Kill Switch

by Gordon Bonnet

  Again the question. Patient, calm, uninflected.

  “I don’t know!” This time he screamed. His back arched until only his head, secured by the metal halo, and his heels were touching the examining table.

  “Who is Iktomi7979?”

  “Fuck you! I don’t know!” That was when the pain passed the point where he could think, respond. He was balanced there, on the pinnacle of agony beyond anything he had ever experienced, for what seemed like an eternity—

  —and then it was gone. Nothing, the simple absence of pain, seemed like bliss by comparison. His body slumped back onto the table, his skin dripping sweat, his chest rising and falling spasmodically. His eyes were rolling upwards in his head. He thought he might faint, or vomit, but successfully resisted both.

  “Mr. Franzia, you realize, of course, that we can repeat that as many times as necessary, to ensure your cooperation. Because there is nothing being physically damaged in your body. You are in no particular danger of dying from the procedure, although you might wish you would. So, shall we begin again?”

  He coughed, tried to catch his breath. “I’d prefer not to, thanks. But you go right ahead.”

  “Who is Iktomi7979?”

  Chris lost count of the number of times they repeated the cycle of torture. His shrieks echoed from the walls at the peaks to be replaced by jittering breaths, sometimes actual sobs, when the pain stopped.

  “Just kill me and get it over with.”

  The old man gave him a decidedly British smirk. “Oh, we will. Once you answer my question.”

  And up the escalating ladder of agony he went again. He couldn’t take any more. And then he thought of Elisa, undergoing the same treatment, and the fury rose in him, made the pain bearable, made him able to resist.

  But resist what? He didn’t fucking know who Iktomi7979 was.

  Or did he?

  The torture swelled in him, like burning acid inside his torso, and he lost everything but the awareness of pain.

  After more cycles than Chris could remember, he lay, shivering and twitching on the table, his whole body soaked with sweat.

  Deirdre checked her readings and glanced at her superior. “What if he really doesn’t know?”

  The man shook his head, his voice tight with barely-controlled fury, “He must know. The emails we intercepted, that led us to McCormick. They implied a close connection.”

  “Well, I was part of that circle of friends too, remember? And I didn’t know. It’s possible that Chris doesn’t, either.”

  A hand came down on a table with a bang. “We must find out. It is evident that Iktomi7979 knows who we are, what we are attempting, enough of it to cause serious problems. The other communications we have intercepted from the individual using that handle were damning.”

  “I know. We’ve been through this before.”

  “Someone else besides McCormick must know his identity.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think it’s Chris.” Shockingly, a note of compassion entering Deirdre’s voice. There was a first time for everything, apparently. “Putting him through more of this won’t make any difference. You already had the intensity up to eighty percent. If that didn’t make him spill what he knows, he doesn’t know what you’re after.”

  A muffled snort of anger. “Then he’s useless. He knows nothing of value. We should have simply had Drolezki execute him.” The man’s voice neared Chris’s ear again. “Mr. Franzia, can you hear me and respond?”

  He was so exhausted, it was a struggle just to speak. “I told you. I told you I— I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, well, you also told us that you weren’t going to cooperate, so we are perhaps to be forgiven for thinking you might need a little urging.”

  “A little urging?” Chris licked his lips and coughed. His head ached, and the points of contact between the halo and his scalp felt like enormous swollen bruises.

  “We have found such methods necessary in the past.”

  “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

  “Mr. Franzia, really—”

  “I bet you love these torture sessions.” Exhausted, he nodded to himself with the clumsy conviction of a drunkard. “People like you always do. You probably videotape it and jack off at night watching it. You knew from the beginning I didn’t know anything, didn’t you? Deirdre apparently didn’t know what was in the cave, or who Iktomi is, so why do you think I would? The whole thing was only a game, a way to pay me back for putting you people to so much trouble. For not just dying quietly like the others did. You’re not even human. And you, Deirdre?” He struggled to see her. “You used to be a good person. Now you’re assisting these people? I’m going to die now, I know it, and I’m okay with that, because if you folks are in charge of things, I’d rather be dead. But watch your back, Dr. Ross. Trust no one. If they find your weak spot, you’ll be where I am before you know it. Just remember you chose to align yourself with the worst people in the world. I hope they’re paying you well—”

  “Shut him up, Doctor.”

  There was a soundless explosion in his head, and his consciousness went out like someone flipping a switch.

  Chapter 20

  Chris opened his eyes an uncertain amount of time later, disoriented, confused, with vertigo and a splitting headache. He was lying flat on his back. He blinked once, twice, and his vision cleared enough to see that he was once again in the first room, the one he’d awakened in earlier that day.

  If it was the same day. There was no way to tell.

  A familiar voice spoke, and had again the sense that he was dreaming.

  “Oh, God, Chris, I thought you might never wake up.”

  He turned his head, activating a thousand new aches and pains, to see Elisa Reed, her kind face pinched with anxiety, walking toward him. She looked much like he remembered—small, with green eyes, long chestnut-brown hair held back by a clasp, round wire-frame glasses. She had some gray in her hair, and laugh lines around her eyes, but the thirty years since they’d last seen each other had been kind.

  She knelt by the bed, stroking his cheek with one cool hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I was put through a meat grinder.” His voice was hoarse.

  She slid her arms beneath him, rested her head against his chest. He passed one arm around her, then the other, still feeling terribly weak. “They tortured you.”

  “Yes.”

  She was silent for a moment, and Chris felt a tear strike his bare skin and roll downward, leaving a cool trail behind it. But when she spoke, her voice was steady. “You didn’t tell them what they wanted.”

  “No. Mostly because I didn’t know the answer.”

