At the sight of Patrick's body, Kevin's heart was gripped with grief. No, he thought. I must maintain my composure until my task is complete. Kevin paused a moment to collect himself. Finally, he was ready.
Snapping latex gloves onto his hands, Kevin somberly trod to the steel table. Picking up a silver scalpel, he held it up, where it glinted in the light of the bare bulb dangling directly above the center of the table. "So much has been done," he exclaimed, enunciating every word with utmost care. "More, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation!"
With that, Kevin bent down to cut the stitches that held together the corpse's chest from his previous incisions. Kevin then pulled apart the sides of the rib cage like the bascules of a drawbridge, the corpse's sternum having been delicately sawed in half. Inside Patrick's chest cavity, a collection of electrical wires intertwined with the blood vessels and sinews, the result of Kevin's three years of labor. Several of the wires originated at either of two points on opposite sides of the heart, corresponding to the places where the two pads of a defibrillator are placed. From there, the wires branched throughout Patrick's body, down his arms and legs to the tips of his fingers and toes. Scars all along his body verified their presence. However, Kevin's greatest task was yet to come: Reinvigorating Patrick's brain. Kevin knew that drowning deprived the brain of oxygen, the real cause of Patrick's death. Cardiac arrest was a secondary effect. His years as a lifeguard had taught him that much. After one final inspection to ensure that the wires were properly secured, Kevin refolded Patrick's rib cage and began to sew up his chest again, delicately lacing the stitches from the corpse's navel to the space between its collarbones.
Now that the corpse's chest had been sewn up, Kevin was ready to start on the spinal cord. But first, he needed coffee. Lots of it. It was going to be a long night.
Doffing the gloves, Kevin cracked open the door of apartment 981, surveying the corridor for signs of human life. Seeing none, he slipped out into the hallway and locked the door behind him. He sprinted down the stairs, out the front door of Washington Heights, and down the street to the coffee/convenience store, not wanting to lose any time that could be directed toward his precious task. He ordered an extra large black coffee with a double shot of espresso from the red blouse-clad cashier, whose stunning looks Kevin was too busy to notice. Upon receiving it, dashed back to room 981 as quickly as he had come.
Kevin gently set the coffee down and locked the door behind him. Turning to face Patrick's body, he was filled with a tingling sensation: he knew the day was drawing near when he would have Patrick back. Taking a sip of the coffee (slightly burnt as usual), he felt his veins surging with caffeine, amplifying the feeling of excitement. Kevin wondered if this is how Patrick would feel once the lifeblood began to flow through his veins again.
But never mind that. He had to get back to work. Kevin gently rotated the corpse so that it lay flat on its chest. Having once again donned a pair of gloves, Kevin cut two slits in Patrick's back, one on either side of the spinal cord. He then began to dexterously thread a wire through Patrick's vertebrae, starting near the pelvis and working his way up toward the base of the skull. It was a long and tedious process. Kevin alternated each vertebra with a sip of coffee.
Several hours passed, and Kevin had only inserted a wire on one side of the spinal cord. He would have to save the other side for the next night. Taking some surgical tape that he had pilfered from the free clinic down the street, he temporarily closed the incisions. Peeling off the gloves, he turned to the door. At the door, he paused to steal one last glance at Patrick for the night and to whisper, "Good night." Then, a glistening tear rolling down his cheek, he slipped into the hallway.
Walking through the corridor to his apartment next door, Kevin was brought back to reality by a faint whimpering. He froze. Maria was sitting in front of her door, sobbing. Kevin panicked. No one was allowed to know that he had been in apartment 981. No one. No one should have the opportunity to come close to suspecting that he was up to something. Kevin hoped that she was too caught up in her tears to notice that the apartment he had come from was not his own. He sat down beside her and waited for her crying to subside.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
A Fatal Evening
It had been the worst day of Kevin's life. EVER.
It started out as a cool, crisp October evening, three years previous. Kevin and Patrick were on their way home from a Halloween party on the other side of the Allegheny. They had enjoyed the party, which had been held at the enormous home of one of Kevin and Patrick's wealthier friends from their soccer league. Once the party wrapped up, Kevin climbed into Patrick's old BMW with his friend at the wheel. The roads, empty at this late hour, were already beginning to glisten with dew. After driving for ten minutes, Patrick merged onto the arching 31st Street Bridge. When they were about halfway across the bridge, a truck - obviously driven by someone who had too much to drink - suddenly veered into the lane in front of the BMW. Patrick swerved - the wrong way. The BMW broke through the roadside barrier and plunged into the Allegheny River below.
