The Jigsaw Man (28 page)

I dressed quickly, excited to be going outside. Not

entirely sure why, but I'd spent so long locked up in this

hellhole that the thought of fresh air—regardless how

cold it might be—thrilled me and urged me on. I wasn't

allowed to j u s t run out the front doors wild and free, of

course. Junie and I were escorted by a big burly guard

named Jackson, who took me out a side entrance I'd

never seen before, marching me out to where Drake

and the cameras were waiting.

Camera, I should say.

Gone were the bright lights, the camera crews, and

the digital microphones. Gone were all the people from

yesterday's shoot, t o o , most notably absent being Dr.

Marshall. That wasn't a good sign. There was only

Drake, looking pissed off and cold standing with a cam¬

corder that looked like a child's toy in his huge paw.

The look on his face knocked the smile from mine and

I finally noticed how cold it was outside the climatecontrolled world o£ the castle.

It was freakin' freezing!

Jacket or no jacket, the wind stole my breath, cutting

right through me j u s t like Junie had warned. I'd lived

through several icy winters on the street—nights so

cold tears froze solid on the way down y o u r cheeks—so

you'd think Fd be used to bad weather, but damn, you

stayed inside for a year and you soon forgot how nasty

the elements could be.

"Get your ass over here, asshole," Drake screamed.

I didn't feel much like a movie star today.

I hunched my shoulders, trying to keep the wind off

my neck as best I could, and trudged out to where Drake

stood on the grass. Wasting no time, he started bark

ing at me to do some exercises. He didn't care what I

did as long as I kept moving and gave him something to

film. This was stupid and research-wise not much good

for anything, but I was glad to get moving, the physical

exertion feeling great and warming me up nicely. I was

starting to enjoy myself again, at least until I glanced

over at Junie standing with Jackson beside the door

into the castle. Why was she there and not inside, out of

the cold? She looked sad, and the closer I looked, the

more I was convinced she was crying.

For me? Why would she be crying? Unless—'

Oh-ohl

I smelled trouble. Colossal trouble.

"Okay, that's enough of this crap," Drake shouted,

bringing me to a halt and confirming my fears. "Come

get this camera, Junie, and take it to Dr. Marshall's of¬

fice. He's expecting it."

Junie walked out to meet us, but she wouldn't look

me in the eye. I was right, she
-was
crying. She took the

camcorder from Drake and stood ramrod still, not sure

what to do next. Drake had the answer.

"Get out of here, Junie. You're not needed anymore."

Junie turned to go, tears flowing freely down her

cheeks now, but before she left she grabbed me and gave

me a big motherly hug. Drake got quite a kick out of this

and bent over laughing at her show of affection.

"Look,Jackson," Drake said to the guard, "Michael

has himself a girlfriend. Isn't that sweet?"

I might have told Drake to go stuff himself but I was

too busy listening to Junie. Under cover of Drake's

laughter, she put her mouth to my ear and quietly whis¬

pered two words.

She said, "Left pocket."

That was it, and Drake was dragging her off m e ,

pointing her in the direction of the door. She looked

back over her shoulder and I gave her the tiniest nod,

letting her know I understood. Then she was gone,

leaving me out in the cold with Drake and Jackson. I

knew what was coming before it was even said. I was

dumb but sure wasn't stupid. Game, set, and match. Dr.

Marshall was finally finished playing with m e .

"It's over, Mike," Drake said. "You're of no use to us

anymore. Dr. Marshall has done all he can with you,

and now that we have the photo and video evidence to

show how successful your transplants have been, the

time has come for us to part ways."

"You're letting me go?" Tasked. I knew it wasn't hap¬

pening but what else could I say?

Drake j u s t smiled.

"No, Mike. I think you're smarter than that so I'll

j u s t give it to you straight. Jackson is going to take you

for a walk in the woods. We have a small cemetery in

there, an unofficial one, naturally, that we used before

the incinerator was installed. We could burn you, sure,

but I kinda like the idea of the w o r m s and maggots get¬

ting a hold of you. Cremation seems too good for a

skinny little troublemaking prick like you."

I didn't say anything for a minute—partly because I

didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but mostly be¬

cause I was scared. I don't care what you see in the

movies, no one is brave enough to j o k e around and be

callous in the face of death. No one I knew, anyway.

Certainly not me. I did get one crack in, though, and it

made me feel better.

"Don't have the balls to do it yourself, h u h ? "

Drake laughed at that too. He was enjoying himself a

lot today. Bastard. "Whatever you say, Mike. I'll admit

I've enjoyed having you around. You've been a good

laugh and a refreshing change from most of the doc¬

tor's patients, but you've also been a royal pain in the

ass. W h e n it comes right down to it, my friend, you're

j u s t not worth my time. Face i t . . . you're a b u m , Mike.

A good-for-nothing, expendable bum."

I wanted to tell him what I thought of him, tell him

how he was a psycho pervert steroid monkey or some¬

thing equally colorful, but no words came out. Silence.

My mouth was dry and my tongue felt swollen to three

times its normal size—the bitter bile-flavored taste of

fear nearly gagging me as I looked into his big stupid

grinning face.

Say something!

I hesitated too long and the m o m e n t passed.

"Get this piece of shit out of my sight, Jackson."

Drake said, t u r n i n g away, dismissing me as if I'd never

existed. That was how much my life was worth: noth¬

ing. N o t even a glance back.

