The Jigsaw Man (19 page)

No way. I can't be that unlucky.

Sure I could. Fourteen feet from me, Drake was

sprawled out, lying naked on top of the sheets, prepar¬

ing to have a nap. Just my luck, but this junk-filled

tower room was apparently his private apartment.

N o w what was I going to do? W i t h Dr. Marshall

slowly gaining on me from below, and Drake the Nean¬

derthal waiting above, my chances of getting out of this

mess were close to nil.

Fuck!

Looking back over my shoulder, Dr. Marshall was

still nowhere to be seen, but I knew he was coming—I

could hear his slow, lurching progress echoing up the

stairwell. At any second, I expected to see him round

the corner, a vicious grin plastered on his face.

Anoise above me brought my attention back to Drake.

The head of security was sitting up now, his back to¬

ward m e , facing the front windows. He stood u p , yawn¬

ing loudly as he stretched. It wasn't until he walked

over to a nearby table that I noticed he was sporting a

woody—his large penis fully erect, pointing at the roof,

slapping his belly with every step.

Just-what I need to see.

There was something set in the middle of the table he

was standing beside, something large covered up with a

white blanket. Drake carefully started removing the blan¬

ket. W h e n he did, I had to bite my lip not to shriek.

Oh my God!

Concealed beneath the blanket was a severed head

perched atop a glass, milky liquid-filled tank. Hundreds

of colorful wires ran from within the ragged neckline of

the head, down into the tank where they connected

along the length of barely visible spine. Wires also ran

away from the head, connecting into a circuit box be¬

side a computer terminal. Several large crimson-filled

tubes ran to and from the neck, over to one of the same

machines I'd been shown in the video we watched our

first day here. It was this machine that was making the

low h u m m i n g noise I'd noticed a few minutes ago.

Blood supply.

That thought made me realize what I was seeing.

This wasn't j u s t any severed head, this was
the
severed

head—the same guy I'd seen in the video. I recognized

the poor man's face. I could remember how it had given

me the creeps back then, when I still thought every¬

thing was on the level here. Seeing it now with my own

eyes, it was even more horrifying. H o w could someone

do this to another human being? It was viciously cruel.

Hell, it was diabolical!

Unfortunately, not nearly as diabolical as what Drake

was doing. The sick pervert was rubbing his t h r o b b i n g

cock on the side of the glass tank, slowly working it up

closer and closer to the head above. The defenseless

man's eyes were wide open in fear, his entire head and

spine thrashing about in a futile attempt to get away.

My mind flashed back to the day I arrived here, and

how Fd thought Drake had left the video show with an

erection hidden in his tracksuit, I hadn't been sure at the

time, wondering what he could possibly find erotic in

Dr. Marshall's body parts presentation, but now I knew.

Drake crawled right up onto the table, and was try¬

ing to put his engorged dick into the disembodied man's

tightly closed mouth, who was resisting the only way

he could. Drake laughed at his defiance, and started to

threaten him with a knife held to one of his eyes.

"Open up sweetie, or you lose your eyes," Drake

whispered, his voice dripping with lust.

Stop it, you sick perverted fuck!

I wanted to scream that out loud, and almost did, but

a shimmer of motion in the corner of my eye caught my

attention. Dr. Marshall, covered in sweat from his ex¬

ertions, was standing four feet away from m e , the large

serrated knife raised above his head, preparing to stab

me in the back.

I did scream then, long and loud, my reasons for

stealth now gone. I bolted up the remaining stairs, ran

right past Drake, and didn't stop until I had my back

pressed against the far wall. Drake looked shocked for a

moment, but regained his cool, climbing down from the

table to help Dr. Marshall up the last few stairs while at

the same time keeping an eye on m e . N o t that he needed

to—both he and Dr. Marshall wielded sharp knives and

I was an armless m a n with nowhere left to run.

"What the hell's going on?" Drake asked his employer.

"Rather obvious," the doctor said. "Our boy, Mi¬

chael, is trying to escape. N o t doing so well, though.

W h a t ' s that saying, Mr. Drake ... out of the frying

pan, into the fire?"

Drake started to laugh, neither he nor Dr. Marshall

seeming the least bit troubled by his nakedness.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, unable to

keep the fear and dread out of my voice.

Dr. Marshall smiled at m e , a cold, evil smile, then

said, "Whatever I want t o , Mike. Whatever I want."

My m o u t h went dry. I was so scared I couldn't have

spoken a word even if I'd known what to say. We stared

at each other in silence for a minute, then Dr. Marshall

continued.

"I'm not the monster you're convinced I am, Mr. Fox.

I haven't lied as much as you think. About the money,

yes, but not everything. I told you all I've ever wanted

was to help my poor unfortunate son. Remember?"

Of course I did. Lying bastard. "You're forgetting

something, Marshall. I was in y o u r supposed son's room.

I saw the plastic body and the fake wires. That was

n o t h i n g but a sob story to get us all on y o u r side. Noth¬

ing but bullshit, so save y o u r breath."

"Bullshit was it? You sure about that?" he asked.

Dr. Marshall limped over to the table supporting the

severed head and spine. He lovingly stroked the matted

hair of the man, then carefully repositioned the glass

tank so it was exactly in the center of the table. I couldn't

see the man's eyes from where I stood, but from the

way his head and spine were thrashing around, the man

seemed even more terrified now than while being mo¬

lested by Drake.

"Easy now," the doctor said, his voice as soft and as

soothing as he could manage. "Everything's gonna be

fine."

The tremors in the head gradually faded away, then

Dr. Marshall returned his attention to m e , spinning

the glass tank 180 degrees so I was looking directly into

the haunted eyes of the bodiless man.