One moment, Kevin had been chatting and joking with Patrick. The next, he was trapped, rapidly submerging into the gloomy Allegheny. Kevin panicked. All that he knew was that he had to get out. He unbuckled his seatbelt. He shoved on the door of the BMW, no easy task due to the pressure of all the water. Thrusting himself out of the car against the incoming surge of murky water, Kevin swam in the direction that he thought was up. Finally, he broke the surface and swam toward the nearest shore, that of Washington's Landing, an island in the middle of the Allegheny.
Shivering, Kevin crawled ashore. Turning around, he could see the lights of the BMW slowly fading away as the car sank to the bottom of the muddy river. What he didn't see was Patrick. Frantic, Kevin pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911. Amazingly, the phone worked despite its venture underwater, though Kevin could hardly hear over the static.
"911, what is your problem?" the operator asked.
"My friend...just drove...off a bridge," Kevin gasped.
"What is your location?"
"Washington's Landing, 31st Street Bridge."
"Emergency services are on their way."
"I can't see him anywhere," Kevin shouted.
"Stay calm, stay calm," the operator replied. "Whom can't you see?"
"Patrick, my friend, the one who was driving."
"Once the River Patrol arrives, they'll be able to help you find your friend. Just stay on the line until they get there."
Lights flashing, the police showed up, followed by an ambulance and even a firetruck. Kevin could already see a boat out on the river searching for the sunken BMW. A medic tried to convince Kevin to get into an ambulance to warm up so that he wouldn't get hypothermia, but Kevin refused to cooperate until they had found Patrick.
A little over an hour later, the river patrol was able to pull the car up from the bottom of the river. Patrick was inside, still buckled into his seat, hunched over in pallid death. Kevin was so devastated that he could no longer stand. The medic finally guided him into the back of the ambulance, which drove off to the local hospital.
Kevin awoke the next morning not knowing where he was. Looking around, he realized he was in the hospital. That's when it hit him: Patrick was dead.
Kevin's life was shattered. He had known Patrick for as long as he could remember. The two friends had done everything together, from soccer to orchestra. They were virtually inseparable. Everyone they knew couldn't think of one without thinking of the other.
Kevin was so racked with grief that he didn't show up to school for weeks. His grades began to slip, and he lost weight. Not even an acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins cheered him up. With the death of his closest companion, his life would never be the same again.
It started out as a cool, crisp October evening, three years previous. Kevin and Patrick were on their way home from a Halloween party on the other side of the Allegheny. They had enjoyed the party, which had been held at the enormous home of one of Kevin and Patrick's wealthier friends from their soccer league. Once the party wrapped up, Kevin climbed into Patrick's old BMW with his friend at the wheel. The roads, empty at this late hour, were already beginning to glisten with dew. After driving for ten minutes, Patrick merged onto the arching 31st Street Bridge. When they were about halfway across the bridge, a truck - obviously driven by someone who had too much to drink - suddenly veered into the lane in front of the BMW. Patrick swerved - the wrong way. The BMW broke through the roadside barrier and plunged into the Allegheny River below.
One moment, Kevin had been chatting and joking with Patrick. The next, he was trapped, rapidly submerging into the gloomy Allegheny. Kevin panicked. All that he knew was that he had to get out. He unbuckled his seatbelt. He shoved on the door of the BMW, no easy task due to the pressure of all the water. Thrusting himself out of the car against the incoming surge of murky water, Kevin swam in the direction that he thought was up. Finally, he broke the surface and swam toward the nearest shore, that of Washington's Landing, an island in the middle of the Allegheny.
Shivering, Kevin crawled ashore. Turning around, he could see the lights of the BMW slowly fading away as the car sank to the bottom of the muddy river. What he didn't see was Patrick. Frantic, Kevin pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911. Amazingly, the phone worked despite its venture underwater, though Kevin could hardly hear over the static.
"911, what is your problem?" the operator asked.
"My friend...just drove...off a bridge," Kevin gasped.
