The Jigsaw Man (16 page)

laughter, that for some reason chilled me to the bone.

W h a t could possibly be so funny?

"Hey Mike?" Drake said, still laughing. "You're

priceless! Really, I enjoyed that little show. Pretty stu¬

pid thing to do, but damn brave."

"Yeah, real funny. Open the goddamned door and let

me out. It stinks like Hell in here."

This comment made Drake and the guards with him

laugh even harder. "Oh really?" he said. "And why do

you think that is? Let me ask you something, Mike.

Before you decided to dive into that chute, did you ever

consider that
WASTE DISPOSAL
might not mean
GAR

BAGES

I'll admit that sometimes I can be a bit slow, and I

wasn't
completely
sure what Drake was talking about,

but by the time I heard a lock removed and a sliding

gate opened up on the ceiling of this chamber, I was

starting to get the drift. Even before Drake's grinning

face appeared in the rectangular opening and shone a

super-bright halogen lamp down onto m e , I knew what

I was going to see.

H u m a n body parts.

Under the intense light of the lamp, the inside of this

chamber was still dark—mainly because every square

inch of its walls were coated in blood so old and con¬

gealed it had long since turned black. Covering the en¬

tire floor and creeping halfway up the walls in the

spots directly below several disposal chutes, mounds of

soggy red meat and pasty-yellow bones lay heaped in

various stages of decay. Arms, legs, feet, hands, torsos

and even a few bloated heads lay scattered around my

feet. The level of carnage was astonishing, almost inde¬

scribable. It was as if someone had detonated a b o m b

inside a room crowded with people, and then j u s t

walked away.

"Getting rid of the failed experiments used to be

risky," Drake explained. "Obviously we can't j u s t put

this stuff into the trash, so Dr. Marshall had this incin¬

erator custom built. The chutes deliver the waste from

different areas in the facility: the labs, operating r o o m s ,

and upstairs on the fourth floor, of course.

"We usually burn it up at the end of each week, every

couple of weeks, max, but it looks to me like we've been

slacking off a little. This crud has probably been stew¬

ing for at least a month. I'd better make sure it gets

cleaned up soon. Maybe tomorrow, h u h ? "

Why was he wasting time telling me this? Why

didn't he j u s t toss me down a rope or slide in a ladder?

"Get me out of here, Drake. Please." I hated the

t h o u g h t of begging to this lousy bastard, but I was

getting desperate. I couldn't stand to stay in this hu¬

man abattoir another second longer.

Drake smile vanished from his face as he briefly con¬

sidered my request. "No, I don't think so. This is a

good place for you, Mike. Somewhere I know you won't

be sneaking away from anytime soon. Gives me piece

of mind, you know?"

"You can't leave me in here," I shrieked.

"Watch me," he said, withdrawing the halogen lamp

and slowly sliding the metal gate shut again.

I never did hear Drake replacing the lock on the gate,

or him and the other guards laughing as they walked

away. I probably would have, except at the moment I was

far too busy screaming.

C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

Someone much smarter than me once said, "what

doesn't kill us only makes us stronger." I wish I could

find that person and punch them right in the mouth.

W h a t the hell did they know? Force them to spend a

night sleeping in a pile of rotting human waste and see

if they're still singing the same tune. I highly doubt it.

Long after Drake and his boys were gone and I'd

somehow managed to stop screaming, the smell of the

dead flesh became too much for me. Ignorance had

helped calm my stomach earlier, but once I knew ex¬

actly what I was breathing in, there was no way to plug

the volcano. And man, did I erupt. I puked, and I puked,

and then I puked some more—the smell of my own

waste almost sweet compared with the unbearable stink

around me.

W h e n my stomach had nothing left to give, I blocked

everything from my mind and started stacking what¬

ever was within reach to build a high enough mound in

the center of the incinerator so I could climb atop it and

reach the sliding exit hatch. I was extremely thankful I

was in the dark again, and was unable to see whatever it

was I was grabbing. I doubt I'd have been able to touch

anything, had the lights been on.

It ended up being a stupid waste of time. The hatch

was locked of course, as I'd known it would be, and all I'd

managed to accomplish was thoroughly coating myself

in sticky black blood. N o t a total waste, I guess. At least

trying to
do sometbinghad
helped organize my thoughts,

redirecting them onto something constructive rather

than continuing to wallow in misery. I spent a little more

time trying to find another way out, but soon realized I

wasn't going anywhere until Drake came back.

I did eventually sleep, off and on, but I wouldn't say I

got any rest. Just a n u m b e r of exhaustion-fueled stressinduced power naps, with me curled in a tight fetal ball

trying not to touch anything soft and squishy. It was a

horrible, horrible night. I honestly don't know how I

managed to make it through with my sanity intact.

But I did.

Fuck Drake and fuck N a t h a n Marshall—I wasn't let¬

ting them break me this easily. In the morning, when I

awoke hearing the clatter of feet approaching, I j u m p e d

to my feet and made sure I was standing tall when

Drake stuck his big ugly head through the sliding door

again. If he even noticed my pathetic little show of defi¬

ance, he certainly didn't show it.

"Good sleep?" he asked-.

"Screw you!" I hissed back, venom practically drip¬

ping from my mouth, but all Drake did was laugh.

"In a bad mood, Mike? Maybe I should come back

tomorrow? See how you feel then."

Drake started to slide shut the hatch, and damned if

I didn't fall for it. "No! Wait!" I squealed, my bravado

evaporating under the threat of spending an entire day

in this nightmarish place. The gate slid back open again

immediately, and from the grin on Drake'-s face I could

see he'd had no intention of leaving me down here.

