On Monday night the boys sat in front of the television. Jack didn't pay attention to the program — something about a club of people who investigated haunted houses. He was too busy reviewing his plans.
Jack attacked problems with fierce concentration, but few things occupied his full attention for long. He relished the small number of challenges that had really taxed him. The first he remembered was a set of IQ tests his parents had arranged when he was still in grade-school.
Jack had really enjoyed the tests, but despised the idea of skipping grades. At that time, being in school with his best friend Ben was the only thing that made class bearable. When Ben transferred to a private school for fourth grade, Jack’s parents had asked him again to advance. At that point he didn't want to be the small kid in fifth grade. That extra year meant a lot at that age, and the fifth-graders intimidated Jack. So, he had stayed back and found his own ways to challenge himself.
A really good puzzle could also inspire Jack, especially if it was one posed by his dad.
The previous weeks, the puzzles of the hotel had thrilled Jack. He didn’t see danger, only opportunity. The man who had set up this whole situation, the one they referred to as “The Management,” had left specific clues for Jack, and Jack knew he could defeat The Management at his own game. Stephen remained the weakest part of Jack's plan. He needed Stephen to come along, and it seemed that he had accomplished that with his story about Albuquerque.
Tricking Stephen had been easy. Jack had produced the fake United Airlines itinerary in about five minutes — taking the logo from their website, and making up the rest. The CNN site had required more work, but not much. Jack had copied one of their headline pages to his computer and then written his own story. He took much of the text directly from the report about Gabe Vigue and then told his computer to redirect any requests for CNN back to his version of the page. He had worried that Stephen might click on one of the links on the page, exposing the facade, but by stepping in with the itinerary as soon as Stephen had started to question the details, Jack had thwarted Stephen’s curiosity.
He only needed Stephen to return to the hotel one more time.
“This is creeping me out,” said Stephen, commenting on the television show. “Reminds me of the hotel.”
“Let’s change it then,” said Jack, reaching for the remote.
“No, leave it,” said Stephen. “It creeps me out, but I like it — they don’t give up even though they’re spooked.”
To get to The Management, Jack needed Stephen.
The Management had painted the first clue into the portraits in the red room. They featured an older man and a boy facing each other. Jack was the boy, he reasoned, and he was facing The Management. When Jack studied the eyes of the boy in the portrait, he saw an image reflected in the painted pupils. The boy held out a child as a gift to The Management.
Jack had found the next clue in the bathroom of the second hotel room they had entered. In that room, he found recent signs of activity: a toothbrush, comb, wet towel, and a very odd painting on the mirror. When Jack stood in front of the mirror he saw his own body capped with a bull’s head. An angry bovine face looked back from atop his shoulders. Written on the lower left-hand corner of the drawing, like a signature, was the name “Baal.”
Hours of careful research had revealed Baal to be an ancient god who required child sacrifice. The ritual was brutal: his worshippers would heat up a statue of Baal until the arms glowed red and then place a child in his arms. The child would die of the burns from Baal’s embrace.
Jack read quote after quote of Baal, and started to think that he had seen that name somewhere before. In a bright flash, the answer came to him. A little over a week before, Jack had stayed up most of the night decoding the letter from The Management. One of the details he could never decipher was the pattern of the sentences. The letter contained seven sentences per paragraph, and in each, the first letters of sentences spelled out “IAMBAAL.” Jack added spaces to that phrase to make it “I am Baal.”
Stephen wasn’t quite as young as Baal would prefer, but Jack figured it would be close enough to get him into The Management’s presence. Jack thought through his itinerary one more time and decided he had planned enough. Now he needed to turn off his brain and just relax — tomorrow would be a tough day, and he would need his rest.
Jack was relieved to finally get underway on Tuesday morning. So far, everything was perfect. His mom had agreed that they could go play until lunch again, and Stephen hadn't backed out.
They walked along the path to the hotel in silence until Stephen asked, “Hey, what do you think ever happened to Ben?”
His tone surprised Jack. Stephen sounded a little sad.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jack replied. “Probably just on vacation with his mom.”
“I bet your mom tries to track him down before long,” said Stephen.
“You’re probably right,” Jack admitted. After Gabe disappeared, his parents had been extremely overprotective. Jack couldn't leave the house by himself for months. If something happened to Ben, Jack couldn't even imagine how his parents would react. He hoped for his own sake that Ben would call, but secretly believed that he wouldn't hear from Ben any time soon, if at all.
When they reached the hotel, Jack prepared Stephen for some small changes — “I think we’re going to have to do the whole trip. I accidentally let the secret door in the chimney close behind me the other day.”
