Jack asked.
Stephen had wriggled out of his blindfold, but faced the wrong way. When Jack helped him up, Stephen scrutinized Jack with half-lidded eyes.
“I’m going to pull this off,” Jack motioned to the tape. “You’ve got to believe me — it was the only way to fool him,” Jack pleaded. Tears welled up and carved tracks down Jack’s face. He reached to the tape, grabbed a corner, and flinched as he pulled the tape off in one quick motion.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” asked Stephen, unmoved by Jack’s emotion. “Untie me, now,” he ordered.
“Of course, sure,” said Jack. He stood and came back down with his mom’s big knife. “Hold still,” he said as he cut Stephen’s hands free. Jack moved down and worked on the tape binding Stephen’s legs. He sniffed back more tears. “You gotta understand, he could see and hear everything. I had to fool
“Right,” said Stephen. “I should kick your fucking ass.”
“I know, I know,” begged Jack. “But please, he killed Gabe and I had to trick him. The only way I could think was to trick you.”
“I thought you said he was over in New Mexico — what’s he even doing here?”
Jack had just finished cutting the tape around Stephen’s legs and he sat back on his heels, considering the question. He looked down at the knife in his right hand an then set it aside quickly, lowering his eyes. When he looked back up, Stephen thought Jack looked sheepish and a bit pitiful.
“Jeez,” said Jack as he looked away, “I’ve got a lot of stuff to tell you that I couldn’t say before. I’ve come here a couple of times without you so I could do some exploring.”
Stephen had waited for Jack to put down the knife. Then, he saw his opportunity. Stephen slowly pulled back his right leg and grabbed it around the knee with both hands, as if to stretch a sore muscle. He kept his voice calm and said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me exactly what’s been going on.”
As Stephen finished his sentence, he released his knee and shot his foot forward towards Jack’s face. His heel connected perfectly with Jack’s chin, snapping Jack's head back and away. Jack rocked back and straightened his own legs to flee the attack. The angle of his body, now tipped back, sent the back of Jack’s head directly towards the base of the exam chair. With that contact, Jack’s arms sailed out for a second and then his whole body went limp and collapsed on the floor next to Stephen’s legs.
“Jack?” asked Stephen. He had seen people knocked out in mixed martial arts fights on television, and was pretty certain that Jack was unconscious. Stephen crawled away, grabbed the knife, and then got to his feet halfway to the door. By the time he reached at the door, Stephen moved fast, unsure where to go. In the bright hall he saw the crumpled form in a large pool of blood to his right, so he bolted down the hall to the left.
Jack’s left leg started to twitch first, then his eyelids began to flutter. His chin dropped and his head slumped, causing him to snore on his next inhale, which roused him. He opened his eyes and stretched his head back, trying to make his neck feel normal. He lifted his right hand and gingerly touched the back of his head where blood matted down his hair. Jack leaned over and considered the floor. His head throbbed and he couldn’t quite remember the last few moments.
Drool dripped from Jack’s mouth to the tile floor. He wiped it with the back of his right hand, his left hand still propping him up. The first thing to come back to Jack was his plan. Then, slowly, the details of which steps he had already executed. The answer flashed in his memory — Stephen. He had failed to convince him and Stephen had run. Jack felt disappointed, but not desperate. He had predicted trouble in this area and had considered a backup plan.
Jack rolled to his knees and rose slowly, leaning heavily on the chair for support. With his feet in a wide stance, and his left arm still bracing against the chair, Jack raised his head. His left ear was ringing so he turned his right towards the doorway and listened. He expected to hear running, frantic footsteps, but heard nothing. Jack wondered how long he had been unconscious — it seemed like just an instant.
A buzzing sound leaked from the overhead speaker. Jack jerked his head up and winced at the throbbing response from his neck. He realized that he recognized the buzzing sound just as bass and drums kicked in. Music came through the speakers, and compared to the scratchy voice, the fidelity was quite high.
After two measures of bass, drums, and buzzing, another sound joined the mix — it sounded like imitation seagulls played with kazoos.
“The feel of the sun on my back makes me want to burrow into the earth,” sang a voice. Now Jack could identify at least the band — his dad played music from this band.
He listened and then started to consider the possible implications of the song. “Taste the soft damp dirt,” continued the lyric. “And be alone with the rocks.”
Jack circled behind the chair and grabbed the gun from the counter. He stuffed some of his supplies back into his pack and carefully shouldered it, while pointing the gun at the doorway. Moving cautiously, and still favoring his hurt foot, Jack approached the doorway. He wondered if the music could have started on a timer, but that didn’t seem likely. Someone played this music on purpose, to tell Jack that he wasn’t alone here. He reminded himself that he had three shots left in the gun.
Jack approached the door from an oblique angle, so he could see down the hall to where the bull-man had come from. Pointing the gun, he approached the door and whipped his head around the jam to see down the other direction. He saw closed doors. One belonged to the pole room, and another to the closet where he had found the dolly, but the other doors had been locked each time he had tried them.
He backed away and thought through these new facts. The music suggested to him that the man on the floor was not alone, and Jack might have an even more formidable adversary awaiting him. Furthermore, he had lost track of Stephen. Jack prioritized and figured his most important goal was to locate the other player, or determine that he and Stephen were now alone. He had lost the element of surprise, if indeed he had ever had it, but Jack trusted himself and his ability to deal with any problem that might arise.
Immediately after starting forward, an encouraging thought occurred to Jack: this was just part of the game. The last time Jack had explored this hallway, he had uncovered all the unlocked doors and the locked ones were impenetrable. But, he reasoned, there must be a way to solve this problem if he thought about it. Once he opened himself to this possibility, another thought occurred to Jack. He had seen an electronic device mounted next to one of the doors that he had guessed was a fingerprint reader. If that was true then he might already have the key to that door.
Jack just needed to get the dead man’s hand down to the door to test his theory. With the safety set, Jack tucked the gun under his belt and walked down the hall to inspect the device. Crouching, he examined the black box. It had a thin indentation with a metallic strip area across the middle. He swiped his own finger down the indentation and a red light flashed. It flashed twice and was accompanied by two high-pitch beeps. Jack smiled.
He returned to the body and stopped at the edge of the puddle of blood. Jack braced himself against the wall and leaned over to grab the man’s right hand. Thick goo covered the side of the man's palm. The blood had already begun to coagulate, and it dripped in thick clots to the floor as Jack held the thumb. Jack stayed cautious — he didn’t want to ruin his clothes by smearing them with this man’s blood.
Carefully arranging his grip, he pulled the cold hand. The dead man slid, but it was tough going and a wave of clot-blood rolled towards Jack’s shoes as soon as he stopped pulling. Jack decided on an easier way to accomplish his task.
He stepped around the pool of blood again and returned to the examination room. A quick look around turned up no knife, but he did find some wickedly sharp instruments in one of the unlocked cabinets. The tool he chose measured almost eight inches long and looked like a miniature saw. The leading edge was serrated, and then became a straight, razor-sharp edge. Jack admired the reflective gleam and headed back to the body.
Jack arranged the hand on the floor so that the right index finger was spread from the rest of the hand. He backed away as far as he could and raised the knife a couple of feet above the finger. He swung. The bone stopped the leading edge of the blade. The butt of the blade clanged against the floor. Jack grunted and frowned. He pulled the end of the finger and sawed through the second knuckle easily.
Pinching the severed finger between his index finger and thumb, Jack returned to the door. He lined up the finger on the reader and swiped. The red light flashed twice as the unit beeped a rejection.
“Shit!” exclaimed Jack. He looked around quickly, suddenly conscious of himself.
