The Vivisectionist (33 page)

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Ben. “Which way out?”

“That way,” pointed Stephen. “We’re on the wrong side of that thing,” he waved at the trapdoor.

“I think we can stretch across,” said Jack.

Ben tried to get his flashlight to come on, but it was stubborn. Jack handed him an extra light from his pack and Ben stowed the broken one.

“So much for that stupid map,” said Ben.

“No, the map’s okay,” said Jack. “We just miscounted the number of turns.”

“My bad,” said Stephen.

“Well, whatever, let’s get gone,” said Ben.

“Yeah, too bad though,” said Jack. “It’s not even noon yet.”

“You want to keep going?” Ben was furious. “I might have to go get stitches, ass.”

“It’s not that bad, Ben,” said Stephen. “Are you sure you don’t want to just hang out for a second while we look for the next area?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure,” yelled Ben. After raising his voice he grabbed his head with new pain. Jack rolled his eyes at Ben’s discomfort.

“Okay, no sweat, we’ll get going then,” said Stephen.

Jack grabbed his pack and tossed it past the trapdoor. Reaching past the seam, he straddled the hole and then hopped his feet across. Once on the other side, he collected his pack and shone his light so Ben could see.

“Here,” Ben slid his pack. He reached across and tried to copy Jack’s move, but he was clumsy and barely made it. Right behind him, Stephen made it look easy.

As they made their way out of the hotel, each obstacle seemed to present more of a challenge for Ben. He was barely able to haul himself up the five-foot climbs in the maze section, even with help from above and below. He took several minutes to work up the nerve to attempt the long jump in the attic. In the bishop’s room, Ben’s balance faltered and he kept slipping from the white tiles, triggering the door to close: sixty seconds each time.

By the time they made it outside, Ben felt like he was under attack from Jack and Stephen, and they both felt that Ben was being dramatic about his injury.

“You should wash your head in the creek,” said Jack.

“No way—it will totally get infected,” replied Ben.

“You’ll be okay,” said Jack. “We’ve never gotten infected before.”

“This is a 
head wound
,” said Ben. “We’ve never exactly had a head wound.”

“Same difference,” said Jack. “Besides, what are you going to tell my mom?”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about?” asked Ben. “I’ll tell her whatever I want. Shit, I’ll tell her the truth. But whatever I tell her doesn’t matter, as long as I get my head fixed up.”

“Yeah, Ben, you’re right,” mediated Stephen. “You need to get fixed up—let’s get you fixed up.”

Stephen led Ben through the woods towards the path.

Jack followed, but was still irritated and it showed in the way he stomped through the woods. Stephen shot Jack a look.

Stephen had his arm across Ben’s shoulders. Jack carried Ben’s pack.

Stephen broke the silence in a reasonable, calm voice—“When we get back we’ll find Jack’s mom right away.”

“Yeah, good idea,” said Ben.

“We might as well tell her you hit your head in the woods though,” said Stephen. Ben began to protest, but Stephen kept talking—“I mean it doesn’t really matter, as long as you get to the hospital — right?”

“You think I’ll have to go to the hospital?” asked Ben.

“I don’t know, but probably, ’cause it’s Jack’s mom,” answered Stephen.

“What do you mean?”

“Well if it were Jack, she’d probably just look at it and say he could just wash it off, but she’s not going to say that to someone else’s kid,” said Stephen. “She’d be too afraid of getting sued or something.”

“That’s crazy,” said Ben. “She’s known my mom forever, she’ll won’t treat me any different.”

“Remember that time you scraped your leg on that tree out back?” Jack joined in from behind. “And my mom made you call your mom?”

“Yeah, that's right,” said Ben. “You guys know I hate the hospital. You’re just trying to get me to keep quiet.”

“Look, if your mom was answering the phone, I’m sure you wouldn’t have to go,” said Stephen. “But if Jack’s mom can’t get in touch with her, then you’re screwed.”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Ben. “Man, I really don’t want to go.”

“It won’t be that bad,” said Stephen. “In and out.”

“What’s my head look like, anyway?” asked Ben. “Is there like a huge gash?”

“Umm, can’t see, you’ll have to get down,” said Stephen.

Ben got on his knees and Stephen inspected his cut. Right at his hairline, above his forehead, Ben had a scrape and a cut about an inch long. His matted hair made it difficult to see the extent of the injury, but Stephen guessed that it might call for stitches.

“Yup,” said Stephen. “You’re going to the hospital.”

