The Vivisectionist (42 page)

“That’s crazy,” said Jack. “It’s just that nobody has been here to make it dirty.”

“Does your mom leave the guest room made up all the time?” Stephen asked.

“No, she makes it up right before company comes,” answered Jack.

“Yeah, that’s because everything would smell stale if she didn’t.”

“Maybe she’s just lazy and puts stuff off until the last minute,” said Jack.

“I’ve only known your mom a couple of weeks, and even I know that’s not true,” answered Stephen.

Jack thought about that for a second before countering, “Well, maybe the same people hired to replace the money, also keep this room clean.”

“Let’s just hope it’s that simple,” said Stephen. “It seems more like someone knew we were coming.” Stephen sat down on the edge of the other bed and looked through the drawers of the nightstand. He found a pencil, a pen, and a blank notepad. Jack flipped through the channels on the television.

Suddenly, Jack sat up, staring at the TV. Stephen looked up and was shocked by what he saw on the screen—he saw an overhead view of someone strapped down to a reclining chair. They instantly knew they weren’t looking at a regular television show. It looked more like a closed-circuit shot they would see in a convenience store.

“Holy fuck,” Stephen gasped, he glanced at Jack who sat slack-jawed, eyes locked on the video. “That kid is naked. 
That
 can’t be cable.”

The boy appeared young—younger than Jack and Stephen, and he was bound to the chair at his wrists, ankles, and around his torso. His painted skin resembled the painting on the wall in the drawing room—he had an anatomical drawing on his skin.

“Nope,” said Jack, “not cable. That’s Gabe Vigue—my neighbor’s kid.”

“What?” Stephen jumped up. “That's the kid who's been missing all this time? He’s still alive—we’ve got to help him.”

“Hold up—not necessarily,” said Jack. “It could just be a tape.”

“Yes, okay, true,” said Stephen. “Let’s go get an adult—one of your parents, or that kid’s dad or something.”

Jack didn’t react to the suggestion at first, then he tore himself away from the video and looked at Stephen. “Wait now. That’s not smart at all.”

“Why not?” Stephen challenged.

“We don’t have any evidence of anything, for one. Except for breaking and entering, we’ve got tons of physical evidence of that,” said Jack. “What are we going to say? We broke into this place for weeks and then saw a blurry overhead shot of a kid on a nineteen-inch TV? Who’s going to believe that?”

“We have to do something, Jack. If that’s the kid, then what if he’s still alive and we don’t help him?”

“That’s what I’m thinking, we’ll try to help him,” Jack reasoned. “Or, if we can come up with a way to 
prove
 that he’s here, then we can go get the cops.”

“Alright, but we have to have a deadline,” said Stephen. “I say if we don’t find anything by tomorrow then we have to tell someone.”

“Yeah, okay,” agreed Jack. He leaned over to the remote mounted on the nightstand and changed the channel. He surfed up through the rest of the channels until he looped back around. “Maybe we should watch this for a bit to see if there are any clues.”

“I think that’s a waste of time,” replied Stephen. “How much time do we have before we have to leave?”

“For what?” asked Jack.

“To get back for lunch—your mom said.”

“Oh yeah,” Jack consulted the clock on his phone. “About forty-five minutes.”

“Let’s see what else we can find,” said Stephen.

“Maybe we should split up,” offered Jack.

“No way,” said Stephen.

After switching off the television, Jack stood up and joined Stephen, who headed for the door. Stephen put his hand on the door and then paused. “I want to see something,” he said to Jack. He crossed the typical-looking hotel room again to the curtains on the far wall. They looked like they might hide floor-to-ceiling windows, but when Stephen pulled them aside he revealed a crude brick wall. The mortar was slopped between the bricks and spilled on the carpet in several places.

Stephen caught Jack again at the door and they headed into the hallway. They tried each door, Jack taking the right-hand of the hall and Stephen taking the left. All the doors were locked until they got to the end. Jack’s last door was open. Instead of a number next to the frame, this one said “Vending” and showed an illustration of a glass filled with ice cubes. The door opened out and Jack pulled the handle revealing a small room with several machines, fluorescent lights, and a tile floor.

“Now what?” said Stephen, walking past Jack into the vending room. Jack followed him in and let the door close behind them. “Wait! The door.” yelled Stephen. It was too late, the door closed behind Jack.

“What?” said Jack. He backed up a step and opened the door a crack. “It’s fine—it didn’t lock or anything,” he said.

“Okay—I just want to be careful,” said Stephen.

Together, they looked at the machines. The small room contained an ice machine, a soda machine, and a machine that dispensed snacks, gum, and candy. The soda and candy machines were lit up and the ice machine hummed softly. Jack pressed the lever on the ice machine and a small handful dropped into the basin below the dispenser. Pressing a button on the soda machine caused the display to light up with “1.50” for a few seconds.

“Expensive,” Jack said.

“So, dead end?” asked Stephen.

“Look at the floor,” said Jack.

Black, parallel scuff marks marred the floor in front of the soda machine.  Stephen dropped to the floor and pressed the side of his face to the tile so he could see under the machine.

“Help me pull,” he said to Jack. Stephen sat up, braced his feet against the snack machine, and pulled on the bottom of the soda machine. Jack pulled from the left side, about halfway up. The machine slid across the tile: it stood on plastic pads.

