Ike Hamill: The Vivisectionist

The boy didn’t even think about life before this place. Some distant, idealized house played at the edge of memory, but seemed unimportant. The voice, the man — that was important.

“Awake again?” a voice startled the boy from directly behind his left ear. “You probably don’t remember much, do you? It’s a side-effect of the drug.”

The boy realized he could feel the man’s breath on his shoulder. That helped him remember when the man had cut off his clothes. But what had happened after that? He couldn’t remember. He took a deep breath. His lungs felt full of water — like he had been swimming at the lake all day.

The lights came on and the boy could see — the burlap bag had been removed. He blinked frantically to clear his vision. He didn’t know when he had last used his eyes, but they felt brand new to him. At that moment he would have given anything to be able to rub his eyes — they were sticky and uncomfortable.

The room came into focus all at once — at first the cinder blocks looked impossibly close and then his eyes adjusted and his perspective was restored. He didn’t recognize his clothes. Seconds later he realized he wasn’t wearing clothes.

When he wiggled his toes, the illusion was shattered. Every part of his body that he could see was painted. Tendons and bones adorned his feet. Muscles were painted up his legs. A clear tube protruded from his penis, dotted with a caterpillar of yellow liquid inside. His abdomen displayed pictures of what he guessed were internal organs. On his arms the illustrated muscles were drawn back to show the bones down to his hands. Another clear tube entered the vein in his right arm and travelled to a bag with clear liquid.

The boy took inventory of his restraints — wrists, waist, and ankles were strapped to the chair. All of these observations took place in the course of two shallow breaths and a gasp. As he slowly exhaled, the movement of his stomach brought a new reality. Some of the internal organs were indeed painted, but some were his actual insides, visible through the missing skin and muscle of his gut.

“Hey Jack, just in time,” his mom said as he walked in the basement door.

“Yeah? For what?” Jack asked.

“I just got off the phone with Mrs. Alexander,” his mom said. Jack caught his breath; it was a few seconds before he put together who she meant: Stephen’s mom.

“She said that Stephen should be here in two hours,” she continued. “I don’t know what she would have done if we weren’t home.”

“So, four o’clock?” Jack asked as Ben walked in.

“Yes, or a little before,” she turned to Ben. “Stephen will be here around four.”

“Oh, okay,” Ben said.

“I’ll be right back,” said Jack as he headed back outside. He wanted to make sure the campsite wasn’t trashed. Jack needed to look at their home with fresh eyes to see where Stephen would find fault. He came around the bushes and saw the tent, cooler, chairs, and fire-pit. Everything looked good to him so he tidied up and then headed back to the house.

Ben had gone upstairs for his shower when Jack came back in the house.

“You guys okay? You seem out of it,” commented Jack’s mom.

“Sure, yeah,” replied Jack.

“You like Stephen, right?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t know him that well though,” said Jack.

“That’s true,” his mom said. “You spent some time together two summers ago, right?”

“Yeah, he came to Ben’s house for a couple of weeks,” replied Jack.

“Well good — you can pick up where you left off,” she said.

Jack hoped not — where he and Stephen had left off was close to a fist-fight. He knew he would have to make the best of this situation, but he dreaded having to hear how much better Stephen’s house, family, and life were.

That afternoon at three-thirty the boys went out and sat on the curb. All summer they had tracked the progress of the sidewalk construction crew moving through the neighborhood. They had decided long before to try to get their names in the wet cement when it was laid in front of Jack’s house. Based on their observations, they guessed their opportunity was still weeks away, but they hadn’t deciphered the order of the streets.

A few minutes after four a cab from several towns away pulled up.

“He must have taken a cab from the airport,” said Jack.

“Expensive,” said Ben.

Stephen didn’t get out of the cab right away, but seemed to be having a conversation with the driver. Eventually Stephen handed a wad of bills over the seat and started to open the door. Jack and Ben took a half-step towards the cab, but just then Stephen closed his door and engaged in fresh discussion with the driver. The boys couldn’t hear what Stephen was saying and they stayed back, waiting for his next move. Eventually Stephen opened the door again and stepped out.

“Ben, my son, my son, how are you doing?” said Stephen. He was three months older than Ben and four months older than Jack, but he tended to act like he was an old man compared to them.

“Hey Stephen,” said Ben.

Jack looked on, wondering if Stephen would address him.

“Jacky — how they hanging?” said Stephen as he finally turned to Jack.

“Good, thanks,” said Jack.

“Well I am stiff — all-day travel from the Big Apple,” said Stephen. He walked around the rear of the cab and on cue the trunk popped open. Stephen fetched a large suitcase and a big, expensive-looking backpack.

“Be a guy, will ya?” Stephen said to Jack as he handed him the suitcase. Jack could barely lift it with one arm, but was determined to not show weakness. Stephen put on the backpack and buckled it around his waist, as though he were beginning a long hike.

“So what’s going on here — catch me up,” Stephen said to Ben. Jack started off towards the house with the suitcase and Ben and Stephen followed behind. Jack’s mom opened the front door as they approached.

“We’ve been camping out, out back. Jack’s got a great backyard and we’re all set up,” said Ben.

“How much land?” asked Stephen.

“I don’t know — Jack, how much land do you have here?” asked Ben.

Jack wanted to answer, but couldn’t remember the figure — “Um, a bunch of acres, but I don’t remember how much.”

Jack’s mom overheard the question and interjected an answer: “It’s just under an acre, Stephen.”

“We used to have a house that looked a lot like this,” said Stephen.

“I’ll leave you boys alone now, but don’t forget — dinner with us tonight,” Jack’s mom said.

“Okay, mom. Thanks,” said Jack.

Jack began to take Stephen’s suitcase up the stairs one at a time.

When they reached the second floor, Stephen spoke up — “You know, most of that stuff should just go out to the campsite, if we’re camping.”

“I’ll grab it, you’ve got a bad arm,” said Ben as he took the bag from Jack.

“Thanks,” said Jack and followed Ben and Stephen back down the stairs.

Out at the campsite, Stephen didn’t seem to pay any attention to how Jack and Ben had laid out their gear. Stephen dropped his backpack, sat down in one of the two chairs, and propped up his head with his interlaced hands. Ben set Stephen’s suitcase down at the entrance to the tent.

“What did you do to your arm?” Stephen addressed Jack.

“Fell out of the garage loft,” replied Jack.

“Man, Darwin awards, huh?” said Stephen. “Just kidding, son. You guys have a decent setup here. Do you cook out here?”