"What is your location?"
"Washington's Landing, 31st Street Bridge."
"Emergency services are on their way."
"I can't see him anywhere," Kevin shouted.
"Stay calm, stay calm," the operator replied. "Whom can't you see?"
"Patrick, my friend, the one who was driving."
"Once the River Patrol arrives, they'll be able to help you find your friend. Just stay on the line until they get there."
Lights flashing, the police showed up, followed by an ambulance and even a firetruck. Kevin could already see a boat out on the river searching for the sunken BMW. A medic tried to convince Kevin to get into an ambulance to warm up so that he wouldn't get hypothermia, but Kevin refused to cooperate until they had found Patrick.
A little over an hour later, the river patrol was able to pull the car up from the bottom of the river. Patrick was inside, still buckled into his seat, hunched over in pallid death. Kevin was so devastated that he could no longer stand. The medic finally guided him into the back of the ambulance, which drove off to the local hospital.
Kevin awoke the next morning not knowing where he was. Looking around, he realized he was in the hospital. That's when it hit him: Patrick was dead.
Kevin's life was shattered. He had known Patrick for as long as he could remember. The two friends had done everything together, from soccer to orchestra. They were virtually inseparable. Everyone they knew couldn't think of one without thinking of the other.
Kevin was so racked with grief that he didn't show up to school for weeks. His grades began to slip, and he lost weight. Not even an acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins cheered him up. With the death of his closest companion, his life would never be the same again.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Upon Returning Home
Kevin emerged from the SMARTA station feeling tired as always but refreshed by the time spent with his friends at school that day. After crossing the street and passing a few dimly lit storefronts, Kevin entered Ming-Ming's. He ordered some sesame chicken and rice to go.
Having received the greasy, white paper to-go box, he sauntered out the front door of the restaurant and headed back to Washington Heights. Kevin entered the cramped lobby and started climbing the stairs. On the landing between the first and second floors, his friend Elizabeth Farraday bumped into him as she darted down the stairs.
Great, thought Kevin. The last thing he needed now was a delay. He had work to get to. After deflecting Elizabeth's question to his neighbor, Maria, Elizabeth offered to take Kevin's bag upstairs for him. Kevin gratefully accepted, watching Elizabeth dash back up the stairs.
Upon reaching the ninth floor, Kevin proceeded to his apartment. He waved at Elizabeth and Maria, picking up his bag which lay by his door. Upon entering, Kevin set down his bag by the door as usual and sat back down in the creaky chair in which he ate breakfast. Stretching back with his feet on the table, Kevin began to shovel the sesame chicken and rice in his mouth.
When he had finished eating, he chucked the to-go box in the trash as he headed for the door again. Peering through the eyehole, he saw that Elizabeth and Maria were no longer in the hallway. He cracked the door open and slipped into the corridor. He tiptoed to the apartment next door, #981, and got out his key ring. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside.
The room was frigid. Kevin's every breath formed a small cloud of steam. All around the walls were makeshift shelves. Some held containers of every chemical imaginable. Others held vials of herbs that presumably had magic powers. Along one wall, the shelves held an assembly of electrical wires and mechanical parts. In the center of the room was an industrial-sized stainless steel table. And in the center of that table, bound with chains bolted to the table, was a corpse.
"Hello, Patrick," Kevin said.
Having received the greasy, white paper to-go box, he sauntered out the front door of the restaurant and headed back to Washington Heights. Kevin entered the cramped lobby and started climbing the stairs. On the landing between the first and second floors, his friend Elizabeth Farraday bumped into him as she darted down the stairs.
Great, thought Kevin. The last thing he needed now was a delay. He had work to get to. After deflecting Elizabeth's question to his neighbor, Maria, Elizabeth offered to take Kevin's bag upstairs for him. Kevin gratefully accepted, watching Elizabeth dash back up the stairs.
Upon reaching the ninth floor, Kevin proceeded to his apartment. He waved at Elizabeth and Maria, picking up his bag which lay by his door. Upon entering, Kevin set down his bag by the door as usual and sat back down in the creaky chair in which he ate breakfast. Stretching back with his feet on the table, Kevin began to shovel the sesame chicken and rice in his mouth.
