Evil at Heart (35 page)

           
But she opened her eyes.

           
Archie tried to exude confidence, to project mettle into her gaze. “It’s going to be okay,” he told her.

           
She nodded. It was a tiny movement. Archie might have imagined it.

           
Without taking his eyes off Susan, he asked the masked man, “What do you want?”

           
Archie needed to get Susan out of this.

           
“I want you to do me a favor,” the man in the mask said.

           
“I’m not going to help you move,” Archie said.

           
“I want you to cut me.”

           
His words floated in the air like dust. Everyone waited. Archie could hear Susan breathing.

           
Shark Boy started rummaging around in a pocket and then they heard the snap of a case opening. Archie refused to unlock his eyes from Susan’s. He refused to look away. He could do that, at least, for her. He could keep her calm.

           
Susan caught sight of what Shark Boy had in his hands a split second before Archie did. He saw the fear register in her eyes. But Archie already knew what it was. He knew it from the word “cut.” So when Shark Boy lifted the tempered steel blade to Susan’s throat, Archie did not react at all.

           
Resolve.

           
Susan’s breathing now came in short little bursts. Archie worried she was going to hyperventilate. He needed her thinking straight.

           
He reached forward with his left hand, took her right hand, and squeezed it. Her hand was cold to the touch. He could feel her pulse through his palm.

           
But she looked at him. And she squeezed his hand back.

           
Archie had a plan.

           
He held his right hand out for the scalpel. Shark Boy set it in his palm. It was larger than the scalpel that Gretchen had used to carve into Archie’s chest, but not as pretty. This one was disposable, plastic and steel. Gretchen’s was top-of-the-line.

           
Archie folded his hand around the plastic handle.

           
“Where?” he asked the masked man.

           
He could smell the sour stink of the masked man’s breath; hear Shark Boy’s teeth clicking; feel Susan’s pulse beat against his fingers.

           
If someone had walked in, they would have thought that the four of them were having an intimate discussion—the masked man pressed next to Susan, Shark Boy behind her, Archie facing Susan, gripping her hand.

           
“Lift up my shirt,” the masked man said.

           
Archie gave Susan’s hand a firm squeeze and then released it.

           
He took a step forward. He was so close to Susan now that his right shoulder touched her bare left shoulder just above where Shark Boy’s arm wrapped around her. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his shirt. Archie untucked the masked man’s T-shirt from the front of his pants and lifted it up. He waited a moment to look down. He knew what he’d see.

           
The masked man’s chest was a mass of scar tissue.

           
The scars were more healed than Shark Boy’s. There were dozens of them. They’d been done over time; the oldest ones looked to be at least a year old. The freshest were still red and raw.

           
“I did it myself,” the masked man said. “I want you to do it better. I want it to look like yours.”

           
“I see you’ve waxed,” Archie said.

           
Susan started to smile, but winced as the needle moved in her cheek.

           
The masked man lowered his chin at the scalpel in Archie’s hand. “Go ahead,” he said. “Cut me.”

           
Archie held up the scalpel and wiggled it. “Let her go,” he said.

           
No one moved.

           
Archie adjusted his grip on the scalpel. “This is the Palmar grip,” he said, holding the handle with his second through fourth fingers, the base of his thumb along the side of the handle securing it, his index finger extended along the top rear of the blade. “It’s also called ‘dinner knife’ grip.” He sawed at something imaginary in the air. “You can see why.” He looked at the scalpel. Even in the low light, it glittered. Even the sight of the blade made his stomach tighten, but he wouldn’t let them see it. “This grip is best for initial incisions and larger cuts,” he said.

           
He adjusted his grip again, this time holding the scalpel with the tips of his first and second fingers and the tip of his thumb, so that the plastic handle was resting on the crook between his index finger and thumb. He wrote something imaginary in the air. “The pencil grip,” Archie said. “You’ve got to be careful with this one not to let the handle rest too far along the index finger. Don’t want your hand cramping up.” Archie looked at the blade and frowned. “Better for smaller blades.

           
“Gretchen preferred the Palmar,” he said. “Most medical professionals do.” He leaned close to the masked man. So close he could see the color of his eyes through the nylon—blue. “Let her go,” Archie said. “And I’ll do what you want.”

           
The masked man lifted the second needle away from Susan’s chin and with the same hand grabbed hold of the end of the needle

           
piercing her cheek. With a smooth movement of his elbow, he snapped it out of her face.

           
“Fuck,” she yelled. This time Shark Boy let her lift her hands to her face and she cupped both to her bleeding cheek.

           
“Get out of here,” the masked man told her softly.

           
She drew her head back in rage. “No,” she said.

           
Archie lowered the scalpel and leaned in to Susan. He kissed the hand that covered her cheek. “Trust me,” he whispered.

           
She glared at all of them for a moment and then took a step toward her purse, which still lay on the floor by the wall.

           
“No,” the masked man said. “Leave it.”

           
She looked at Archie questioningly and he nodded, and then she turned and ran, her hand still on her face.

           
The man in the mask nodded at Archie. “Let me see yours,” he said.

           
Archie smiled. “Sure,” he said.

           
He reached up with his left hand and began unbuttoning his shirt. The girl appeared at the masked man’s shoulder and then the two other men from over by the boiler joined her. Shark Boy licked his lips. They all wanted to see Gretchen’s work in person.

           
When Archie had unbuttoned his shirt and opened it, he reached out and lifted the masked man’s shirt again. He compared the damage.

           
“It’s not so different,” he said.

           
The man in the mask wasn’t even looking at Archie’s face anymore. His entire focus was on Archie’s chest. Hands trembling, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across the topography of Archie’s scars.

           
As he did, Archie moved his right hand to his waist, dropped the scalpel, and pulled the gun from the back of his pants.

           
The scalpel made a metallic crack as it hit the concrete floor and the masked man and Shark Boy and the girl and the two other

           
men all looked down reflexively. When they looked back up, Archie had his gun trained at the masked man’s sternum.

           
“I’m arresting you for assault with a deadly weapon,” he said. “At least.” He paused. “Thank you. You’ve all made me feel very sane.”

           
Archie saw the flash of light an instant before the electrical jolt hit his body. The wave of pain blasted through every sensation. He had been Tasered once before, during academy training. It didn’t help. It wasn’t something you got used to. All of his muscles tightened, and he dropped to the floor unable to move. Information came in stuttering chunks. He’d lost the gun. It was the girl. She’d gotten him from behind, below his rib cage. She Tasered him again in the same spot. He curled on the floor, overcome by the pulsing charge, every cell vibrating. The girl. She was a kid. Like Jeremy.