by Grant Pies
“Too many.”
“You don’t even know, do you? Too many to count.”
“I know them all!” Blair snapped, raising his voice for the first time. “I lived each day of my life, hanging on. Hoping that today wasn’t the day I would die, or get too sick to continue on. I lived my childhood in hospitals, either preparing for or recovering from surgeries.”
“You should have just died.” Carter looked down and shook his head.
“I wanted to. I begged them, but my mother wouldn’t let me. After every transplant surgery, she came into my recovery room. She brushed my hair from my forehead and told me how I wasn’t living for myself. I was living for the people who offered their organs so I could live. I didn’t care. I told her as soon as I was old enough, I would run away. Find a place to die. Alone. Peacefully.” Blair breathed in deep and sighed. “But she wouldn’t let me.”
“You don’t get to use that excuse now. You’re free to die peacefully. Go right ahead.”
“My body attacked all of my organs,” Blair continued. “Sometimes I needed a kidney. Sometimes a liver. I was fortunate enough to move up the list quickly, children get priority. But I’m sure my family connections didn’t hurt either. When I was sixteen, I needed a heart. It was the first heart transplant I needed, and much harder to come by than my other transplants. But my mom refused to give up on me. Told my father to pay whoever he had to, whatever amount he had to. But somethings just can’t be bought.” Blair swallowed deep. “I woke up after the surgery, waiting for her to come in and tell me how I had to live, how I had to respect those who donated their organs for me.”
His face grew a deep red and he clenched his jaw tight. “I waited for her, but she didn’t come. Instead, my father came to my room. He sat next to my bed and didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. I knew where my heart came from.”
Blair cleared his throat. His face returned to a normal tone. “So, when I say that there were too many people giving their organs for me, I don’t mean there are too many to remember. It is my duty to continue on. To cure disease. To produce medical research that will outweigh the number of lives it has cost for me to be here.” He paused. Carter watched him, looked in his deformed eye and wondered if anyone could have lived Blair’s life and not looked at humans as nothing more than temporary organ storage.
“I remember each and every one of them,” he continued. “I remember my mother. I remember all of the ones before Rose Bishop. They were my flesh and blood. They were my children. I watched them all grow up. They never knew it, it was from a distance, but I was there for their entire lives.”
“And you watched them, stalked them like prey—”
“I took no enjoyment from it.”
“You brought them into this world only to serve your own purposes, to use them like medicine.”
“I’m no different than anyone else.” Blair gripped the letter opener in his hand once again. Carter wondered if he could charge him and wrestle it out of his hand. “Everyone uses their children. Centuries ago, people had children to help run the farm. They were just free labor. Now, people use their kids for companionship, to save a marriage, to trap a man, to have someone to take care of them when they’re old. It’s not just me. We are all selfish. Having a child, bringing them into this world … it’s the most goddamn selfish thing a person can do.”
“It is different,” Carter said. “They have kids so the kid can live. You have kids only for them to die. You know what, do what you want with me. You’ve got me here. Got my partner somewhere else. I figure there’s only one reason you’re telling me all this. Well your confessional is over. Find someone else to unburden your soul to. Let’s move this along!”
Blair nodded. “It’s nothing personal.”
With that, the guards came back in the room, pushing Sam strapped to a wheelchair. His face was puffy, his left eye black, and dried blood was caked over the side of his head.
“Shit!” Carter sighed. Sam’s chest heaved up and down, and his jaw was clenched.
“You took the wrong case,” Blair said. “We tried to give you a fall guy. He worked out better than expected. We figured just having someone with a past like his would be enough to tip anyone in his direction. But he had a real relationship with her, got her pregnant. We took care of that for her.” Blair nodded, proud of himself. “We saved her from having to carry that sick man’s child. It was supposed to end there. But you kept at it. You couldn’t be happy with the solution we presented you.”
Carter looked at Sam, and he knew if Sam’s mouth wasn’t taped shut, he would have said I told you so.
