twelve

I’m removing my gloves when i hear him scream. Its not a piercing sissy scream, but one of confusion.

“Somebody! Help!”

Making sure the drip pole is sturdily attached onto the gurney, i unlock the wheels and begin to wheel her in. He’s not screaming anymore, and that makes me slightly uncomfortable. As i enter the room with the gurney, he notices and turns his head towards me. Instantly, the screaming resumes.

“What the fuck are you doing? Oh my god Tina!”

He’s almost crying as he attempts to free himself. Five palomar knots firmly secure him to the pole, making it almost impossible for him to even flex his pecs. His right arm is fully stretched out in front of him and tilted downwards, and it is clamped to another pole with an abnormally sized G clamp. His fist is clenched and taped together, and in between his fingers is a shiny scalpel.

I wheel her in front of him, and under the strong lights he sees exactly what i want him to see. Her torso is open, her breasts removed, her skin peeled back. Her rib cage has been partially removed, exposing her beating heart, her constantly fluctuating lungs. He continues screaming and this time, it begins to sound like a sissy scream. I position the gurney so that the scalpel in his hand is a hair’s width away from her heart. Then i turn to him. He immediately stops screaming.

“Exactly 97 days ago, my wife died on the operating table.”

I watch him for any reaction. He starts sobbing softly.

“She was a healthy woman. And she was a great human being who dedicated her entire life to saving fuckers like you.”

“I… I don’t…..”

“97 days ago, you drove your Celica right into her. And when her body hit the floor, you drove off as if nothing happened.”

He looks up at me, into my eyes. His hazel brown pupils contain my reflection, and it is one even the devil would fear. With tears in his eyes, he makes a weak attempt to speak.

“I… I’m… so….. so… sorry….”

“But its too late for apologies now isn’t it.”

I walk over to the workbench and pick up the oxy-acetylene blow torch. After adjusting the knobs so that just the right amount of oxygen and acetylene sprays out of the torch, i hold a flint lighter to the nozzle and click it. A beautiful amber flame begins spraying out of the nozzle. I twist the knobs until the amber dragon turns into an ocean blue, non-luminous ice cream cone. Satisfied, i walk over. He realises what i’m going to do and begins hyperventilating. He’s sobbing and wailing and trying desperately to regulate his breathing all at once, and the sound he’s making is annoying me.

“My wife died because i nicked her heart with a scalpel. But if you hadn’t put her on that table, nothing would’ve happen. Now, you get to kill your wife, unless you can control your reflexes. One bad move, and that scalpel will slice into your wife’s heart, ending all hope of her survival.”

I kneel down and position the torch so that the flame is about 6 inches from the top of his feet.

“Good luck.”