“Oh, bummer. How did that happen?” asked Stephen.
“I don’t know,” Jack lied. It had taken him almost ten minutes to figure out how to close that door. He needed Stephen with him in the other part of the hotel, so it had been a necessary expense.
They worked together, exchanging few words, to set up the ladders and climb down into the drawing room.
Stephen hadn’t seen the anatomical drawing for several trips. “What do you think this means?” he asked, pointing to the painting which featured a half finished, half dissected man.
“Maybe we’re seeing inside him — you know, how he thinks of himself?” suggested Jack. “It kind of reminds me of a diagram we had in biology. But that one showed half a skeleton, and half exposed muscles.”
The boys climbed the ladder into the bishop’s room.
“We never did check behind those other doors,” said Stephen.
Jack noted that Stephen's voice had an air of finality. Jack saw all the possibilities of interesting things to discover, and Stephen talked about the things they had never done, as if they never would.
“Want to try them now?” asked Jack.
Stephen stopped mid-stride — crossing the floor of the bishop’s room from white tile to white tile. “I thought you needed my help moving something,” he said.
“Yeah, I do, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take a detour, right?” asked Jack.
“Nah, let’s keep moving,” said Stephen.
At the end of the tripwire hallway, they waited patiently in the dark for the door to the white room to open. Next, they made their way up the ladder to the attic. Both boys looked for the nest of baby rats, but the home had been vacated.
“Shit, how are we supposed to trigger that door?” asked Stephen. “Don’t we need something alive?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got another way we can go,” said Jack.
They hunched over the empty nest. Stephen straightened up and looked at Jack. “Another way?”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “Remember that vent that ended with the pole? That’s a shortcut to the basement. You just have to know how to get out from there.”
“Oh,” said Stephen. Jack expected him to be more inquisitive and had prepared a story about finding that shortcut when he had gone back for Stephen’s bag. It was a flimsy story, time-wise, but he thought that Stephen would buy it. In truth Jack had stolen away to the hotel the past couple of nights. The pole did descend all the way to the basement, but Jack knew even more about it.
Jack continued on to the long jump, and Stephen followed. They made it across the gap with practiced ease. Walking down the stairs to the spiral room, Stephen commented — “I forgot how long it takes to go this way.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jack.
The boys didn’t communicate much through the next few obstacles. Stephen needed help scaling the ledge in the wide passage, but it was easy for Jack to jump up and then give him a hand. When they arrived at the door that progressed to the smaller vents, Jack led the way to remind Stephen the way to the pole.
“Okay — I’ll see you at the bottom,” said Jack, grabbing the pole. “it’s like thirty feet down, so you’ve got a ways to go. I’ll shine a light for you so you can see when bottom is coming.”
“Cool,” said Stephen from behind Jack.
Jack kept his flashlight out and tucked it under his arm. He had studied the trap at the bottom of the pole, and was pretty sure he could avoid sliding all the way down. If Jack's plan worked, he could capture Stephen without harming him. If it went wrong, he would certainly lose Stephen’s trust.
Either way, Jack had the advantage because he knew the way out. He swung his legs over the edge and started a very controlled slide down. When the room opened up, Jack gripped the pole to stop his descent. He pushed off so he could extend his left leg backwards. He felt the ledge and shoved with his arms, away from the pole. He stood on a small ledge built out from the wall. Jack jumped to the floor and leaned over to the pole so he could look up to Stephen.
“Okay,” Jack yelled, “come on down.”
Stephen slid down fairly quickly. Jack pointed his light upwards as a beacon to Stephen. As soon as he saw Stephen’s feet come into the room, Jack shut off his light, leaving Stephen in the dark.
“Hey!” yelled Stephen. Jack didn’t want Stephen to see the wire-mesh cage below him.
“Keep going,” said Jack. “Just my batteries.” Jack heard Stephen touch down on the floor and then heard the clank of a cage closing around his friend.
“What the fuck?” asked Stephen. Jack flicked on the room lights with a switch next to a door. The bright lights made both boys squint. The lights revealed the steel cage around Stephen, which had sprung up to pin him in the corner of the room.
Jack reached for the gas mask hanging from a hook on the wall.
Just before he donned the mask, Jack said “Sorry buddy, but I need a gift.”
Jack pulled the mask over his face and Stephen’s protests were briefly silenced by the noise of pulling the straps past his ears. Breathing through the mask, Jack reached over and flicked the other switch on the wall. The first switch was marked with a little picture of a light bulb, but this one showed a small cloud. Throwing this second switch caused white gas to emerge from small holes in the walls around Stephen. Ninety-nine percent sure that the gas wouldn’t harm Stephen, Jack watched with excitement and curiosity as the gas reached his friend and Stephen began to pass out.
