Of Eternal Life (2 page)

The Tormentor cocked an eyebrow and raised a recording device to chin level. “0817, subject is displaying the symptoms of aggression that have heretofore been associated with memory recollection. Has threatened death. Again.” He clicked off the recording device and slipped it into the pocket of his scrubs.

“‘What I’ve done here,’ hmm?” He leaned down until his face almost touched Eli’s. “What I’ve done here is what you signed up for, soldier. Nothing more, nothing less.” He straightened with a sneer and turned toward the door.

One of the two guards on the other side of the see-through barrier keyed a code into the door, and the hiss of released pressure and a grinding of gears announced that the door was unlocked. The Tormentor paused with his hand on the handle and turned to announce over his shoulder, “Number 140 begins in four hours. Perhaps you should use this time to gather your strength instead of waste it.” He twisted the handle and left the room.

Four hours
.

In just four hours they were going to conduct their one hundred fortieth experiment.

Number 14: gunshot wound to the chest.
The cold feel of steel pushed against his sternum. The force of the bullet driving his body into the unforgiving metal at his back. Gunpowder stinging his nostrils as his teeth chattered from the cold caused by his bleeding out.

Number 58: asphyxiation by smothering
. Excruciating burning in his lungs. The flailing of his limbs as he fought the restraints in a need to knock the oppressive hand from his mouth and nose. Stars dotting his vision as his brain fought the lack of oxygen.

His heart rate sped up to match his ragged breathing.
Number 100: dismemberment
. He couldn’t stifle the moan that memory dredged up, hearing in his mind the buzz of the bone saw, feeling the heat of whirring metal on flesh. His Tormentor had informed him that they had wanted to make the one hundredth “special.”

He was panting like an animal now.
Four hours.
In four hours, they were going to kill him.

For the one hundred fortieth time.

The heavy thump of men’s dress shoes brought all five women’s heads up from their lab work. Lisa and Mary exchanged an almost girly giggle as the door swung open and Major Taylor poked his blond head in.

Major Taylor slipped into the room. The overhead lights gleamed off his clean-cut good looks. One dimple formed as he smiled hello. All of the females seemed to melt into the stools surrounding the black slab table. Major Taylor noticed, a cocky grin appearing in response. Abilene fought a groan of annoyance. They were single-handedly setting back women’s rights by about fifty years.

“Ah, ladies, you’re all here.”

Okay, Abilene had to admit he
did
have a pretty sigh-worthy voice. It was smooth and deep and resonant. Lisa and Mary practically fanned themselves with their lab coats, and Dahlia exchanged a wink with Olive. Abilene couldn’t restrain the smile their antics brought and bent her head to her petri dish to keep it from the advancing Major.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked, coming to rest beside Abilene’s stool. His broad shoulders, paired with his height, blocked out her light, and she squinted up at his haloed silhouette.

He surveyed her work with an approving crinkle of his dark eyes, not once gazing at the others’ labs. His obvious partiality made Abilene squirm in her seat.

Her coworkers were accomplished women. Lisa and Olive had been in the same class at Johns Hopkins. Dahlia came from the University of Pennsylvania, and Mary was top of her class at Harvard. In comparison, Abilene was the dregs of the group, yet Major Taylor doted on her. Abilene wasn’t even trying anymore, and she still won his approval. Too bad
his
approval was not fulfilling.

“Um, yes, sir, everything’s great.” From across the table Dahlia gave her an encouraging smile.

“What are we working on today?”

Her mind went blank as she scrambled for an answer. What
was
she working on?
Ah, jeez.
She gazed frantically at the dish in her hand and waited for lightening to strike. Suddenly the answer was there, and she blurted out her findings as soon as her mind grasped them.

“It looks like Private Alvarez has gonorrhea.” She cringed. “Sir,” her voice cracked mid-word.

Shit
.

She winced as she met Dahlia’s wide eyes and saw Olive cover her mouth. Lisa and Mary’s mouths were slack in disbelief.

A half dozen other diagnoses in front of me, and I report that one
.

“Ah, yes, well.” Major Taylor cleared his throat and took a measured step back from Abilene and the offending petri dish. “Poor Private Alvarez.” He moved to the end of the table and used his best grin on each of the women.