“You can do whatever you want to us,” Carter said. Sam’s eyes widened. “But it’s over either way. I’ve already gone to the FBI with what I’ve found. They’re waiting outside, surrounding the building as we speak. You can either let us walk out, or add two more murder charges on top of everything else.” Carter looked at the two guards, then back to Blair.
“You think I haven’t had eyes on you every moment since you left our clinic last night? You’re not working with the feds,” Blair said. He walked out from behind his desk and stood next to Carter, placing a hand on his injured shoulder and squeezing. “Plus, do you really think I would have survived, you think this business would have survived this long, if I didn’t have some friends in the police station?”
Blair shook his head and squeezed Carter’s shoulder again. He looked down at Carter, his one deformed pupil melting into the rest of his eye. “They’re already overwhelmed, already looking for a reason to move on to the next case, I just have to give them a little extra motivation. Them, the press, politicians, they’re all just actors reading lines. It’s people like me who write the script, direct the action.” Blair walked past the two guards and reached for the door. “Don’t do it here,” he said. “Take them to the empty lab. Then use the incinerator downstairs.”
Turncoat
The lab was halfway down a long, dark hall. From the outside it looked like nothing more than a storage closet. Inside was no more spectacular; a white room with small tiles running down all four walls. A circular drain sat in the middle of the floor. The grout between the tiles around the drain was stained a rust color.
Cutting the plastic zip ties from Sam’s wrists, the guard without a name said, “Get on the floor,” and pushed Sam out of the wheelchair.
Sam dropped to his hands and knees, moaning with each movement. Blood dripped from his face, but Carter couldn’t tell where it came from, either his mouth, his nose, or one of the cuts scattered over the rest of his face.
“Sheppard!” John said to the other guard, then leaned in to whisper to him. “What are we doing?” Carter could barely hear his words. They were a forced whisper through clenched teeth. “This isn’t what we signed up for … not me at least.”
Pulling his gun from his holster, the other guard, Sheppard, said in a normal volume, “I signed up for whatever it takes to fulfill my end of the deal, so they can fulfill their end.”
“But this? This isn’t right, none of it.”
Carter looked around the room for something that might help him get out of this. But there was nothing. Just an empty kill room. He bent down to help Sam.
“You alright?” Carter asked, resting his arm around Sam’s back.
“These two trespassed on the property. For all we know they’re from a competitor, looking to steal some technology or trade secrets. We have every right to shoot them.” Sheppard gripped his gun and pulled back the slide, easing a round into the chamber.
“I look alright to you?” Sam grunted and spit a clump of blood onto the floor.
“You heard what he said.” John pointed at Carter. “This man is investigating a missing person case. It led him here. You really think he’s just some corporate spy? It’s not like Blair really denied any of what this guy said.”
“Figures they’d have some complicated backstory, some cover,” Sheppard said. “I heard of operatives like thi
s in Iran. They’d stick to their cover no matter what. A spy’s a spy in my book. Figured you’d learned by now, for country or corporation, it’s pretty much the same, innit? A job’s a job.”
“But—”
“C’mon, don’t be a pussy, John! Fine, look, you leave. I’ll take care of it.” Sheppard waved at the door.
John looked Carter in the eyes. It was a look of regret and disappointment. Regret walking away and letting two men die. Disappointment because he realized his sister would never get the help she needed, at least not from Accenture. He turned towards the door.
Sheppard pointed his gun at Sam’s face. Sam breathed heavy, staring down the barrel. Carter guessed this wasn’t the first time Sam had a gun pointed at his face in the last few days.
“No!” Carter moved in front of Sam. “Don’t. Please!”
Sheppard’s hand tensed over the gun, his finger pulled back against the trigger. Carter froze and clenched his eyes shut. A gun shot exploded in the small room, and the bullet ricocheted off the far wall. But Carter didn’t feel anything.
