The Dead and the Dying Page 23

  I can hear someone moving nearby, but the blade is still spinning. I wait breathlessly for some kind of response. Sam Gazade would have started cutting by now.

  "You don't want to do this," I say again, starting to believe that it's true. "You really don't. You're forcing yourself, pushing yourself, but all this killing and torture and pain... it's not you. Not the real you, anyway."

  I wait for a reply.

  "Let me see you," I continue, and then finally I decide that I have to take a risk. "Paula?" I ask, thinking back to that weird girl I met at the university campus. I'm not certain that she's the one holding the saw, and it could just as easily be Dr. Huston or perhaps even someone else entirely, but I have to go with my instincts. After all, it's my instincts that have saved me so many times before. Dawson hates it when I make these huge leaps in logic, but sometimes I feel a thread of truth and follow it. I don't even know how it works. I just know that, most times, I'm right. "Paula, it's okay," I add. "There's a way back from this. You don't want to kill me. Put the saw down and we'll talk."

  I wait. My heart's pounding, as if it might burst out of my chest at any moment.

  "At least let me know if I'm right," I say. "Gazade always faced his victims at the end. If you can't do that, you're nothing like him. You're not even close. I need to see your face, Paula. You owe me that. I dare you to look me in the eye."

  Seconds later, I feel her cold finger brushing against my scar again. It's as if she's still trying to trace the line, to locate the perfect starting point. I swear to God, I've never let anyone touch the scar before, partly because the skin is still so sensitive, even after all these years, and partly because I don't want to be reminded of what happened.

  "Look at me!" I say firmly, starting to let my anger show. "Look me in the fucking eyes!"

  I feel the tip of her finger run across the smooth ridge of the scar, feeling the tiny ridge of skin.

  "Look at me!" I shout. "Don't just -"

  Before I can finish, I feel the tip of the bone-saw plunge into my flesh, ripping the scar apart as the blade spins furiously through the meat until it starts to grind against my pelvis. A flash of pain rips through my body and I can't help but scream. It's as if none of the past twelve years have happened, and I'm still back on Gazade's table, strapped down and ready to die. This time, however, the bone-saw is going deeper, and I can feel the vibrations passing all the way through my skeleton. Still screaming, I feel hot, wet blood on my skin as the saw's angle changes slightly. If this is Paula, she's going further and deeper than Gazade ever managed. Last time, I'd managed to get free by this point, but as I grip the sides of the table and try to fight the pain -

  Suddenly I feel it.

  The table leg is loose, just like last time.

  In fact, exactly like last time.

  For a fraction of a second, I don't react. It's as if I can't believe that the same thing could be happening again. Then again, I don't believe in coincidences, so for some insane reason this has to be intentional. Before I know what's really happening, I start pulling on the leg and manage to get it loose; seconds later, I manage to swing it down toward my attacker, and I feel it make contact with a human body. The bone-saw is still grinding into my pelvis, but when I reach down, I realize that no-one's holding it. Somehow, despite the fact that I'm starting to feel light-headed, I manage to pull the saw away, before using it to carefully cut the ropes that are holding me down. Finally, I sit up and see that Paula Clarke is stumbling over to the door, holding the side of her head. Looking down, I see that the bottom of the table leg is bloodied, which I guess means I hit her hard.

  Freeing myself from the last of the ropes, I slide off the table. I'm bleeding heavily and I know it's only a matter of time before I pass out. I grab a rag from a nearby bench and try to staunch the flow of blood, but my head feels dizzy and I'm convinced I've only got a few seconds left. As I stumble across the room, I spot a video camera pointed straight at me, with a bright red light on the front indicating that it's recording. Nearby, I spot my jacket, and when I hurry over and go through the pockets, I find that my phone is in there. I quickly turn it on and bring up Dawson's number. It's hard to believe that the exact same thing could be happening again, but as I drop to my knees, I realize that this is how it was always supposed to be. The copycat, for some reason, was copying every aspect of Gazade's crimes, even down to the failure to kill me.