He'd j u s t wanted to put me back in my place, make me

understand it was him calling the shots here.

He lowered a twelve-foot aluminum ladder down to

m e , with only half of it needing to come through the

opening before it came to rest on the mound of flesh

and bones Fd stacked up during the night.

"Take those clothes off and leave them where they

drop. Everything, Mike. You're not coming out of there

with those filthy stinking rags on."

Fair enough.

They were ruined anyway. Anything to get out of

here.

Drake watched me as I literally had to peel my goresaturated T-shirt, pants, socks, and undies off, then

stepped back as I climbed up and out of the incinerator.

I hesitated at the top of the ladder, not at all comfortable

with my nakedness. I wanted out of the chamber in the

worst way, but now that I was standing fully exposed in

the open air my self-conscious nature was kicking back

in. Unfortunately there was n o t h i n g I could do about it.

I had n o t h i n g to cover myself with and I sure as hell

wasn't going back into the incinerator.

W r i n k l i n g his nose in disgust, Drake pointed to an¬

other ladder propped against the side of the tank.

'You first. Move."

Before climbing to floor level, I took a m o m e n t to

notice my surroundings, comprehending I was now be¬

neath the medical center proper. The basement, with

its cobweb-shrouded ceiling and poured concrete floor,

was being used as a vast storage room. Natural light

filtering in through small dirt-streaked windows on the

foundation walls illuminated the area j u s t enough that I

could see the available floor space was cluttered with

boxes and crates of all shapes and sizes.

There were also two other large containers similar to

the incinerator I stood upon, but they were more

globule-shaped, standing together over on the far side

of the room. A myriad number of pipes, all painted

white, rose from the spheres, branching out across the

ceiling before snaking their way up into the medical

center through holes drilled in the floor. For the life of

m e , I couldn't fathom what their purpose was.

Drake gave me a whack on the back of my head and

told me to get a move on. N o t wanting another, I did

what he said, moving over to the ladder and starting

down. Six guards waited at floor level, making me feel

more vunerable and uncomfortable than ever, but they

backed away when they got a good whiff of me de¬

scending. One guard—the same blond-haired guy with

glasses I'd locked outside on the trellis last night— re¬

luctantly moved forward and clamped a handcuff

around my left wrist. Holding his breath, he half-walked,

half-dragged me toward a wooden door not far away on

our left. Instead of leading me through the doorway as

Fd expected, he grabbed the other end of the handcuffs

and attached me to the door's large brass handle.

What the bell?

W h y would he chain me to the door? I tried y a n k i n g

on the handcuffs, but they were on securely. I tried

opening the door, but found it locked. It wasn't until I

turned around to face D r a k e , and saw two of the other

guards unrolling a length of fire hose that I started to

get the picture.

"We're not taking you to see Dr. Marshall smelling

like that," Drake said, tossing me a fresh bar of Irish

Spring soap. "Turn on the shower, boys."

I started to protest, but an icy spray of water hitting

me full force in the chest shut me up in a hurry. It felt

like a million needles being repeatedly jabbed into m e ,

almost stripping the flesh from my bones wherever the

water touched me. Christ, it hurt. I tried to cover u p ,

ducking and spinning and even curling into a ball, but

there was no place I could hide, no position I could

stand which didn't leave some area of my body exposed:

Suddenly the water was shut off and I thought the

torture was over. Wrong. Drake wasn't finished with

me yet.

"Get scrubbing, Alike. We haven't got all day."

Having no real choice in the matter, I began rubbing

the bar of soap all over myself, making a half-decent ef¬

fort to get myself cleaned up. It was great to smell the

fresh pine-scented fragrance slowly replacing the rotten

odor of congealed blood, but hampering my enjoyment

was the certain knowledge that after I'd finished lather¬

ing u p , Drake was going to order them to rinse me off.

Sure enough, I'd barely had time to run the soap

through my tangled, sticky hair, when the j e t spray of

frigid water pounded into me again, unannounced.

The merciless force of the water hurt even worse this

time, battering and bruising my body until I could no

longer stand. Only then did Drake order the water hose

turned off.

"Get up," the chief of security ordered without a

trace of compassion in his steely voice.

Drake walked closer, tossing a towel in my face and

stood watching me as I dried off. He was standing too

close, leering at me in a way that made me uncomfort¬

able.

"You clean up pretty good," Drake leaned closer,

whispering in my ear. "Not bad at all."

Is Drake gay, or just crazy?

"Can I have something to wear?" I asked, looking

away from my muscular captor's lustful eyes.

"Shy, Mike?" Drake smiled.

Ever so slowly, he reaching behind me and I shud¬

dered, thinking he was going to grab my ass. Fortu¬

nately, all he was doing was unlocking the handcuff

attached to the door. Once free, he nodded to one of

the guards to bring over my clothes. I thought they

were only giving me a white dress shirt to wear, but

once I unfolded the garment I noticed it was way too

long, extending down past my knees, and that the open¬

ing was intended for the back instead of the front. Why

were they giving me a hospital gown?

"What's this?" I asked.

"Have you forgotten already? You signed a contract

with Dr. Marshall, my friend, and I'm here to make

sure you keep up your end of the bargain." After con

sulting his wristwatch, he said, "It's j u s t past nine o'clock,

Mike. Your surgery is in fifty-six minutes. Dr. Marshall

will be expecting you shortly, so let's get moving."

My arm! They're gonna take my arm!

Panic swelled within m e , this primal emotion be¬

coming almost a physical entity, wrapping its greasy