Jack was surprised at Stephen’s answer. He thought that Stephen was trying to convince Ben not to tell anyone, but now Stephen sounded serious. Peeking over Stephen’s shoulder, Jack saw that Stephen was right—in the daylight he could tell this was too serious to be covered up.

“What do you think, Jack?” asked Ben.

Jack paused and considered lying. This might be his last chance to salvage the possibility of exploring the hotel.

“He’s right—you need a doctor,” said Jack. “It won’t be like last time though—I swear. It’s totally different when you’re going in for an injury. When I hurt my arm I was out in a couple of hours.”

Ben sighed—hospitals were his least favorite subject—“Last time I went in, I was in and out for months.”

“Come on, you’re not getting any better here,” said Stephen.

Jack shifted Ben’s pack to his right hand so he prop up Ben with his left. Jack and Stephen practically carried Ben back to the house.

When he heard the crash above, the boy froze. He held a “halogen otoscope”—used by doctors to examine the ear drum. It provided just enough light for him to see about three feet down the hall. He stole it during his escape from the room with the chair. He took the otoscope, some slippers, and a labcoat.

He turned off the light and listened. He stood in a long corridor with a black-and-white tile floor, white walls, and no lights. He could hear his own heartbeat and breathing, but no more noises from above. Too afraid to move, he pulled the coat tight and tried not to shiver.

He stood there frozen for several minutes, until he remembered the chair. The thought of being tied down again got his feet moving. He shuffled down the hall and turned the otoscope back on.  

He found a giant door blocking his path. The handle looked twice as big as any door handle he had ever seen.  Set into the lower right-hand corner of the giant door was a very small door.  

The boy scanned the walls and floor, but found nothing. He reached out and grabbed the large handle. He had to put the otoscope into his mouth and turn with both hands. A loud click sounded when he got the handle around and the door began to swing inward.

He heard a loud, electronic beep from above and looked up to see a red light above the doorway. He could just make out a camera mounted above the frame.

“Mom!” Jack shouted when he got in the house. “MOM!”

She came trotting down the stairs, tucking her hair behind her ear—“What? What is it?”

“Ben’s hurt.”

“Oh shit,” she said. “What happened? Where is he?”

“He’s downstairs with Stephen, he said he was tired.”

She grabbed the phone from the charger and bounded down the stairs. She slowed momentarily at the foot of the stairs as she saw Ben and then she rushed to him. His head was sticky with blood and he looked as white as the walls.

“Oh, poor thing, what happened?” she asked, sitting next to Ben on the couch and gingerly trying to move the hair away from the wound on his head.

“I slipped and hit my head,” said Ben. He sounded frightened and a little groggy.

“Well, you’re fine—you’re in the right place now,” she said, trying to soothe him with confidence. “Stay right here.”

She jumped up and stepped into the furnace room and closed the door. Out of earshot, she dialed the rescue squad from the sticker on the back of the phone. In her neighborhood she knew how to get help quickly, and calling this number was her best bet. She spoke to Angela who was related to Jim Henderson from down the street. Angela told her the ambulance would be there in five minutes.

“Okay,” she said, coming back into the rec-room, “let’s get you upstairs.”

Jack and Stephen helped Ben to his feet and pointed him towards the stairs. Seeing that he was in good hands, she followed and dialed the number for Ben’s house.

“Answering machine,” she said. “Ben, what’s your mom’s cell phone number?”

He told her the number, but warned her that he hadn’t had any luck with it recently.

“Yeah, straight to voicemail there too. Must be off,” said Jack’s mom.

She dialed his home phone again and waited to leave a message. They stood in the living room by the time she got a beep.

“Sheri, this is Kate, Ben has a cut on his head. It’s not terrible, but I’m going to take him to the doctor just to make sure they get it all cleaned out. Call me, my cell is 951-0428. I’ll call you again when I know more.”

She hung up the phone and put her arm around Ben. “Here honey, sit here,” she said. “Jack—go out front and wait for the guys. Stephen, you go upstairs and find some books and stuff to keep you guys occupied while we wait.” She didn't use the word “hospital” around Ben. She knew of his phobia.

“Do you think I’ll need stitches?” asked Ben.

“I don’t know honey, but I think you’ll probably get a little haircut,” she smiled.

“Don’t let them cut it too much, okay?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said. Kate was beginning to regret having called rescue, but she knew they could get him to the hospital much faster than she could, and his pallor made her nervous. It bothered her to sit and wait, but better to be safe, especially given Ben’s history.

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