  She wanted me to escape.

  "Where have you been?" Dawson asks as he answers. "I've been trying to -"

  "Help me!" I splutter, with blood in my mouth. "It's happening again!"

  "What's happening again?"

  "Track my phone," I whisper, before dropping the handset. I try to get to my feet, but the effort is too much and I collapse onto my side. I can hear Dawson's voice screaming at me from the phone, but I can't make out anything that he's saying. Closing my eyes, I feel myself drifting deeper and deeper into darkness, much deeper than ever before, and finally I realize that maybe, this time, no-one's going to find me in time. At least this way, I went out fighting, which beats dying of cancer any day.

  Paula Clarke

  "Where are you going?" Dr. Huston shouts, hurrying after me. "Paula! Stop! Let me see where you're hurt!"

  As I stumble out the door and up the stairs, I put a hand to the side of my head and see blood all over my fingers. Some of it's from Mason, but some of it's from my bloodied mouth. When she hit me with the table leg, she connected with my teeth, smashing several of them. The pain is intense, and when I try to shout for help, the only sound that comes out is an unintelligible mess. I can feel teeth hanging by the nerves in my mouth, while a large slice has been torn away from my tongue.

  "Paula!" Dr. Huston shouts, grabbing my arm and forcing me to turn and face her. "Jesus Christ, you're a mess. What the hell did she do to you?"

  I try to tell her to leave me alone, but I can't get any words out. Most of my front teeth are smashed and broken, and in the impact I accidentally bit off one side of my tongue. Blood flows from my mouth as I take a step backward, but I miss my footing and fall to the ground. It's as if I'm in a daze and can no longer keep my body under control. The pain has brought reality crashing back to my mind. All I want is for the agony to stop. I reach out and grab Dr. Huston's arm, begging her to help me, but she takes a step back.

  "This is a mess," she says calmly.

  I try to speak, but more blood flows from my mouth.

  "You know the study has to be protected, don't you?" Dr. Huston asks, standing over me. "I had to give Mason the same opportunity that Gazade gave her. He made a mistake, but I had to replicate that mistake, and I knew she'd realize eventually. I told you that we were copying Gazade's murders to the letter, Paula. What did you expect? It would serve no purpose if you'd managed to kill that woman. The whole point is that I want to see how society reacts to a woman who commits the same crimes that Sam Gazade committed. If you'd killed Mason, you'd have been seen as worse than Gazade. You need to be seen as the same."

  "Why?" I try to shout, but there's too much blood in my mouth. A few minutes ago, she was telling me that I had to complete the murder that Gazade got wrong, and now she says I was never supposed to kill Mason. I don't understand what she really wants. If she'd just tell me the truth, I'd give it to her. Anything. Instead, it's as if she's trying to manipulate me. I thought she'd help me and keep me safe, but she's looking at me as if I'm a failure.

  "Paula," she continues, "I'm afraid I wasn't entirely open with you about your role. You had to believe that you had a chance to kill Mason, but I also had to ensure that she had a chance to get loose. You're not really my assistant, Paula. You're more... another specimen. And now we're ready for phase two of the study, which is going to be the hardest part."

  I try to crawl away, but the pain in my mouth is too strong. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear police sirens, and it's as if they're getting closer. I don't understand how they could have found this place, not afte
r Dr. Huston promised that we'd been so careful. I believed every word she said. I thought she'd protect me.

  "It's going to be okay," Dr. Huston continues. "Whatever happens to you, I hope you'll take comfort from the knowledge that you're part of the most ambitious study that has ever been conducted. Men have been killing women since the dawn of time, often in horrific ways. They torture them and maim them. They cut them up and carve their bodies. I had to find out if a woman could do the same thing. Believe me, I've got enough material now to write the definitive study on the subject. I'll have to wait to reveal the truth about what happened, of course. You'll need to keep my name out of the whole thing. Don't worry, though. Eventually, when I'm ready to release my findings, I'll tell the whole story. When people realize how important this work has been, they'll hail us both as heroes. You especially, Paula. You're the one who's making the first and biggest sacrifice."