C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - T H R E E

After Drake disappeared into the building, Jackson

poked me violently in the ribs twice with the barrel of a

shiny silver gun. The first was to get my attention but

I'm sure the next was to make it crystal clear that this

was his show now. "You heard the man," he said, his

voice gruff and scratchy like steel wool, filled with

self-importance. "Get your ass movin' or I can make

this rough on you."

Rough on me? He was going to put a bullet in my

head; how could it get any rougher? Another j a b from

the gun stung my ribs like a hornet and gave me a clue.

"Hold on a sec," I tried. "You can't do this, man. It's

crazy! Drake's asking you to commit—"

W i t h o u t warning, Jackson sucker punched me in the

mouth, snapping my head back painfully and shutting

me up in a hurry. I dropped, to my knees but Jackson

dragged me to my feet a moment later, shoving me for¬

ward. "Head for the woods and keep your fuckin' mouth

shut. W h i n i n g all day won't do you any good, so save

it. Go."

I went.

I'd seen Jackson around for months now but I'd never

really talked to him or had any dealings with him other

than to have him stand guard outside my room, or fol¬

low me around the gymnasium during my rehab. Sure,

I recognized him—tall and muscular with dark curly

hair, one of those bodybuilder types that seemed to

have no neck—but knowing who someone was wasn't

the same as
knowing
him. 'Course, I didn't really need

to know him to understand he was a bastard chiseled

from the same tree as his boss. Drake and Jackson were

like two moldy peas in the same rotten pod. Bottom

line: there was no way I was going to talk my way out of

this. Someone was going to die at the end of this little

stroll and if I didn't want that person to be me, I had to

stop pissing off the guard and come up with a plan.

I put my hand into my left jacket pocket, slowly, ca¬

sually, so Jackson would think I was j u s t trying to stay

warm. I'd wanted to do this since the moment Junie

whispered in my ear, but two things had held me back.

I didn't want to go frantically digging in my pocket and

have Jackson realize I had something hidden in there.

He'd j u s t take it away from me and then where would I

be? The other reason I'd been delaying this was

simpler—I was afraid to find out what was inside. I was

walking toward my death h e r e , and so far I'd managed

to keep my cool solely braced with the knowledge I had

something in my pocket that would ultimately save me.

In my wildest racing thoughts, I was picturing a

short-barreled gun with a full clip of hollow-point bul¬

lets ready to fly. Already, I was visualizing pulling it out,

spinning around lightning fast and blasting Jackson

four or five times, rapid-fire, like Clint Eastwood in his

Dirty Harry days. The trouble was, I wasn't sure it was

a gun, wasn't even sure it was a weapon in my pocket.

Junie might have stuck a bottle of aspirin, or a pack of

mint chewing gum in there—it could be anything—but

she'd never said it was a weapon. N o , but that was what

my desperation-fueled brain sure was hoping for.

So with those conflicting thoughts bouncing around

my brain, I reached into the left pocket and my hand

closed around—

I had no idea what it was. Certainly not a gun, that

was for sure. My heart felt like it stopped beating for

several seconds, my blood running cold within my veins

as my fingers numbly explored the contours of the item

in my pocket.

What the hell is it?

It felt like a rectangular piece of plastic or wood,

maybe five inches long, the corners rounded a little bit.

It had a familiar feel, but what was it? I almost broke

into a run then, almost bolted for the trees, panic higher

on my list of priorities than common sense. I probably

would have—definitely would have—risking the inevi¬

table bullet in my back had it not been for the hard little

button I found on the object with my t h u m b . I calmed

down a bit, realizing what it was Junie had given me.

A knife.

N o t j u s t any knife—a switchblade—the little button

under my t h u m b the trigger that would activate the

hidden blade. In my relief I nearly pushed the hutton,

which would have buggered everything up nicely. Just

to make sure I didn't accidentally do it, I took my hand

back out of my pocket and tried to think of some way I

could get the j u m p on my would-be executioner and

use the knife with enough force and accuracy to disable

Jackson before he could use his gun. No matter how

many scenarios I flashed through, all of them ended

with me getting my brains blown out. After all, I had to

turn around, pull out the knife, push the trigger, lunge

in real close, and try killing Jackson with one stab of

the blade. All he had to do was shoot me the second he

detected any funny business. I'd probably get turned

around okay, but the second Jackson saw me pull the

knife he'd fire without thinking twice. There was no

way I would get close enough to take him out, but even

with the odds heavily stacked against me, I had to at

least try.

We were approaching the edge of the forest and

Jackson grunted and used his gun to prod me toward a

narrow path that led into the trees. The path presum¬

ably would lead us to the makeshift graveyard Drake

mentioned, but I could see along the path for quite a

ways and there was no sign of anything except a hard

dirt trail half-covered in fallen leaves. That was good;

at least I had a little time on my hands to figure out

what I was going to do. I took a few deep breaths and

tried my best to calm down.

We walked on. One curve of the trail led to the next,

taking us deeper and deeper into the forest but never

leading to a graveyard. It was quiet in here, creepy quiet,

not peaceful quiet, as if the trees and animals all held

their breaths as Jackson and I walked by. Maybe the

forest knew death walked hand in hand with us, the

Reaper still deciding which of us to claim.

Think, Mike. Think.

"Move it, jerk-off," Jackson said, prodding me with

his gun again because I was moving too slow.

Maybe that was it. If I couldn't close the gap between

us without getting shot, maybe I could get him to do it

for me. Every time I slowed down a little, Jackson would

smack me with the gun to get me moving again. I ex¬

perimented with it, slightly slowing up my pace. Sure

e n o u g h , A , Jackson dug me in my kidneys and swore at

me to move my ass. If I could time it j u s t right, be wait¬