The Vivisectionist (6 page)

Ben came up behind, and Jack nearly jumped over the bush he was hiding behind.

“What are they doing? What did that guy do?” asked Ben.

“That was Mr. Anderson they’re driving off with. The mad guy was Mr. Vigue—Gabe’s dad,” replied Jack.

“You think that was about Gabe? Wow, must have been,” said Ben.

“I don’t know. Could be,” said Jack. He couldn’t take his eyes off the white-suited police donning gear from the big van. Three of them, with coveralls and masks made their way with big white cases towards Anderson’s house.

“Totally cool,” said Ben.

“Okay boys, back inside.” They both jumped at the sound of Jack’s father.

“Jeez Dad, you scared us to death!” said Jack.

“Just go up to your room, and quit sneaking around.”

“Okay, but why did they take away Mr. Anderson?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know, son, but I’m sure the police have the matter under control,” said his father.

Jack and Ben went back around the house, grabbed their food, and went back in the house. Back upstairs, they stretched out on Jack’s bed and watched through the side window. They could see the Vigue house—every light was on and several figures moved around inside. They couldn’t get a clear look at Anderson’s place though—it was dark in comparison with all the bright lights from Vigue’s house and the police cars.

“I bet he did it,” said Ben. “Snatched that kid. Well at least they caught him.”

“Yeah,” said Jack. He turned away from the window and grabbed one of his puzzle books from his nightstand. Ben continued to look out the window as Jack concentrated on a crossword.

**********

In the morning, Jack paused on his way to the bathroom. He could hear his parents talking in the kitchen so he crept down a few stairs to listen to their conversation.

“Jones said they had the blood team in there,” said his dad.

“So they think Bill had Gabe back at his house?” asked his mom.

“I guess so. They showed up at Vigues at the same time. Had a psychologist talking to Andy while they led Anderson out. Guess they knew he has a temper.”

“Can they do that?” she asked. “He hasn’t been convicted of anything yet.”

“Who knows. Andy Vigue has a lot of relatives who are cops, maybe they gave him special treatment or something.”

“I just can’t believe Bill would do something like that. He was the sweetest guy,” said his mom.

Jack crept back upstairs to catch Ben up on what he had heard.

**********

Later that day Ben and Jack were allowed to return back to their freedom of camping out. They were subdued though—they couldn’t shake the implications of what they had seen the night before. The reality of what had happened to Gabe Vigue, or what had 
likely
 happened to Gabe Vigue, was fresh in their minds. What had been a fairly light subject at the quarry the previous day had a new gravity.

Ben tossed out a couple of half-hearted ideas for activities, but nothing captured their imagination. They spent a while trying to devise a way to guarantee their cooler would be out of harm’s way, but in the end decided it would be easier to just store it in the basement at night. They both knew this was a lame concession; it destroyed the spirit of being independent from the house.

Jack suggested they rig up a tarp over the tent in case it started raining and that sparked a review of the entire campsite. They evaluated the likelihood that their tent was going to “swamp out” and debated moving it uphill. But there was no motivation to undertake that amount of effort. Their mode of living had moved from adventure to chore. By evening they were downright dejected and they decided to see what Jack’s mom had for dinner. Jack’s parents had a sense of why the boys had given up on camping, and encouraged Ben and Jack to return to the tent for the night. They were up late, talking and looking at the shadows the moonlight cast against the walls of the tent.

“So you think he got him?” asked Jack. Ben knew what he was talking about.

“They have to have some proof to show up and take him away like that,” replied Ben. “They must have something.”

“My mom talks to that guy all the time. He always seemed so nice.”

“You never know about people,” said Ben. “I heard my dad talking about this guy one time, he murdered a whole family and everyone thought he was the best guy in the world. He had all this money, and a perfect job, but he just snapped. Like nothing, then he killed a bunch of people and nobody could believe it.”

“Stop talking about it. You’re freaking me out,” said Jack.

“Yeah, but they got him—your neighbor, I mean,” replied Ben. “So what’s to worry about?”

“I guess,” Jack said and paused. “But if he could do that, somebody else could be the same way. Do you think people are born that way?”

“Nah, it doesn’t work like that,” said Ben. “Something bad has to happen. And the odds are crazy that you would have two of those guys in the same area. You ever heard of two sets of guys running around killing people in the same town? No way.”

“I guess,” said Jack.

“That’s weird that it was right down the block like that,” said Ben. “When I heard about it I knew it was over this way, but I didn’t think it would be right there.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” said Jack.

“Good point. Did I tell you what my dad’s new girlfriend said?” asked Ben.

“You didn’t even mention he had a new girlfriend—what happened to Ms. Broyhill?” asked Jack. Ben’s father always insisted that adults be called mister or Ms. He had dated Ms. Broyhill for six years, but the boys still called her Ms.

“He never said, but my brother thinks she was sleeping around.”

“Wow!” said Jack.

“Yeah, she was okay, but she was always making all that crazy food that nobody could eat,” said Ben. “She would make us eat snails, and dandelion greens, and then meat for desert.”

“Get outta here,” said Jack.

“Seriously, she got really weird with food. I’m sorta glad she’s gone even though I only had to see her once a week,” admitted Ben. Jack held his tongue—he despised Ms. Broyhill, but had never said as much to Ben.

“I think you’ve got the only together parents I know around here,” said Ben.

“Yeah, that’s true,” said Jack. “But they fight sometimes.”

“Not like other parents,” said Ben. “Trust me, your parents are like totally perfect for each other.”

“I bet.”

“Really,” said Ben.

Eventually their conversation trailed off and Jack felt very settled. He was starting to have a real sense that he was lucky to have the summer and his best friend. Each time he saw Ben he could tell they had less and less in common, but they could still share a summer.

**********

A week and a half passed and Jack and Ben established a solid routine. They would go on pre-approved walks each day, go for food every two days, make their own meals, and submit to the mandatory dinners and hygiene enforced by Jack’s parents. The weather was mostly good and on the one really rainy day they caught a ride to the mall with the big movie theaters. As Jack showed more responsibility, his parents became more apt to bend the rules and allow the boys to go on longer hikes. Working through Jack’s book on survival techniques and they practiced foraging for edible plants and making rudimentary tools.

One day they managed to kill a small squirrel with a deadfall made of sticks and big rock. They imagined that they would eat their kill to prove their ability to live off the land, but the dead squirrel was pitiful and unappealing. Ben ended up digging a small, respectful grave for the rodent and they interred it while apologizing.

Aside from their rainy day, each day was warmer than the last. At the apex of this heat wave they would go early to the quarry and spend the morning in and out of the water. A hand-lettered message on a rock read “Swim at your own risk.” but Ben was able to wipe away the “y.” They talked about everything from what high school would be like to what kind of car they would drive when they were adults. Ben wanted to get a new German convertible, and Jack preferred the idea of a restored muscle-car.

On any subject, after about twenty minutes of debate they would both relent and take the other’s position. Soon they would each be defending the position they had previously considered “retarded.” This mechanism allowed them to express strong opinions and know they could reconcile quickly and completely.

Their perfect summer routine ended early one afternoon on a Tuesday.

He awoke alone in the dark again. At least he assumed he was alone. Divorced from time, he had no sense of how long he had been tied to the chair. Frantic to establish what was happening, he tried to piece together recent events. All he could remember was waking in the dark, hearing the man come in, seeing the lights come on, and then what? He had flashes of imagery in his head, but at the same time he was certain that he had always been hooded. 

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.