He opened his eyes to see Sheppard falling to his knees, his chin slumped down into his chest. John stood over him, gripping his gun by the barrel. A touch of blood trickled through Sheppard’s hair.
“You won’t have much time,” John said. He pointed his gun at a blank wall across the room and fired. This second gunshot was less deafening than the one from Sheppard’s gun, only because the first had already dulled his ears. “That’s two shots. One for each of you. Don’t know how long Sheppard will stay out.”
Carter gripped Sam’s arm and helped him stand, but he sprung to his feet, surprisingly agile. He kicked Sheppard’s limp body on the floor.
“You fucking piece of shit!” he yelled, but his voice sounded like it was underwater after the two gunshots. Carter wrapped his arms around Sam, both hugging him and pulling him away from Sheppard. Sam struggled against him. “That fucker’s the one that beat me for the last two days!” Sam shouted. Carter’s hearing began to return to normal.
“You both need to leave.” John handed Carter his security card and the backpack they took from him. “Elevator is down that way. You know the way out from there.”
Sam gave up trying to attack Sheppard. Now, he ran his hands across his face, pushing on each cut and bruise, wincing with each touch, likely assessing his injuries for the first time. Carter knelt down and took Sheppard’s gun.
“Thanks, but there’s something here I need. Can’t leave without it.”
“Fuck that!” Sam said. “Let’s get out of here!”
“No!” Carter yelled. “No. Look, Rose is alive! But they did something to her, took something from her, and she won’t be alive for long unless I find some serum. Without it, she’s as good as dead. And everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, will be for nothing.”
“God, you’re fucking stubborn,” Sam said. “But I need a gun.”
Carter nodded and handed him Sheppard’s.
“Any idea where they keep stuff like that?” Carter turned to John. “Something called CRISPR, any of that sound familiar?”
“Crisper? Like an acronym, C-R-I-S-P-R? I think I heard one of the techs say something like that. There’s one lab at the very end of the hall. It’s the only one my security card can’t access. I’m guessing if it’s important then it’ll be there.
Sam held up the gun. “Will this get us in there?”
“Probably, but I wouldn’t shoot if you ever want to leave here. They were expecting two shots for you guys, but any more and people like Sheppard will show up.”
“How many?” Carter asked.
“There’s one guard in each lab and then half a dozen more in the security control room. So, ten total. Twelve if you count me and Sheppard.”
“How do we get in the lab?” Carter asked.
John looked around, like the answer was in the empty white room. He shook his head and shrugged.
“Blair’s office.” He pointed back where they’d come from. “He keeps a keycard in his desk. My card gets in there. His card should get you everywhere else.”
“Let’s go.”
Sam nodded. He stepped over Sheppard and gave him one final kick in the ribs. “Asshole,” he said under his breath.
The three of them stood at the door.
“You can’t stay here,” Carter said to John. “Not after this.”
“I couldn’t stay here after knowing what I know. I was hired for security, not to murder people or aid in kidnapping.”
“Your brother’s at Midtown Hospital.”
“Thanks,” John said. “Good luck.”
Arabian Mate
Carter and Sam crept down the hall. Sam gripped his gun in his hand, ready to shoot at anyone, wanting his revenge, needing it.
“How’d you find this place?” he asked, touching his split lip after he spoke.
“You’ve been gone for a couple days. A lot’s happened.”
“You’ll have to give me the full debrief once we get out of here.”
“If we get out of here.” Carter paused for a second, wondering if he really thought he might not live beyond this day. He thought back to the discussion he’d had with Sam. Pessimism or realism?
“I’m not dying in this place,” Sam said. “Not letting them take my organs, do God knows what with my body.”
“I’d feel sorry for whoever ended up with your organs.” He glanced at Sam, who tried his best to contort his beaten face into something that resembled a smile.
“Here.”