When they pulled the soda machine out past the faces of the other machines, they found a large hole in the dusty wall behind.

“Pull a little more,” said Stephen. Jack stood on the left side of the machine and Stephen on the right. They pulled until the machine hit the far wall, but that only gave them ten inches of clearance. Jack squeezed through the gap and then Stephen followed him from his side. The dust on the floor showed a path of many footprints—back and forth through the grime. The wall had an egg-shaped hole, about four-feet high.

They had to pull out their flashlights again.

Jack stepped through the hole first. He found himself in a dirty passage inside the walls. He shone his light around and took in his surroundings.

“It’s like a secret passage,” said Jack. “Almost like the attic space.”

Stephen ducked through the opening and agreed, “Yeah, just like it.”

The passage led off to the right and then turned right.

“We must be behind one of the other rooms,” said Jack.

Light came through a small hole on his right, about shoulder level. Jack crouched down and looked through it.

“What is it, another hotel room?” asked Stephen.

“Yeah, but it’s got a bunch of books in it,” Jack replied.

“Let me see,” said Stephen.

Jack stepped aside and Stephen put his eye up to the hole. It looked like the mirror of the room they had been in before, but from the back. At the far end he saw the inside of a hotel door. The room still had beds, but bookcases took up every other section of wall. About half of the shelves contained hardcover books and the other half had journals.

“I wonder why the light is on,” whispered Stephen. “Do you think someone is in there?”

“Where? In the bathroom?” asked Jack. “You can see the bathroom door is open and it doesn’t look like there’s a light on in there.”

“Shhh. Yeah, but maybe someone is hiding below this hole,” Stephen pointed down to the wall in front of him.

“Nah,” said Jack. “Let’s see where this goes.”

Stephen turned away reluctantly. If he pulled his eye away, he thought he might see someone looking back at him, so he backed up very slowly.

“Come on,” Jack called from up ahead. Stephen rushed to catch up and get back in the protective bubble of Jack’s confidence.

The next ray of light came from the left side. Jack smiled as he looked through the hole.

“Well, what is it?” asked Stephen.

“You look, but I think it’s the room we saw in the video,” answered Jack, excited.

“Really?” Stephen asked. He approached the hole cautiously, not sure he wanted to see what was inside.

Jack was right, it did look a lot like the room from the video: the tile, and the blue counters with white cabinets behind. But he didn't see a chair or a boy, and those things dominated his memory of the video.

“Could be, but it’s hard to say,” said Stephen.

“Well it might not be the exact same room, but at least it seems like that video was probably shot here somewhere,” said Jack.

“So how do we get on the other side of this wall?” asked Stephen. Despite the peep-hole, the walls looked very solid.

“Let’s keep going, I’m sure we’ll find a way,” said Jack.

They found no more peep-holes on that stretch, and soon the passage turned left.

“I bet the portraits in the red room are on the other side of that wall.” Jack pointed to the wall on their right. “And there must be another hallway somewhere that way,” he pointed back to their left.

“If you say so. I’ve given up trying to make sense of this place,” said Stephen.

Ahead the passage turned left again and they saw a brighter light. Through a rectangular opening, the light spilled down at a steep angle.  

They could fit through the hole, but a piece of big wooden furniture blocked the way.  Getting low to the ground, Jack saw the source of the light: a lamp on top of the piece.

Jack tried to push the obstruction. “Give me a hand,” he whispered to Stephen. Joining Jack on the floor, Stephen pushed and they managed to slide the heavy piece a few inches away from the wall.

“That thing must weigh a ton,” said Stephen softly. “Wait, did you hear something?”

“No, why?” hissed Jack.

“Then why are we whispering?” asked Stephen.

“I don’t know—because we can’t see inside this room?” replied Jack.

“But we’re moving the furniture. If we’re worried about someone being in there, don’t you think he would notice the dresser moving around?” whispered Stephen.

Jack snickered under his breath, but the situation didn't amuse Stephen at all. Stephen was mostly frightened, and a little exhilarated, but not at all amused.

“Let’s just push,” said Jack in a low voice.

On the next couple of pushes, they managed to synchronize their efforts and slid the furniture away from the hole enough to squeeze through. Jack went first, leaving his backpack and flashlight behind, and then moved the dresser away from the wall enough so that Stephen could hand them back. Stephen emerged and found himself in a room that looked identical to the first hotel room they had entered. The only major difference was the blank back wall—instead of hasty brick covered by a curtain, this was just white with a painting of the ocean in the middle.

Jack crossed the room, taking inventory. He poked his head in the bathroom and then came back to Stephen. “Looks empty,” he said.

“Want to check the TV?” asked Stephen.

“Yeah, okay,” said Jack.

Stephen turned on the TV and scanned the channels. This room didn't get the channel with the boy strapped to the chair.

Jack was distracted—not watching to see what happened with the television. He wandered into the bathroom and came out holding a towel. “Someone’s staying here,” he said.

Still flipping channels, Stephen had settled to the edge of the bed. It took him a few seconds to process what Jack was saying. “Wait, what?” he jumped up. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus, don’t freak out,” said Jack. “He’s not here now.”

“Fuck that,” Stephen objected. “He could be back at any second.” He crossed around the bed and then doubled back to turn the television off. He thought about it and then used the tail of his t-shirt to wipe his fingerprints off the remote. “Come on!”