“I can’t believe you. Why are you doing this?” slurred Stephen.
Jack didn’t have a chance to answer before Stephen slumped to the floor of the cage. Jack sighed into his mask and nearly made the mistake of removing it. Instead, he kept the mask on and strode over to the lever to release and reset the cage. He saw no marking on this lever, but its position led Jack to believe that it would disengage the metal walls confining Stephen.
He was right, but hadn’t expected the force with which the cage would disengage. One of the panels crashed down on Jack’s foot and numbing pain shot up his leg. Jack staggered back, once again reaching for the mask, but stopped himself before he removed it. He hunched over looking at his shoe. The way his left foot felt, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find half of it amputated by the crashing cage, but there it sat, looking normal.
Jack looked up at the dissipating cloud and waited for his foot to stop throbbing enough for him to continue. Unshouldering his pack, he unzipped the big compartment and dug to the bottom. He found several tie-wraps, a roll of tape, and a bandanna. He considered his next moves: roll Stephen over to bind his hands, gag him, and blindfold him.
Stephen had slumped against the wall with his head turned away from Jack. Just then something occurred to Jack: he should have checked on Stephen immediately. Stephen might be asphyxiating, or already dead from the gas.
Jack limped over to Stephen and nearly entrapped himself before he remembered the cage. The trigger for the cage wasn’t obvious, but it had something to do with putting weight near the base of the pole. Jack noted the missed detail as he realized that he didn't have a good plan for getting Stephen out of the cage area without getting imprisoned himself.
Jack slowed his thoughts, emptying his head so he could consider the problem from the designer’s perspective. A good trap must have a way to extract the victim with no danger to the predator. He looked around the room, but saw no other controls.
Jack returned to the cage lever to give it a second look. Pulling it again, he discovered a feature he missed the first time: after pulling it down, you could lock it to the side. Jack smiled — that must be the way to lock-out the trigger, he thought.
With this small victory, Jack limped back to Stephen, confident the cage wouldn’t engage. He rolled Stephen over and grabbed his wrist. He felt a strong pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief, removed Stephen’s backpack, and arranged Stephen’s limbs so he could pull him away from the wall. Jack found it difficult to work with the gas mask on, so he moved quickly to immobilize Stephen.
Pulling Stephen’s wrists behind his back, Jack used his tie-wraps as handcuffs. Next, he put tape over Stephen’s mouth and tied a blind-fold across his eyes. Jack finished with several loops of tape around Stephen’s legs. Jack didn't secure Stephen's legs tight, but wound the tape around several times.
Jack heard a distant electronic beep, just once, and couldn’t pinpoint its origin. He stood straight up, his ears tingling. Jack took several deep breaths and then returned to his mental checklist. Stephen was ready. Now he needed to take Stephen’s limp body to the examination room.
Jack rolled Stephen onto his back, and checked Stephen's breathing. Jack limped over to the door. While searching the hotel on Sunday night, Jack had established a fairly detailed mental map of this part of the hotel — he knew that down the hall, on the left, he would find a closet which held several jugs of liquid and a big dolly.
He returned to the pole room, pushing the dolly ahead of him, and leaning on it to take the weight off his throbbing foot. Stephen still appeared unconscious. Jack checked Stephen’s pulse again — still normal — and rolled him on his side. Tipping over the dolly, Jack slid it up the length of Stephen’s body and inserted it between Stephen’s cuffed hands and his limp torso.
Jack had tethered Stephen to the dolly with Stephen's arms braced against the handle. Jack used more tie-wraps to attach Stephen’s ankles to the upright bars.
Admiring his planning and execution, Jack returned to the top of the dolly so he could lift Stephen into a standing position. The body slipped down more than Jack anticipated, and he considered using the tape to secure more points, but he wanted to avoid cutting off Stephen’s circulation.
Stephen began to stir and solved Jack’s problem. As he regained consciousness, Stephen stiffened and Jack could raise him vertical. Stephen thrashed at first, but stopped as pain from his pinned arms registered. The more Stephen moved, the more his arms would wrench painfully upward.
Jack tilted the dolly and backed towards the doorway. Stephen swung his head around, trying to get a look past the blindfold, and yelled into the tape, producing a low muffled sound.
“Shhh,” said Jack. “It will be over soon.” Jack's voice sounded muffled by the gas mask. Jack had to pause to pick up their packs and almost dumped Stephen on his back, but regained control moments later. Once in the hallway, Jack turned on his flashlight and closed the door to the pole room. Gas from the room might have leaked into the hall, so he pushed Stephen several feet before removing his gas mask.