When he had finished eating, he chucked the to-go box in the trash as he headed for the door again. Peering through the eyehole, he saw that Elizabeth and Maria were no longer in the hallway. He cracked the door open and slipped into the corridor. He tiptoed to the apartment next door, #981, and got out his key ring. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside.
The room was frigid. Kevin's every breath formed a small cloud of steam. All around the walls were makeshift shelves. Some held containers of every chemical imaginable. Others held vials of herbs that presumably had magic powers. Along one wall, the shelves held an assembly of electrical wires and mechanical parts. In the center of the room was an industrial-sized stainless steel table. And in the center of that table, bound with chains bolted to the table, was a corpse.
"Hello, Patrick," Kevin said.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Kevin Lansing
Kevin awoke to the tinny buzzing of his alarm clock. The red LCD lights read 6:00. Kevin groaned. Not another early morning, he thought. He smacked the snooze button, threw back the covers, and sat up. His feet dangling off the edge of the bed, Kevin surveyed his room.
The cramped apartment was run down, but that was to be expected on a student's budget. The window in the corner of the room was cracked and barely transparent. Through his bedroom door, Kevin could see the sparsely furnished main room. He could hear the leaky faucet in the bathroom dripping at regular intervals. It wasn't much, but it satisfied his needs. Beyond that, no one would ever think he was up to anything in this downtrodden corner of Baltimore.
Kevin pushed himself onto his feet and staggered into the bathroom. The tile felt cool beneath his feet. After disrobing, Kevin climbed into the shower. The lukewarm water running across his face really helped to wake him up.
After drying himself off and dressing in a wrinkly tee shirt and jeans, Kevin plodded into the apartment's kitchenette. There, he popped two Eggo waffles - freezer burned as usual - into the toaster and poured himself a glass of juice. Sitting down in a creaky chair at the table, he gulped down the waffles, now drowned in syrup. He washed everything down with the juice.
Glancing at his watch, Kevin trudged into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Glancing in the crusty mirror, he noticed the dark bags under his eyes. They gave Kevin's normally handsome countenance a haggard look. Spitting into the sink, Kevin put down his toothbrush.
Picking up the bag that he had carelessly dumped by the front door the night before, Kevin left his apartment. As he locked the door, he noticed that his neighbor across the hall - Maria was her name, he thought - was muttering something to herself about numbers. Not giving it a second thought, he brushed past her and clambered down the stairs and out the front door of Washington Heights.
Having crossed the street, he plodded down the grimy stairs into the SMARTA station. Finding a seat on the eastbound platform, he waited for the #9 train, which would take him to school. As he sat, he pondered the long day that lay ahead of him.
The cramped apartment was run down, but that was to be expected on a student's budget. The window in the corner of the room was cracked and barely transparent. Through his bedroom door, Kevin could see the sparsely furnished main room. He could hear the leaky faucet in the bathroom dripping at regular intervals. It wasn't much, but it satisfied his needs. Beyond that, no one would ever think he was up to anything in this downtrodden corner of Baltimore.
Kevin pushed himself onto his feet and staggered into the bathroom. The tile felt cool beneath his feet. After disrobing, Kevin climbed into the shower. The lukewarm water running across his face really helped to wake him up.
After drying himself off and dressing in a wrinkly tee shirt and jeans, Kevin plodded into the apartment's kitchenette. There, he popped two Eggo waffles - freezer burned as usual - into the toaster and poured himself a glass of juice. Sitting down in a creaky chair at the table, he gulped down the waffles, now drowned in syrup. He washed everything down with the juice.
Glancing at his watch, Kevin trudged into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Glancing in the crusty mirror, he noticed the dark bags under his eyes. They gave Kevin's normally handsome countenance a haggard look. Spitting into the sink, Kevin put down his toothbrush.
Picking up the bag that he had carelessly dumped by the front door the night before, Kevin left his apartment. As he locked the door, he noticed that his neighbor across the hall - Maria was her name, he thought - was muttering something to herself about numbers. Not giving it a second thought, he brushed past her and clambered down the stairs and out the front door of Washington Heights.
Having crossed the street, he plodded down the grimy stairs into the SMARTA station. Finding a seat on the eastbound platform, he waited for the #9 train, which would take him to school. As he sat, he pondered the long day that lay ahead of him.
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