“Well, ladies, we have another drill scheduled for 1200, so when you leave for lunch, go ahead and take the rest of the day off.” He threw a wink in Lisa and Mary’s direction, “Have a little fun.”

Abilene frowned, and the women met each other’s eyes. They’d had a drill three weeks ago when she first came to the hospital. In all of that time Abilene had seen exactly zero patients, spending her days running tedious labs and mailing results out to military bases. Who could they be running drills for?

There’s no one here
.

What were they hiding when the civilians cleared the building? Weapons?

Major Taylor seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts.

“It’s for the military personnel here at the hospital. No need for you to be worried,” he said. Ah, this she was used to. Her short crop of blond curls, big blue eyes, and freckled nose often elicited this don’t-worry-your-pretty-little-head response from macho men. God, she
hated
that. But at least it ensured that they underestimated her ninety percent of the time.

Not that she’d ever proved to them that they had underestimated her. But there was always a first time. She just knew it.

“Of course not,” she assured in her best big-girl voice, which only made Major Taylor’s smile soften even more.

“Okay, I’ll let you all get back to what you’re doing.” He eyed the petri dish still balanced in the palm of Abilene’s hand. “Keep up the good work.” He strode through the door, closing it behind him.

One … two . .
.

“Oh, Abilene,” Olive burst out as Lisa and Mary started laughing, “you’re my hero.”

“Yay,” Abilene mumbled under her breath as she finally set down her petri dish.

“I’m starting a fan club right now. Ladies,” Olive turned to Lisa, Mary, and Dahlia, “care to join? Dues are only drinks at lunch.”

“Honey,” Dahlia interjected as she made her way to Abilene’s side, “I’ve already founded that club.
You
can pay the dues to
me
.” She squeezed Abilene’s shoulder as she whispered for her ears only, “It’s okay. You were cute.”

“Yeah,
that’s
going to get me far in the medical field.” She turned to the others. “How soon do you think we can leave for lunch?”

Dahlia looked at the clock on the wall. “An hour. Come on,” she tugged at Abilene’s arm. “Diet Coke?” Olive, Mary, and Lisa clapped their hands in enthusiasm and jumped up and down like little kids. Abilene felt her lips tug up in a reluctant smile, recognizing their Valley-girl act as an attempt to cheer her up.

“Diet Coke can’t solve every problem, you know,” she felt obliged to point out.

Lisa gasped as Mary dramatically whispered, “Blasphemy!”

“Hey, Duke, I thought you were supposed to be smart,” accused Olive.

A genuine chuckle burst from Abilene’s lips. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” As she headed out the door she said, “Diet Cokes on me, girls.”

• • •

The rasp of a razor bounced off the unfinished stone walls as an orderly shaved Eli’s chin and cheeks. That his lower face had to be hairless for whatever was going to occur made Eli’s stomach twist in anxiety.

What was it to be this time? The Tormentor relished suspense, saving the revelation of what was to kill him until the very last possible moment. He played a sick version of Twenty Questions with Eli, revealing symptom after symptom that he was soon to experience until Eli could either guess what was coming or — the Tormentor’s favorite — the focus of the experiment was whispered into Eli’s ear.

A smooth jaw meant one thing: they needed something to seal over his mouth or both his mouth and nose.
Ingestion
. He felt himself relax by a degree. If he had to swallow something, then that meant he could fight it. Never mind that his efforts had always been overcome in the past; he was a man, damn it, and a trained one at that. He would fight with all the strength in his body if it were the only victory allowed him in this hellish place.

The door’s hiss and whir announced the Tormentor’s entrance into the room.

“It’s a beautiful day today, Eli. Bright blue skies, gentle breeze.” He flicked a negligent glance over the orderly’s progress and returned his gaze to the clipboard he was carrying. “I might head toward the coast for a bit.” He paused, enjoying his captive audience. “After.”

Eli jerked his arms in his restraints. Hell, what he wouldn’t give to pound that smirk from the Tormentor’s horrid face. “Yuk it up, Doc,” he growled. “How long do you think this can continue?” You’re a pathetic man who gets his rocks off on keeping another man at his mercy. You’ll slip up. Someday you’ll make a mistake, and when you do,” he bared his teeth, “you’re mine.”