When he reached the light switch in the hall, Jack braced the dolly against his shoulder so he could flick it on. Bright light washed the hall — it looked almost as bright as the white room. Nearly the entire ceiling was populated with fluorescent bulbs. Stephen thrashed a bit at the change in lighting and swayed from side-to-side.
Getting in rhythm with the instability of the dolly, Stephen started to rock it back and forth. It was all Jack could do to keep it upright.
“Listen, buddy,” Jack whispered into Stephen’s ear, “if you fall over, I’m going to drug you again. I don’t know all that much about anesthesia, but I’m pretty sure that it’s touch-and-go when you get your second dose in a short period of time. So, if you want to play that lottery, I can re-dose you. By all means, keep trying to tip over.”
Stephen stopped thrashing to listen to Jack, and didn’t start again. Tilting him back, Jack continued down the hall to what he had dubbed “The Exam Room.”
He rolled Stephen past the door and turned the handle, pushing it open with his right hand. Glancing around at the cold, white tile inside, Jack backed Stephen into the room.
The bright lights in the examination room reflected off the shiny tiled floor and tiled walls. Jack figured he could spray this room with a fire hose and do no damage; it was built for easy cleanup. The center of the room featured a large circular drain. Next to that, sat the examination chair.
Jack scanned the room, taking it all in. He had seen this room a few times now, but hadn’t really studied it. It had seemed inappropriate without bringing his own victim. But now, Stephen would help him achieve that. Jack stood the dolly up near the chair and then thought better of it. He pushed the axle away and lowered Stephen to the floor so he wouldn’t tip himself over.
Eyes wide open and roaming, he walked a slow lap around the room. A freestanding bathtub with a host of stains scarred into the enamel graced one wall. Along the back, a set of cabinets held mysteries. Two sinks with gooseneck faucets were set in the counter. On the next wall, a rolling cart held a strange device mounted on an articulated arm. Thick power cables ran back to the wall and plugged into a large circular outlet.
Stephen kicked and yelled muffled complaints against his tape.
“I’m right here,” said Jack. “Settle down.”
Jack heard the same beep again. This time it came from behind him and he spun around, but couldn’t see anything unusual. It sounded like it had come from above, but the only thing above him was a drop-ceiling of tiles, poked with random holes.
Raising his voice, Jack said, “What are you waiting for? I’m here. I brought you your gift, Baal.”
Jack could feel himself beginning to sweat. He reminded himself that this was what he had worked towards, that he was supposed to be enjoying this anticipation. It bothered Jack that only his fear and anger bubbled up. He knew that The Management must be watching, and didn’t want to betray his weakness, so he leaned against the chair and tried to look bored. He waited.
Stephen stayed still, except for his chest. He breathed rapidly — his heaving chest showed his fear. Jack fixated on the rise and fall of Stephen’s chest and used it to keep his own breathing under control. He only inhaled on Stephen’s second breath at first and then later slowed to a three-to-one ratio. Jack felt calm and in control of his body. He waited.
Jack pulled out his phone and checked the time. He felt like he had been standing in this room for hours, so he decided to set a limit. Ten more minutes and he was going to walk. He wanted to feel in control of his own destiny.
“Okay,” he challenged, “five more minutes and we’re leaving.”
Two minutes later, The Management contacted Jack.
A scratchy, dusty voice came from the ceiling. Jack looked up.
“(click) Jack. (click),” said a man's voice. “(click) How good of you to come. (click)”
“My pleasure,” said Jack, “what’s next.” He could hardly keep his voice calm. The gravity of his situation threatened to collapse on him and ruin his facility for rational thought.
Jack waited, this had turned back into a one-way conversation.
“Hello?” asked Jack after several more moments.
“(click) First, we’ll need to teach you patience. (click),” said the voice. “(click) Next, manners. Do you know what you’re supposed to do with Stephen? (click)”
“I think so,” said Jack. “But I want to meet you in person first.”
Jack waited through another long pause. Some of his adrenaline started to fade, and he considered different ways to get The Management to comply.
Jack decided to start with logic and work his way over to threats if that didn’t work. “How long have you been looking for me?” asked Jack. “I’m guessing it’s been years, maybe decades. Am I right?” Jack continued.
Jack looked at the ceiling and waited for an answer, but none came.
“Okay,” said Jack. “I’m going to assume that I’m right — you’ve been searching for me, or someone like me, for at least ten years. Maybe a few have come close, but they weren’t smart enough. Or maybe they were smart, but didn’t have the stomach for the blood.” Jack lowered his voice, “Maybe some of them liked the blood a little too much.”
