The Jigsaw Man (15 page)

again to head for the ground and make good my es¬

cape.

"Wait," the old man cried out, sounding panicked

that I was leaving. "You can't leave me here. N o t like

thisV

"I'm sorry Lucas, but there's no way I can take you

with me. I'll be lucky if I make it on my own, never

mind trying to carry—"

"I don't wanna go with you," he whispered, and when

I saw the pleading look in his eyes, I finally understood

what he wanted me to do.

"Oh no! No way, Lucas. I can't do that."

"Sure you can. Use my pillow, it'll only take a m i n

ute. Look, I know you don't know me, or know n o t h i n g

about me, but I used to be a proud man, Mike. That

bastard Marshall stole more than my limbs, he stole my

life, my humanity, my soul. I can't live like this any¬

more. You're my only way out. Please Mike, I'm begging

you."

Son of a bitch. How did I get myself into this mess?

The sad part was, I agreed with him. No man should

have to live like that, existing j u s t to supplement a crazy

man's depraved obsessions. I couldn't imagine what Lu¬

cas's life must be like, having his life fluids drained on a

continuous basis, with no hope of relief until his body

was spent, or his mind snapped like his companions.

He didn't deserve this cruel rate, and I felt a need to help

him. I j u s t wasn't sure I had the strength to go through

with it. Regardless of whether he was giving me his

blessing, mercy-killing this poor man would still be

murder. Wouldn't it?

I walked to the side of Lucas's bed and slowly wiggled

his pillow out from under his shaven head. In doing so,

an IV line that had been cruelly inserted into a vein

above his left ear popped out, spilling fresh blood onto

the white bedsheets. The blood, which appeared black

in the moonlight, startled me but it wasn't gushing

out—merely dripping—so I ignored it, not even both¬

ering to mention it to Lucas. Why bother?

"You sure about this, Lucas?" I asked, hoping with

all my heart he'd changed his mind.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my whole life.

Bless you, Mike. I'm ready."

There were tears in his eyes as I lowered the pillow

down onto his face, but he was smiling and nodding his

head the whole time. I felt like a total bastard, but, at

the same time, I knew I was doing the right thing, giv¬

ing him the peace he deserved. He'd suffered enough.

Never having done anything like this, I wasn't sure

how much pressure I should apply to the pillow. I wanted

to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possi¬

ble. Trusting my instincts, I pressed down until Lucas's

torso began to shake. He was struggling for air, but

without any limbs he wasn't able to put up much of a

fight. I turned my head away, hoping it would be over

soon, unable to watch as his body continued to fight

beneath me.

W i t h everything going on, I failed to realize the

snoring coming from the other side of the room had

stopped. It wasn't until the man Lucas had identified as

Charlie began screaming at the top of his lungs that I

clued in someone was watching everything I was doing.

"Get off him," Charlie screamed, his frightened

voice as high-pitched and ear-shattering as a y o u n g

girl's. "Leave Lucas alone you cocksucker. He's my

only friend."

I tried to talk to him, tried to reason that I wasn't

hurting Lucas and this was what he'd wanted, but Char¬

lie was having none of it. His mind wasn't altogether

there anymore, and all he could see was a man h u r t i n g

the only companion he had left in this world. He kept

screaming, "Leave him alone, leave him alone," beating

his head against his pillow every time he said it.

"Calm down," I yelled, but then I saw the red light

flash on above his bed and understood immediately

that Charlie wasn't as out of it as I'd thought. He hadn't

been thrashing his head against the pillow; he'd been

t r y i n g to activate the call button strapped to his bed,

desperate to get help for his friend. Unaware he'd al¬

ready succeeded, he continued to pound his head in ca¬

dence with his screams until the flashing red light went

solid and a deep angry-sounding voice came through a

small speaker mounted above his bed.

"What's going on in there? Charlie, is that you?

W h a t the hell do you want at this time of night?"

"You gotta help us. Someone's trying to kill Lucas.

Get in here, quick!" Charlie wailed, his voice shrill,

hitching with sobs, borderline hysterical.

W h o e v e r was listening on the other end didn't

bother replying to Charlie's rant. All I heard was some¬

one curse as he fumbled for his walkie-talkie, keying

the mike four or five times before shouting, "Carl? Are

you there, Carl? Get y o u r ass up t o — "

The red light above Charlie's bed blinked out, dis¬

connecting me from hearing the rest of the message. I

had no trouble imagining every walkie-talkie in the

medical complex beginning to squawk, and every guard

r u n n i n g as fast as they could to get to this room.

Ob shit! This is trouble, Mike. Big, big trouble. Get the

hell out, fast.

I lifted the pillow from Lucas' face, h o p i n g he'd

passed on, but it wasn't meant to be. He was uncon¬

scious, possibly near death's door, but I could clearly

see his chest still rising and falling as his defiant body

labored to breathe. N o t knowing how much time I had

before this r o o m filled with angry guards, I couldn't

risk taking the time to try smothering him again.

"Sorry, Lucas," I whispered in his ear, then quickly

headed for the open window.

Stopping at my room to pick up my stuff was out of

the question now. I'd j u s t take the trellis right to the

ground and make a run for the surrounding woods.

Hopefully I'd be able to outrun anyone they sent after

m e , or at least find a hiding spot to lay low until they

went away.

I was j u s t about to step out onto the metal trellis,

when a noise below nearly caused me to fall off the

ledge. One floor down, a guard with blond hair and

glasses stuck his head out the open window of my room

and spotted me right away.

"I see him," the guard calmly spoke into his radio.

**He's still on level four. R e p e a t . . . suspect is still on

four."

