She lifted out a long cylinder with six tiny blades at the end. “What is this?”
“It’s called an artificial leech. It tears a superficial wound in the skin and creates a vacuum to suck up the blood.”
“It looks fun.”
“Oh, it is.”
She set it on the countertop and pulled out another tool. Richard’s bladder let loose.
“That’s in my top three,” Luther said. The metal of the instrument was dark brown with rust and looked to be several hundred years old. It had handles at the end, that when pulled apart, made the other end open wide. “It’s called a cervical dilator,” Luther said, “but it works beautifully on gentlemen as well. It fell out of use, because it typically just tore the insides apart, as you’ll see.”
She pulled out a strange-looking knife.
“For circumcisions.”
What looked like a pair of pliers, but instead of metal grippers, had a needle at the end.
“That’s called a hernia tool. I know it looks cool, but it’s kind of hard to use. Here, let me show you my favorite.” Luther reached into the toolbox and withdrew a long metal tool with a gently curving shaft. “This is called a lithotome. Shaft goes up the anus and then you squeeze the handle and a blade comes out on a spring release.”
“What was it used for?”
“To cut the bladder to release kidney stones.”
“Oh, this looks wicked.” She pulled out a hollow metal cylinder with circular blades at one end.”
“That’s a scarificator. Used for bloodletting.” He grabbed another tool. “This is a tonsil guillotine.” And another. “This is a trephine for skull drilling. Here’s a vaginal speculum, and these are hemorrhoid forceps.”
The toolbox was empty now, a veritable horrowshow on display on the bathroom sink.
“I dream of coming back as a Victorian doctor,” Luther said.
Orson laughed.
“Decisions, decisions,” Lucy said, reaching for the lithotome.
“It’s sad how he keep passing out,” Lucy said.
Luther was holding a bottle of smelling salts under Bryson’s nose.
“Yeah, you’ve got to be careful,” Orson said. “The biggest buzz-kill is when they lose too much blood. They just go into shock and die, and that’s it. Superficial cuts are key.”
Richard jerked back into consciousness and started to scream again through the ball-gag.
“These aren’t ideal conditions,” Orson said. “Of course, no matter what, we can’t take the ball-gag out of his mouth. What I’m afraid is going to happen is he’s going to throw up and choke to death.”
“I wish I could hear him scream.”
“Me, too. It adds so much more.”
Six hours later, they washed Luther’s surgical tools, left the remains of Bryson hanging in the shower, and walked out of 1428 for the last time.
It was almost nine o’clock and many of the conference attendees had already left, the lobby much quieter now.
Orson bought Luther and Lucy dinner in the restaurant downstairs, everyone happy for the moment, a quiet contentment settling over the meal.
“When do you guys leave?” Lucy asked.
“First thing tomorrow.”
“Can I come with you?”
“No.”
Lucy felt a lump swelling in her throat. “Don’t you like me?”
“Of course,” Orson said. “But I can’t take you with me, I’m sorry.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“That’s for you to figure out. Are you going home?”
“No. And my car’s booted. I only have a hundred and fifty dollars and my guitar case.”
Orson reached into his pocket, opened his wallet, pulled out a roll of bills. “Here,” he said. “This should get you started.”
Lucy thumbed through the money. Almost five hundred dollars.
“Thank you,” she said, but the sadness was still there. “How am I supposed to get anywhere? I don’t have a car.”
“You could hitchhike,” Luther said.
“That’s dangerous.”
“You’ll have to be careful,” Orson said. “Although, I have a feeling, it’s the poor people who pick you up that we should be more concerned for.”
