Jack Kilborn - Disturb

Carefully, he moved a hand up to the rat and took it between his fingers. He dragged it back under water, where the smell couldn’t get to him.

The air was still funky, but the nausea had passed. He stared up at the lid. The crack was wider now, the cover several inches off center.

He braced for the worst, sure that they’d heard him and were on their way over. They’d pull up the lid and point their guns. The same guns that killed Mike Bitner. Bill would die curled up in foul water, clutching a dead rat, hearing the laughter of petty thugs.

But the seconds slouched by without incident. Bill heard nothing. His neck had begun to cramp, and his legs had long ago lost circulation. Slowly, gently, he straightened up his head and pushed back the cover, peering over the edge of the hole.

The basement was empty.

He climbed out, cold and shaking.

Carlos slammed the car trunk closed and wiped his gooey hands on his pants. Franco giggled.

“You look worse than the stiff.”

It was true. On the way up the stairs, the tarp came open and spilled all over. Carlos was a mess.

“I gotta go clean up.”

“No shit. Ain’t getting in my car like that.”

Franco leaned against the hood and lit a smoke while Carlos made his way back into the house.

Bill was in the kitchen when he heard the back door open. There was nowhere to go except the bathroom. He was there in two steps, throwing the N-Som folder in the cabinet under the sink. Then he climbed into the tub and closed the shower curtain.

The shower curtain was transparent.

Carlos immediately noticed the water on the floor. He pulled out his gun and peered down the basement stairs. Dirty wet footsteps, leading up through the kitchen, and into the bathroom.

“Dr. May, right?”

Bill was pressed into the corner of the shower, shivering. The man before him was thin and angular. His hair and beard were dirty gray, and he had eyes the color of flint. He raised the gun to Bill’s head.

“Answer me.”

“I’m William May.”

The man nodded. “Thought you looked familiar. We’ve got our eye on you, you know.”

The man winked at him. Then he fired the gun.

Bill crumpled into a ball. The shot was so loud it hurt. He hit his head on the bathtub edge and covered his face.

But other than his new lump, there was no wound. He hadn’t been shot.

He peeked through his fingers and saw the man at the sink, washing his hands with some soap.

“Consider that a warning, Dr. May. I only miss on purpose. You see the body?”

Bill didn’t trust his voice to answer.

“Did you see the body, or do I have to drag you outside and shove you in the trunk for a closer look?”

“I saw it.”

“Then you saw what happens when good doctors don’t follow orders.”

The man rubbed a rag on his face. Another man, much larger, appeared in the doorway with a gun. He aimed it at Bill, but the older man pushed his arm down.

“We don’t need to kill him, Franco. He’ll cooperate.”

The big man squinted at Bill.

“That so?”

Bill nodded. His heart was a lump in his throat.

“Dr. May knows what’s best for him. He knows he can’t go to the cops, because we own the cops. That’s why he didn’t get any help with the video tape. He also knows he can’t run, because we can follow him anywhere in the world. The only way he’s gonna live through this, is he if approves the drug.”

Franco leaned over the bathtub and grabbed Bill by the shirt. He pulled him close with an ease that was terrifying.

“That right, Doc? You gonna approve our drug?”

Bill had never felt so helpless.

“Yes.”

Franco giggled like a woman. He gave Bill an approving slap on the cheek. It was like being hit with a board, and the stars came out.

“Good boy. Are you a medical doctor?”

Bill nodded.

Franco’s face became solemn. He released Bill and unzipped his fly. Bill blanched. Revulsion and shame mixed in with his terror. He decided he had to do something, even if they killed him. When the big man dropped his pants, Bill made a fist and got ready to punch.

“What does that look like to you?”

Franco had hiked his boxer shorts over his upper thigh, and was pointing to a small brown mole.

“What?”

“Is that cancer?”

“It’s… it’s just a mole.”

“You sure? I don’t remember having it.”

The smaller man laughed. “You don’t remember how to count to ten without using your fingers.”

“Shut up, Carlos. I want the doc’s opinion.”

Bill cleared his throat. “Has it gotten bigger? Or has it ever bled?”

“No.”

“Then it’s just a mole. Sarcoma has an irregular shape, and it grows and bleeds.”

Franco seemed relieved. He pulled up his pants and walked out of the bathroom.

Carlos tossed Bill the rag and winked again.

“Be seeing you, Dr. May.”

Then he was gone.

Bill sat back in the tub. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He did neither.

After a few minutes, he got up and put his hands on the bathroom sink. His stomach was dancing Mambo number five, and he leaned over the toilet. Nothing came.

Bill washed up without looking at himself in the mirror. Then he sat on Mike Bitner’s sofa in the living room, the N-Som folder clutched to his chest, and didn’t move for almost half an hour.

The drive back to his place was a blur. Bill felt nothing, and yet he felt everything. He knew that he had almost died, and an experience like that was life-changing. He also knew that he’d done nothing to prevent it, and his cowardice made him rethink his self image.

They hadn’t killed him, but they’d changed him forever. The important question; was he changed for the better, or for the worse?

When Bill pulled into his garage, he didn’t notice the man hiding in the shadows.

The man with the scalpel.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

The blinking light indicated the call was a transfer. Special Agent Smith set down his coffee, hit the button, and picked up the receiver.

The caller was Dr. William May of the FDA.

He laid it all out for Smith, starting with the murder of Dr. Nikos.

Smith listened closely, asking the questions he was trained to ask, taking notes when appropriate. The caller went on to talk about the video tape, the lack of police involvement, and finally went into the harrowing tale of discovering the body and being caught by the two killers.

When Dr. May was finally finished, Smith reassured him that the Bureau would get some men on the case. He advised him to stay in his home, avoid strangers, and try to always have friends around him.

Smith gave Dr. May his personal cell phone number, and said he should call if anything else happened. He also told him that the FBI would keep him under protective surveillance, but they were going to stay out of sight so as not to arouse suspicion. It seemed to calm Dr. May a bit, and he thanked Smith before getting off the phone.

Smith reviewed the notes, to make sure he had the story straight in his mind. When he was satisfied that he did, he picked up the phone and called Albert Rothchilde.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

When he saw himself, he was someone else.

The gun was in his hand. He knew what he was going to do, and he was powerless to stop it.

His wife was asleep. He woke her up, let her look down the barrel and have one last scream before he shot her in the forehead.

The sound woke up the kids. Bobby, the youngest, began crying in his bed across the hall. His older sister Sally came into the room, eyes wide.

“Daddy! What did you do to Mommy?”

She took the bullet in the chest, and when she fell it was slow motion, almost beautiful, like a ballet dancer.