

Backing up, Stephen crouched to find the hole. After just a few steps, his left hand waved into space. He turned towards the hole and felt around its outline. On the other side of it stood the heavy machine. Someone had moved the machine back to the wall.

Stephen laid both hands on the back of the machine and pushed. It slid forward just a couple of inches before turning slightly and jamming against the neighboring machines. He got the machine unstuck.

Suddenly, a disabling hopelessness washed over him in the dark. He was alone, far from home, and had nobody to trust. His faith in Jack had eroded, now it had nearly vanished. Stephen wondered if Jack had really tried to fool The Management. It was possible, he figured, but seemed unlikely. But he couldn’t think of another reason why Jack would have apologized and untied him.

Digging in, still laboring in complete darkness, Stephen pushed at the heavy soda machine and moved it a couple more inches. He paused for minutes between each attempt. Listening for any sounds, he waited until he caught his breath and then pushed again. The machine suddenly slid much more easily and he fell to the floor. He moved between the soda machine and the wall. This gave him a huge advantage — he braced his feet against the wall and pushed much more efficiently.

In a few good thrusts, he had the soda machine pushed all the way out. Stephen squeezed through the gap between the soda machine and the ice machine to his right. On this side, the lights from the machines lit up the room enough so he could find the light switch and the door. He flicked on the switch and exhaled with relief as the lights came on.

His hand moved directly from the switch to the handle, but it was locked. The handle didn’t even turn — he thought it felt like a decorative handle, it was so rigid. He kicked the door in frustration.

Stephen considered his options: go back through the hole, or find a way through the door. He looked up and realized he hadn’t considered the ceiling. He needed to find a way up there.

The ice machine had a door about halfway up and he thought he could use that to boost himself on top of the soda machine. It was even easier than he thought. In a few seconds, he sat on top of the dusty soda machine and pushed up one of the tiles. It took a second for his eyes to adjust. He saw bad news — the walls went all the way up.

He pushed up a few more tiles to verify that walls block him in every direction.

Stephen started to feel helpless again. He pulled himself together enough to prioritize his needs. He knew that he had to get out of the hotel, and to tell someone about Jack. His former friend had gone crazy, and needed help. For the moment, both of his needs seemed unattainable. Stephen pulled his legs up on top of the soda machine and felt his hope ebb away.

Jack found himself back in the exam room, strapped down to the chair. Jack struggled clear his head, but he felt sluggish, like something held him just below true consciousness. Then he saw it — a needle poked out of his right arm and a tube ran up to a clear bag on a stand. Even in his diminished state Jack realized that this couldn’t be the same exam room that he had rolled Stephen to earlier. It just didn’t look right to him. The handle was on the wrong side of the door, as was the light switch.

A deep voice startled him — “Waking up?”

“Why did you drug me?” asked Jack.

“You’re not going to work out, Jack,” said the man from behind him. The man circled around the chair and faced him. Jack craned his head up to get a good look at the man he had pursued. He thought it must be another trick, this couldn’t possibly be The Management.

The man standing before Jack looked old — Jack figured older than his dad. White hair at his temples faded back over his ears. The man’s face was deeply lined, tanned, and his eyes were barely visible with the way the man squinted. His mouth was small and secretive, guarding large, tightly-packed teeth. He wore baggy clothes that barely disguised the extra weight he carried. Jack looked with open wonder at this small, ordinary man who had created these elaborate and challenging puzzles.

The man adjusted his stance and squared his shoulders with Jack. “In my day we listened to DJs on the radio. Everything was fine until you met one, then you spent the next few months trying to align the face with the voice,” the man said. “I suspect you’re having that same feeling right now.”

Jack shook his head. His head felt heavy, but his neck worked like a swivel and his head flopped from side-to-side.