“Did you see the body, or do I have to drag you outside and shove you in the trunk for a closer look?”
“I saw it.”
“Then you saw what happens when good doctors don’t follow orders.”
The man rubbed a rag on his face. Another man, much larger, appeared in the doorway with a gun. He aimed it at Bill, but the older man pushed his arm down.
“We don’t need to kill him, Franco. He’ll cooperate.”
The big man squinted at Bill.
“That so?”
Bill nodded. His heart was a lump in his throat.
“Dr. May knows what’s best for him. He knows he can’t go to the cops, because we own the cops. That’s why he didn’t get any help with the video tape. He also knows he can’t run, because we can follow him anywhere in the world. The only way he’s gonna live through this, is he if approves the drug.”
Franco leaned over the bathtub and grabbed Bill by the shirt. He pulled him close with an ease that was terrifying.
“That right, Doc? You gonna approve our drug?”
Bill had never felt so helpless.
“Yes.”
Franco giggled like a woman. He gave Bill an approving slap on the cheek. It was like being hit with a board, and the stars came out.
“Good boy. Are you a medical doctor?”
Bill nodded.
Franco’s face became solemn. He released Bill and unzipped his fly. Bill blanched. Revulsion and shame mixed in with his terror. He decided he had to do something, even if they killed him. When the big man dropped his pants, Bill made a fist and got ready to punch.
“What does that look like to you?”
Franco had hiked his boxer shorts over his upper thigh, and was pointing to a small brown mole.
“What?”
“Is that cancer?”
“It’s… it’s just a mole.”
“You sure? I don’t remember having it.”
The smaller man laughed. “You don’t remember how to count to ten without using your fingers.”
“Shut up, Carlos. I want the doc’s opinion.”
Bill cleared his throat. “Has it gotten bigger? Or has it ever bled?”
“No.”
“Then it’s just a mole. Sarcoma has an irregular shape, and it grows and bleeds.”
Franco seemed relieved. He pulled up his pants and walked out of the bathroom.
Carlos tossed Bill the rag and winked again.
“Be seeing you, Dr. May.”
Then he was gone.
Bill sat back in the tub. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He did neither.
After a few minutes, he got up and put his hands on the bathroom sink. His stomach was dancing Mambo number five, and he leaned over the toilet. Nothing came.
Bill washed up without looking at himself in the mirror. Then he sat on Mike Bitner’s sofa in the living room, the N-Som folder clutched to his chest, and didn’t move for almost half an hour.
The drive back to his place was a blur. Bill felt nothing, and yet he felt everything. He knew that he had almost died, and an experience like that was life-changing. He also knew that he’d done nothing to prevent it, and his cowardice made him rethink his self image.
They hadn’t killed him, but they’d changed him forever. The important question; was he changed for the better, or for the worse?
When Bill pulled into his garage, he didn’t notice the man hiding in the shadows.
The man with the scalpel.
Jack Kilborn
Disturb
The blinking light indicated the call was a transfer. Special Agent Smith set down his coffee, hit the button, and picked up the receiver.
The caller was Dr. William May of the FDA.
He laid it all out for Smith, starting with the murder of Dr. Nikos.
Smith listened closely, asking the questions he was trained to ask, taking notes when appropriate. The caller went on to talk about the video tape, the lack of police involvement, and finally went into the harrowing tale of discovering the body and being caught by the two killers.
When Dr. May was finally finished, Smith reassured him that the Bureau would get some men on the case. He advised him to stay in his home, avoid strangers, and try to always have friends around him.
Smith gave Dr. May his personal cell phone number, and said he should call if anything else happened. He also told him that the FBI would keep him under protective surveillance, but they were going to stay out of sight so as not to arouse suspicion. It seemed to calm Dr. May a bit, and he thanked Smith before getting off the phone.
Smith reviewed the notes, to make sure he had the story straight in his mind. When he was satisfied that he did, he picked up the phone and called Albert Rothchilde.
Jack Kilborn
Disturb
When he saw himself, he was someone else.
The gun was in his hand. He knew what he was going to do, and he was powerless to stop it.
His wife was asleep. He woke her up, let her look down the barrel and have one last scream before he shot her in the forehead.
The sound woke up the kids. Bobby, the youngest, began crying in his bed across the hall. His older sister Sally came into the room, eyes wide.
“Daddy! What did you do to Mommy?”
She took the bullet in the chest, and when she fell it was slow motion, almost beautiful, like a ballet dancer.
He went into Bobby’s room. His son was frightened, hysterical.
“Don’t be afraid. Daddy’s here.”
He picked him up, held him close. When Bobby began to calm down, he put the gun under the boy’s chin and fired.
“Just one more.”
He turned the gun around so his thumb was on the trigger and the barrel was pointed at his own chest.
“Forgive me, Lord.”
Then he pulled.
Manny opened his eyes and screamed. It took him a second to realize where he was. He saw the scalpel in one bloody hand, the bottle of pills in the other.
N-Som dream.
He shivered and pulled his knees up to his chest. Bad batch. One of the worst. He wondered how many of the pills in the bottle came from the same source. Manny shook his whole body like a wet dog, trying to erase the memory from his mind.
But he couldn’t, of course.
Didn’t matter. It was over, and he was fully refreshed. The fatigue that had been setting in before he took the N-Som was gone. His fear was replaced with a feeling of strength and well-being.
Manny stood up. He was in Dr. May’s garage. There was a car parked in Dr. May’s spot, where one hadn’t been earlier.
The doctor was in.
Manny was infused with a sense of purpose. He hoped he wasn’t too late.