  "Help me!" I try to shout, but the blood in my mouth make it impossible for me to form proper words.

  "I'm sorry," Dr. Huston says. "I can't tell what you're saying. Just remember the importance of our work, Paula. One day, people will see that we were pioneers. Do you realize what that means? We're changing the world! We're making a profound statement. We're proving that whatever men do to women, we can do right back to them, and we're going to produce the greatest academic study of gender-influenced violence that has ever been mounted."

  I turn and try to crawl away. There are blue lights flashing in the distance, and I can see several police cars getting closer. Realizing that they're going to arrive soon and find me like this, I turn back to Dr. Huston and see that she's staring at me with an expressionless look on her face.

  "It's going to be very difficult," she says calmly, "but you're going to be lauded one day for your contribution. I promise you, Paula, that I'll be following you every step of the way. It'll take years before they get around to executing you, if ever. You're going to be the most fascinating case study. When people eventually learn about your bravery, you'll be seen as a hero. There'll be a few who'll vilify us, but as long as our work is completed, I'm certain we'll ultimately be given the credit that we're due. You did well, Paula. You did everything I expected and more."

  Looking back over at the road, I see that the police cars are just a couple of minutes away. I try to crawl toward a nearby building, hoping to hide, but the pain in my face is too strong. With blood still pouring from my mouth, I turn back to Dr. Huston, only to find that she's nowhere to be seen. I look around desperately, convinced that she wouldn't abandon me, but finally I realize that she needs to keep out of the way. After all, she can only observe me properly if she's free. We're a team, and it's time for me to play my part. I have to copy Sam Gazade with complete accuracy, and if that means that I have to give up my life, then I guess that's what I have to do. After all, it wasn't much of a life in the first place.

  "What happened?" a cop asks as he runs across the grass. Kneeling next to me, he stares at my ruined mouth and I can tell that he's horrified by what he sees.

  I try to say something, but it's as if I've hit some kind of plateau of pain. All I can do is stare at him and hope that he helps me. I look over my shoulder, hoping against hope that Dr. Huston might come back for me, but it's clear that she had to leave me here. I've done my part now, and she has to watch what happens to me next. The whole point of her study is to observe what happens to me next.

  "Where's Joanna Mason?" he asks, as several other cops run toward the building.

  I open my mouth, but teeth and blood pour out.

  "It's okay," he continues. "We're going to get you some help. Is there anyone else here? Are you alone?"

  As paramedics run toward me, I realize that my life is over. There's no way I can come back from this. They're going to find out that I killed all those people, and they're going to find my fingerprints everywhere, and they're going to lock me away forever. And then, one day, they're going to strap me down and execute me. At least I'll be able to help Dr. Huston with her project, though. In a way, that's more important than some scrappy string of a life. Without Dr. Huston, my life would have been one long stream of anger and frustration. At least this way, I get to be part of something important, and my life will actually have meaning.

  "It's okay," says Dr. Huston suddenly. "I'm here."

  Turning, I see that she's kneeling next to me, smiling at last. I don't think the paramedics and police can see her, but that doesn't matter; I can see her, which is all I need. I knew she wouldn't let me down. I knew she wouldn't just leave me here like this. As long as she's with me, looking after me, I'll be okay.

  Into Darkness part II

  (Male / Female 1.8)

  Joanna Mason

  "Are you okay?" asks Dr. Jacobs. "Would you like some assistance?"

  "I'm fine," I mutter, limping alongside him as we make our way toward the holding cells. The truth, though, is that I'm not fine. The damage to my pelvis is extensive, made doubly worse by the fact that an old injury was reopened. After my encounter with Sam Gazade twelve years ago, I ended up with nothing more than a mild limp that only became noticeable during cold spells; thanks to Paula Clarke and her efforts with a bone-saw two days ago, I'm limping like a goddamn pirate and there's a chance I'll never get back to my old swinging gait. For the first time in my life, I'm starting to feel as if I'm actually, literally disabled.