The Tormentor showed no reaction. “Any idea of what we have planned for you today?”

“Fuck you.”

The Tormentor chuckled, “No? Come now. Smart one like you, you must have some clue.” He circled around Eli’s stretcher, maintaining eye contact all the while. “There’s the prep from the orderly … . ”

Eli refused to give an inch in this battle of wills. He glared into the Tormentor’s eyes and ground his jaw, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

The Tormentor tsked. “That’s okay, I’m feeling sporting today. How about a clue, hmm?” He made the circuit to Eli’s head and leaned over him. “Two to three hours.” He cocked his head like an animal to better gauge any telltale flickers of realization on Eli’s face.

Fuck
.

Poison. He’d known that had to be it when he’d figured out the ingestion part. He steeled his features, revealing nothing, but his chin jerked up in defiance and the Tormentor noticed.

“Ah, we’re getting warmer, I see,” he cajoled.

Eli’s brain was scrambling. Two to three hours was pretty damn fast for a poison he would have to swallow. In just this moment he could think of maybe three poisons that would fit the bill. Cyanide, lye —

The Tormentor leaned closer and whispered, “Convulsions.”

Strychnine
. Eli’s mouth went dry.

“Well, well,” the Tormentor straightened in disappointment. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Oh, God
, Eli’s heart stuttered in his chest. Strychnine was a horrible way to die. The victim literally convulsed to death, his body contorting painfully as his muscles fought oncoming doom. And the best part? He’d be aware the whole time, completely cognizant of his surroundings, of his agony, until his body finally gave out.

The snap of latex gloves ricocheted off the walls like a shot, and the Tormentor impatiently beckoned the orderly carrying a tray to come forward. “Since there’s no more fun to be had in that little game, we may as well begin directly.”

Eli refused to crane his head around to watch the preparations. He’d learned that early on. Knowing every detail about what was to come only made it worse. It was bad enough that he now knew Number 140 was Strychnine poisoning; he wouldn’t threaten his tenuous control with more knowledge.

“1200, proceeding with experiment Number 140: Strychnine poisoning. Prepping patient for introduction of toxin.” The Tormentor moved to one side of Eli’s head and motioned the orderly to the other side, “Open his mouth.”

A warm, latex-covered hand gripped Eli’s chin while another covered his nose while grasping his cheeks. Eli gritted his mouth closed. When the burning in his lungs grew too great, he puffed air through his clenched teeth and parted lips, but he refused to open his mouth. The orderly grew more aggressive, covering his nose and mouth now, cutting off even that small amount of oxygen.

Eli thrashed he head, but he was unable to shake the orderly from him. The burning in his lungs grew. And grew. His whole body jerked in protest, and his head kicked back as he gasped against the latex covering his mouth. In that second of surrender, the orderly removed his hand, and the Tormentor thrust clear plastic tubing into the side of Eli’s mouth and all the way to the back of his throat while the orderly worked a splint between his teeth. The hard scrape of the tubing against the roof of his mouth caused him to gag.

“Uh-uh,” the Tormentor scolded as the orderly taped the tubing into place. “None of that.” He returned to his recorder, “1204, administering the toxin.”

The Tormentor lifted the open ending of the tubing to shoulder height and flourished a beaker filled with cloudy liquid past Eli’s face. “It’s a grand way to die, you know,” he said. “According to legend, it’s what got Alexander the Great. You could do much worse than to share something this intimate with such an accomplished ruler.”

The orderly eyed the Tormentor over Eli’s head. Eli was not the only one who noticed the unholy delight the Tormentor took in these actions. Weak prey always seemed to know when a dangerous predator was nearby.

The orderlies quit and had to be replaced often. It didn’t take long for the lies the Tormenter told them about Eli’s past to become less-appalling to them than the Tormentor’s own actions.

Eli had no idea what happened to those who quit, but he couldn’t imagine the Tormentor ever letting them go.

The Tormentor grimaced at the orderly’s scrutiny and moved the lip of the beaker to the tubing. Eli’s eyes followed the movement of liquid from beaker to tube and down toward his mouth with alarm. The tubing ensured fighting would be unsuccessful. Why hadn’t he foreseen this possibility?