This must have been the guy standing outside my

door earlier. W h e n the shit had hit the fan the first

t h i n g he'd have done was check on me, and found

n o t h i n g but an open window. After reporting my cur¬

rent position, he tucked his radio away in his jacket

and started climbing up the trellis toward me. My

escape route effectively gone, I had no choice but to

step back into the Bleeders' room and lock the window

behind me.

W i t h i n seconds, the guard's face pressed up against

the glass inches away from me, and he tried his best to

talk me into opening the window.

"Unlock it, Mr. Fox. You're in enough trouble as it is.

Don't make it worse. Open up."

Screw you, buddy.

Instead, I pulled the curtains closed, hoping he'd

shut up so I could think for a minute. Unfortunately, I

didn't have that long. The door to the Bleeders' room

burst open, the overhead lights blazed on, and four

large bodies walked into the room. All of them had a

gun pointed at me.

"Hold it, right there," the man closest to the light

switch said. "Take it easy and nobody gets hurt."

The guard beside him lifted his walkie-talkie to his

m o u t h and said, "No worries, Drake. We've got him."

"Good," Drake's smug voice filled the air. "Just hold

him there. Fm on my way."

Guards in front of me and a guard behind, and the

chief screw approaching fast. Things weren't looking

goodi I didn't like my chances. I was starting to look

around for some sort of weapon to defend myself with,

when my eyes spotted a possible way out. Directly to

my left, between two of the beds, was a white metal

plate with hinges on the top, fastening it four feet up

on the wall. Written on the rectangular plate were the

words:
W A S T E DISPOSAL CHUTE.

My mind started to spin. Could I dive into this gar¬

bage chute, ride it to the bottom, then still make a run

for it? It couldn't be that easy. The opening looked

more than big enough for me to fit inside, but what

scared me was not knowing where the chute went. Was

it an angled slide, or a straight drop? Seeing as I was

standing on the fourth floor, the chute likely went all

the way to the first floor, or even down to the basement.

That meant I'd have at least a four-story drop, maybe

five. If the Dumpster at the bottom was full of garbage,

I might be okay—sort of like a movie stuntman landing

on one of those airbag thingies—but if it was empty—

W h i l e I contemplated and weighed the pros and cons

of my possible suicidal plunge, Drake finally appeared

at the doorway, huffing and puffing and looking larger

and more dangerous than I'd ever seen him. He was

mad as hell. His eyes had that "I'm gonna lay a world of

hurt on you" look to them that scared me more than

the guns the men flanking him had. I decided there was

no way I was letting that psycho muscle head get his

hands on m e , so as soon as he took his first menacing

stride in my direction, I threw caution to the wind and

ran for the garbage chute.

Drake was fast, but not fast enough. By the time the

chief of security realized what I was going to do, it was

too late. Like an Olympic diver, I thrust my hands to¬

gether in front of me, tucked my head down in be¬

tween them, and launched myself through the hinged

gate. My marks for style wouldn't have been too im¬

pressive, but I made it into the chute nonetheless.

And immediately started dropping like a rock.

"Ob shhhhiimiiut!"
I screamed, terrified of the dark

u n k n o w n void below me, but still enjoying the adrena¬

line rush of my crafty James Bond-ish escape from Drake

and his goons' clutches.

It was too dark to see anything, but I could sense I

was picking up too much speed. If I hit bottom going

this fast, my head would splatter like a rotten mush

melon run over by a truck. The chute was only a little

larger than my body width, so I tried spreading my arms

and legs against the smooth metal sides and pressed out

with all my strength, hoping that would do the trick. It

definitely slowed me down, but not a lot. N o t nearly

enough to save me if the Dumpster below wasn't full of

nice soft garbage bags. I closed my eyes and prepared

to die.

Just before I hit bottom, the chute must have angled

or tilted off in another direction because I found myself

not free-falling anymore, but rather sliding on my stom¬

ach. W h e n I hit, I hit hard, but someone in heaven

must like me because whatever I landed and rolled on,

it was soft and spongy. It hurt like hell, knocking the

wind out of me and nearly breaking my left wrist, but

when my head cleared and I finally got my breath back,

I was still alive and relatively intact.

W h e n I stood u p , my back was hurting pretty badly

too, up near my shoulders, but I didn't have time to

worry about my aches and pains. There'd be plenty of

time for that, once I was far away from here. W i t h that

end in mind, I started searching for the lid to this

Dumpster, the horrible stench j u s t starting to register

in my brain.

I hadn't expected it to be so dark. I couldn't see any¬

thing, so I was forced to grope around using my hands.

No matter where I searched, high or low, I couldn't lo¬

cate the exit. There were several entrance chutes like

the one I'd fallen through, but no doors or hatches any¬

where. I was confused and getting worried. It didn't

help I kept stepping in and tripping over waist-deep

piles of stinking goo.

God, what a stink!

I'd lived in and around trash for years, but I'd never

smelled such an overpowering odor before. It was mak¬

ing me seriously nauseous. If I didn't get out of here

s o o n , ! was going to puke. Worse still, the clock was

ticking. I didn't have time to be fucking around like

this.

Outside, I heard the heavy clamor of men approach¬

ing on the run. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I

cursed myself for taking so long. The opportunity I'd

had to escape was gone. I'd senselessly risked my life and

I was still trapped, no better off than I'd been in the

Bleeders' room upstairs. I couldn't see the guards clos¬

ing in on m e , but I easily recognized Drake's booming

voice as he started yelling something. N o , wait, Drake

wasn't yelling, he was laughing. Loud, gut-churning