Jack focused on the ceiling and circled the chair as he spoke — “But I’m the real thing. Not psychotic, but just detached enough to do what you do, and follow in your footsteps. I’ll study your writing, and learn from you.” Jack had come back around to Stephen again. He placed one foot on his blindfolded friend and looked at the ceiling. “But being all those things, I have to know that you’re right too. I won’t jump into this before we meet,” said Jack.
“(click) Yes. (click),” came from the speaker.
Jack waited ten seconds, holding his position. Stephen began to squirm again and kicked out violently, sending the dolly sliding away. Jack removed his foot from Stephen’s stomach and crossed around him to get to his bag. He plucked it off the floor and sat it on the chair in front of him, removing items and laying them on the counter: duck tape, his mother’s big carving knife, tie-wraps, and a stack of plastic bags.
The door behind him clicked, and Jack paused. He heard the ambient sound of the room change when the door swung open. Jack spun slowly to glimpse The Management for the first time. On the floor, Stephen squirmed towards the wall, making a muffled, humping racket, but Jack didn’t hear. All of Jack’s senses focused on the empty doorframe.
A foot slid into view, clad in a dark leather sneaker. The leg that followed wore loose khaki slacks. Next to come around the corner was a head, but it was an animal head. Jack recognized Baal from the picture drawn on the mirror. Half-man, half-bull came to join him in the small exam room.
Jack never hesitated. His whole plan hinged on this one possible moment of surprise. He had studied the mind of the psychotic killer, and knew that one of the defining characteristics in his rival was a sense of infallible immortality. Jack figured that he had one chance to exploit that before the creature’s natural self-preservation made any kind of attack unwise and unlikely to succeed.
Jack pulled the last item from his bag. It was a cold, oily handgun he had purchased from Smoker the day before. At first sight of the gun, before Jack even had time to raise it, the half-man, half-bull in the doorway started to jerk backwards. Jack didn’t aim, he simply squeezed his eyes and the trigger until a loud report rang out and the gun nearly kicked out of his hand.
Stephen erupted in renewed thrashing and Jack took a long step over him as he headed to the door. Baal had retreated around the corner and out the door but then had crashed into the wall of the hallway, leaving a long red streak down the white wall. Jack raised the gun and aimed this time. The second kick jerked the gun again and he had to fight it back down to pull the trigger a third time.
On the floor the mask slid partway from Baal’s head, and he convulsed as the third shot tore through the left half of his neck. The body slumped and Jack knew the man he thought of as “The Management,” and as “Baal” was dead.
He stepped around the widening pool of blood and pulled the mask away from the man’s head. The mask was more stiff than Jack expected. The brown face sported a long nose complete with a brass ring, and very sharp horns emerging from the forehead. When he pulled away the mask, the dead man’s head fell back to the floor. Jack didn’t recognize the face. He dropped the mask and paused to look at the man one more time. He wanted to spend some time studying his kill, but knew he couldn’t, not yet. Now, he had to deal with Stephen. It occurred to Jack that this might be the hardest part of the day: convincing Stephen that his actions had been justified.
Jack returned to the exam room and fixed a look of concern on his face as he ran to Stephen. “Are you okay?” 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 you so we could fool him.”
“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.
Jack backed away from the door and tried to see it for the first time. His face lit up as he realized his mistake — the reader was on the left side of the door, so it might read only the left hand. He also realized that it might not be keyed to an index finger. The thumb was another likely candidate.
He set the finger on the floor and returned to the body to collect the other digits. The left hand was harder to get at — when the man had collapsed, he had pinned his left hand underneath himself. Jack worked the arm free, still trying to stay clean. The index finger was easy, but the thumb gave Jack problems. He couldn’t seem to find a gap between bones and ended up sawing down the side of the man’s hand.
Now, with both hands gripping a severed digit, Jack returned to the door. He tried the thumb first. He figured it was least likely to be the one, and he wanted to eliminate it. The red light flashed and the unit beeped.
Jack set the thumb down and tried his last hope. He flubbed the swipe and the red light flashed once, with no noise. He took a deep breath, exhaled and then tried again. Jack dropped the finger in his excitement when the light flashed green. He heard a distant buzzing and a light “click” near the door handle.
With no thought about the consequences, Jack reached out and pulled open the door. As the door opened, Jack had a brief glimpse of a tall figure on the other side, silhouetted by bright lights. Two metal probes shot out from the figure. Jack heard a tiny explosion from the man’s Tazer, followed by a crackle that seemed to come from inside Jack’s head.
Just before his neck tightened, Jack’s gaze flew to his own chest where a red dot, centered on his heart, was framed by two metal spikes trailing tiny wires.