  And it hurts like a motherfucker.

  "She hasn't said very much," Jacobs continues, holding a door open for me. "Almost nothing, actually. I'm afraid she's gone all Norman Bates on us, if you'll pardon the expression. The only time she speaks, it seems to be to someone who only exists in her imagination. She seems to believe that there's someone with her at all times, talking to her, giving her instructions, and generally making her feel better about her situation."

  "Do you know who?" I ask.

  "She seems to be very much fixated on a woman named Alice Huston," he replies. "To be honest, so far, I'm not even sure that Paula understands that she's being held in a facility. She doesn't respond to any attempts to communicate with her, although she's generally very compliant when we try to move her. She just seems to have given up on our world altogether. It's a coping mechanism."

  "I know all about those," I say ruefully.

  "There's no hurry to bring her back to reality," he continues. "This is a long-term process and we're only at the beginning. It's going to be painfully slow."

  "Sounds like she's having a real party in her head," I grimace, feeling a slicing, sore sensation in my hip.

  "We're still at the beginning of the diagnostic journey," he continues, leading me along the corridor and clearly walking extra slowly for my benefit, "but I'd say she has significant schizophrenic tendencies, exacerbated by a long period during which she was given no care for her difficulties. I've seen the same kind of thing a few times before. Sometimes, these kids are so smart, they learn to hide their problems pretty effectively. People who came into contact with her probably thought she was no more than a little weird, when in fact she was battling a full-scale war in her head."

  As we reach the cell at the far end of the corridor, I turn and look through the glass pane. Sure enough, there she is: Paula Clarke, sitting on a bench and staring blankly at the opposite wall, with none of the panic or fervor I remember from the last time I saw her. There's a metal support around her mouth, with a series of pads and compressions, to deal with the injuries I caused when I hit her in the mouth. Looks like I did a good job, although it's hard to feel too satisfied; after all, Paula looks absolutely pathetic, like some kind of broken and withered little bird with a bandaged metal beak.

  "She's had two rounds of dental surgery already," Jacobs says as we stand and watch her. "She lost seven teeth in the initial impact, and another four had to be removed. A couple more are being monitored, but she also cut the side of her tongue off, probably a reflex action, and part of her upper front gum-line has been destroyed beyond repair."
He pauses. "I understand that you were responsible for these injuries."

  "Yeah," I say quietly, unable to stop staring at her, "it's all my fault." I pause for a moment, willing her to turn and look at me. Finally, I realize that her lips are moving slightly, as if she's whispering to someone in her head. There's such a strange, blank look in her eyes, and it's pretty clear that she has no idea that I'm here. "So," I say, turning to Jacobs, "I'm damn sure you didn't call me down here just to chat shit and reminisce about the good old days. What do you want?"

  He pauses, as if he's a little uncomfortable. "I want you to consider testifying on her behalf," he says finally. "I know that might seem crazy, but please, at least hear me out. When her case comes to trial, I mean. I want you to consider taking the stand for her."

  "For her?" I reply, raising an eyebrow.

  "Despite everything I've told you," he continues, "and despite the obvious concerns about her mental health and her ability to understand what she's really doing, the prosecution will undoubtedly push for the death penalty. They'll focus on the people she killed, and on their families, and they'll make Paula out to be some kind of psychopathic monster who'll kill everyone and anyone she meets. They'll put together a very convincing argument in favor of the idea that justice can only be satisfied if Paula's life is ended."

  "She's clearly insane," I point out. "Like, she's bat-shit crazy."

  "To you and me, yes," he replies, "but with a jury in the mix, and potentially an unsympathetic judge... We both know that mentally ill people have been executed before. Without your testimony, I'm worried that she could end up strapped to a table, and I don't think that would be the right course at all. It'd be a terrible waste of a life." He pauses. "Despite everything that has happened to her, and everything she's done, I don't think Paula Clarke is a bad person. I firmly believe that she can be helped, but not if a jeering crowd demands that she's strung from the nearest tree."