They stopped in front of Blair’s personal office. Carter swiped John’s security card and stepped through the glass door. Sam followed. He dug through the desk, looking for the security card to the secure lab. He grabbed his broken cell phone and the memory card the guard had taken from him, then he spotted the security card.
“Got it!” He said.
“Get down!” Sam snapped and pulled him behind Blair’s oak desk.
They dropped to the floor with a thud, and Carter peeked around the desk. A guard patrolled the halls just outside. He peered into the glass office next door, then moved onto Blair’s office. Carter ducked.
The beeping sound of the door lock disengaging as the guard swiped his security card sent a shiver up Carter’s back. His heart raced. Sam gripped his gun tight and readied himself. The door opened and the guard stepped inside.
“Morris!” a voice said from outside the office.
“What’s up Camonelli?”
“Can you help Sheppard at the incinerator downstairs?”
“That’s not my patrol,” the other guard said.
“C’mon, I gotta take a piss. I haven’t had a break all fucking day.”
“Ugh … alright,” the guard said. The door closed. From the hall, the guard’s voice was muffled. “You owe me. And if anyone asks why I’m covering for you, I’m throwing you under the bus.”
“Fine by me,” John said, then there was silence. Carter was frozen behind the desk, wondering how long to wait to give the guard enough time to leave. Sam’s hand tensed around the gun. He probably knew he couldn’t shoot his way out, but Carter figured if Sam was pissed enough, he may try anyway. Then, there was a rapid knock on the glass door. Building enough courage to move, Carter looked over the desk. John stood outside the office and waved them out.
Carter nudged Sam. “All clear.”
He stood and nodded at John, mouthing the word ‘Thanks.’ John turned and made his way to the elevator.
“Alright, let’s go.”
Sam stepped out of the office, and Carter followed. At the end of the long hall, they saw a door. The two men sped up, looking behind them every few steps.
About halfway down the hall, the door to the lab Carter and Sam were supposed to die in opened. Sam stopped and held his arm out, signaling Carter to stop as well. Sheppard stumbled out of the room, half walking and half crawling, rubbing the back of his head.
Sam gripped
his gun with both hands and aimed at Sheppard.
“Wait,” Carter whispered. “Don’t shoot.”
“And let him get away? Let him go warn everyone else in the building?”
“Give me the gun.” Carter reached for the weapon before Sam could disagree. He took several steps forward.
Sheppard turned to look at them. “You son of a bitch,” he mumbled. “Where’s John? I’m gonna kill him. Gonna kill you first.” He was struggling to stand up straight.
“Move,” Carter commanded and pointed the gun down the hall.
“Fuck you,” Sheppard said, touching the matted hair on the back of his head then looking at his hand to see how much he was bleeding. The gun pointed at him seemed more an annoyance than a threat.
“Go,” Carter pushed Sheppard, and he stumbled down the hall.
“Just shoot him,” Sam said. “Asshole was gonna kill us, and that’s on top of beating me. Deserves it.”
“We all deserve it.” Sheppard stopped and turned, pushing his shoulders back, stretching his back and chest. He stared straight down the barrel of the gun. “You tellin’ me you’re both innocent?”
“Enough,” Carter said, pushing Sheppard one more time. “I’m not shooting you, at least not yet. But you’re staying with us. Now move!”
“If you’re not going to shoot me, why should I do a damn thing—?”
Carter pulled out the gold letter opener he’d taken from Blair’s desk and jabbed it into Sheppard’s side, quickly pulling it out. Sheppard breathed in sharply. He wrapped his hand around his side and looked down at his hands.
“I’m not shooting you only to keep the gunfire to a minimum, not because I have some hang-up about hurting you.” Carter gripped his gun in one hand and the letter opener in the other. “You going to move or what?”
The three of them continued down the hall. Handing the letter opener to Sam, Carter asked, “Can I trust you with this?”
Sam took the letter opener without answering. Carter stopped at the last door in the hallway. It was marked Lab 8, CRISPR/Special Projects.