"Mike, I'd like you to meet Andrew Nathan Marshall.

My son. Andrew, this silly man here is Michael Fox."

C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N

The silence in the room was deafening. That phrase

always seemed so cliche and ridiculous to me, until that

very moment. The quiet in the tower room was a tan¬

gible thing, the tension in the air so thick I was almost

choking on it, my mind spinning around trying to

comprehend what I'd j u s t heard.

His son?

He really does exist?

How could Dr. Marshall do this to his own son?

Why?

So many questions I wanted to ask, but I didn't. I just

stood there, temporarily forgetting my own dilemma,

forgetting everything as I stared into the bulging fright¬

ened eyes of the pitiable man before me I'd been stupid

enough to sign a contract to try to help.

How does he cope, beingforced to live life this way?

What must Andrew be thinking of all this?

What's he thinking about right now?

"Want me to take him out?" Drake asked his boss,

finally breaking the dead calm and shaking me out of

my stupor. "He's more trouble than he's worth."

"I'll be the j u d g e of that," Dr. Marshall said. "He's

still full of good spare parts. No sense wasting them."

"I suppose."

They were talking about me as if I wasn't even t h e r e ,

as if my opinion about the outcome of my life really

didn't matter. And I suppose it didn't—to them at

least—but it sure as hell did to me. There had to be a

way out of this. I couldn't j u s t stand here waiting for

Drake t o —

Drake!

An idea blazed through my head. Might not work,

but it was worth a try. W h a t did I have to lose?

"Hey Doc," I shouted, interrupting their casual con¬

versation about whether or not I should be killed out¬

right, or simply cut up for spare parts. "Do you have

any idea what Drake likes to do to your beloved son

when he's all alone with him? He forces Andrew to

suck his cock at knifepoint. I saw him myself j u s t a few

minutes ago. Look at the big fuckin' pervert. Why do

you think he's naked?"

It wasn't a great plan, but I hoped if I told Dr. Mar¬

shall how Drake was molesting his son, maybe I could

turn the insane surgeon's rage toward Drake, away

from me. Even if I could j u s t get them arguing enough

that I got a chance to bolt for the staircase. Give me a

three-second window of opportunity, and I'd be off like

a rocket, heading for the front door.

Instead of rage, as I'd hoped, Dr. Marshall started

laughing. Drake apparently found my comments hilari¬

ous as well, and was soon laughing along with his boss.

"Trying to make me jealous, are we, Mike?" Dr. Mar¬

shall asked. "Nice try, but let's j u s t say there's plenty of

Mr. Drake to go around for everyone."

What the hell does that mean?

I wondered if it was possible Dr. Marshall was so in¬

sane, so far gone, he didn't even care that Drake was

sexually abusing his son, Nah. Nobody could be
that

heartless. Could they? Then I watched as Drake walked

over beside Dr. Marshall and his son, putting his arms

around both, of them. Dr. Marshall smiled, winked at

m e , then kissed Drake passionately on the lips. W i t h

his free hand, he softly caressed Drake's semiswollen

member, starting to bring it back to attention.

Sweet mother of Jesus!

They were lovers. I couldn't believe it. How much

more rucked up could this strange little family get? I

mean really, a brilliant but thoroughly insane neurosurgeon kissing his steroid-filled chief of security boyfriend

above the trembling head of his life-supported, disem¬

bodied son. N o t a pretty picture. Certainly not N o r m a n

Rockwell-inspired family material; that was for sure.

This was too much for me. I couldn't take any more.

I j u s t wanted out of h e r e , away from all this craziness

and perversion and back to my smelly little Dumpster

underneath the Carver Street Bridge.

Get real. You wouldn't survive a day on the streets. You've

got no fucking arms, moron!

My conscience was right, of course. There was no

going back for me. Only a fool would think otherwise.

I should never have let Drake talk me down off those

railway tracks the day he'd shown up in t h e limo. Should

have stuck to plan A and never even listened to his

crazy offer. Then again, maybe it wasn't too late.

Dr. Marshall and Drake were never going to let me

leave here—alive anyway. W h y not save myself the suf¬

fering and grief and spoil whatever nasty little plans

they had in mind for me. Call me crazy, but I'd much

rather go out on my own terms than theirs. I knew j u s t

how to do it, too.

"Hey freaks," I said to my captors, disturbing their

little petting session.

Dr. Marshall licked his Hps, anticipating violence,

and said, "Watch y o u r mouth, little man, or you j u s t

might lose that quick tongue of yours."

Drake took a step toward me, holding up his knife

for me to see. "It's time you learned some m a n n e r s ,

Mr. Fox."

T took a deep breath and prepared for what was com¬

ing. "Screw you, Drake. You two psychos deserve each

other, but I'm not sticking around and watching any

more of this bullshit. I'm out of here!"

I could tell my outburst confused them. "You're

what?"
Drake asked.

"You heard me. I'm leaving."

Once the initial shock wore off, both Drake and Dr.

Marshall started laughing again.

"You're a funny guy, Mike, but I'm afraid you're not

going anywhere," Dr. Marshall said, "except back to my

operating room. You see ... I need your legs."

Ten minutes ago, that statement would have terri¬

fied m e , but not now. I'd moved past my fears, made

peace with myself, and was ready to take care of busi¬

ness. W i t h o u t another word, I made my move, run¬

ning full out toward one of the large stained glass

windows. If Dr. Marshall wanted my legs, he could

send Drake to scrape them off the front driveway five

stories below, along with the rest of me. Taking a

nosedive onto the pavement from this height—which

had to be sixty feet what with the high ceilings around

this j o i n t — a n d with no arms to cushion my fall, my