  “Good.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “I’m glad.”

  “But, Elisa, if I had known… I think I would have told them anything, anything to get the torture to stop.” He was close to helpless tears himself.

  “It’s over. It’s over now.” She pressed her face to him, held him in a tight embrace. He closed his eyes and relaxed into it.

  “They didn’t… hurt you?”

  Elisa shook her head. “Not much. They used some kind of mind-reading device on me. At least that’s what I think it was. It felt like mental lightning, but it didn’t hurt. No worse than a carpet shock, at least.”

  “Did they tell you they weren’t the ones who killed Gavin and the rest?”

  “Yes. Do you believe them?”

  “I don’t know what to believe. But even if they aren’t the ones who killed our college friends, they’re not good guys. Good guys don’t torture people.”

  “No. No, they don’t.”

  He sighed. “They were getting even with me. They’re playground bullies who have figured out how to get away with it.” He cleared his throat. The headache and the vertigo were subsiding. “How long have I been here?”

  “They brought you in, unconscious, a while ago. Deirdre was with them. Did you know… know that she…” She trailed off, leaving the question unspoken
.

  “Yes, I know she’s alive. She was there while they were torturing me. She was helping them.”

  “Goddamn her!” Elisa burst out. “How could she? We were friends. How could you do that to a friend?”

  “All I can say is that we misjudged her. A lot. I always thought she had a ruthless streak, even back then. She’s not just aggressive. She’s mercenary.”

  “She was the one who persuaded them to let us spend some time together. At least she did that much.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  A pause. “She said no more than an hour.” Another tear, and her arms tightened around him. “We’re going to be terminated.”

  “Figures.” Chris felt his heart race at the thought.

  Another pause. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.”

  “No. You’re right, it isn’t. Nothing is, really. Fair is a concept that doesn’t mean much. Why would we expect the universe to be fair, anyway? Look around you. Some things end well, others end badly, and there doesn’t seem to be any reason for any of it. If the Christians are right, and God does have a plan, then all I can say is that he’s hiding it well, because it sure as hell looks like chaos to me.”

  “We could have had something together, you know.”

  He rubbed his hand across her back. “I know.”

  “I thought about you sometimes, in those thirty years. Especially after Tim and I broke up. That was twelve years ago. I wondered where you were, and if you had a wife or a girlfriend. I thought about calling you. I used to fantasize about it. That we’d have this long-distance romance, and then you’d come to visit me, sweep me off my feet.” She smiled against his chest. “But I never did it. Inertia, you know? You stay at rest because you’re already at rest, and that’s that.”

  “Oh, I know all about inertia.”

  “It’s the same reason why I never changed my name back. Tim and me, we never really fought. We drifted apart. Maybe we never had much in common to begin with, I don’t know. It would have been different had we really hated each other. I think I would have changed my name back. But I’d grown used to being Elisa Reed, so it was just as easy to stay Elisa Reed. Never doing anything different. Never taking a chance on a new life.”

  “If you’d gone back to being Elisa Howard, they’d probably have found you quicker, like they did the others. Caught up with you and killed you.”

  “Well, they did, anyway. Here we are, remember?”

  “I remember. But at least we’ve got a few minutes together.”

  “That’s true.” She took a deep breath. “Did they tell you how they’re going to do it? Execute us?”

  “No. The guy who was running the torture machine on me, he said he could make me die easily or painfully, and which it was going to be depended on how well I cooperated. I didn’t cooperate very well. Maybe they’ll think they’ve already put me through enough.”

  “I think I could take anything except being hanged. That has always struck me as the most horrible thing I can think of.”

  “Being burned at the stake probably isn’t any fun, either.”

  Elisa laughed softly. “Can you believe we’re talking about this? I’d have thought I’d be running around in circles screaming. I’ve read stories about people facing the death penalty. Have you heard about Sir Thomas More?”

  “I know the name.”

  “He was a staunch Catholic, back in the time of Henry VIII. Bad idea, that turned out to be. More wouldn’t convert, so Henry had him beheaded. So there he is, walking up the stairs to the block. The headsman is there, with his axe, waiting. And More stumbles a little. So he says to the guard, ‘See me safely up onto the scaffold, sir. On the voyage downwards, I’ll fend for myself.’”

  He laughed. “That takes balls, joking around with the guys who are about to kill you.”

  “Probably the best way to exit. If it’s inevitable, you may as well keep some dignity.”

  “I didn’t keep much dignity when they had me hooked up to that pain machine. I think I used some pretty inappropriate language, mostly aimed at the guy who was turning the dials, not to mention screaming myself hoarse.”

  She stroked his cheek. “Nothing wrong with defiance, either.” After all, that’s what gallows humor is. Spitting in the face of Death. You can kill me, but you can’t break my spirit.”

  He pulled her closer. “I wish this wasn’t about to end.”

  “Me, too. But at least we have this moment. The moment is all we ever have, really.”

  He smiled. He knew what he wanted to ask, but he was scared to do it. It was like being in the tenth grade all over again. The difference this time was that he was about to die. So he said, “Can I kiss you?”

  She lifted her head, and looked at him. She was smiling herself, but her eyes were glossy with tears. “Of course.”

  He sat up, and reached out and touched her face. Then he leaned toward her, and their lips met. She slipped her arms around him. The electricity of the kiss set every nerve in his body tingling, with a deep, pure sweetness that was nothing like the false induced pleasure he’d felt when his brain had been stimulated by the halo.

  This is what it meant, being alive. This feeling. At least he got to experience it once before he died.

  They separated, and he took her face in his hands. “I wish this could have ended differently.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But we gave them a good run, you know. If it hadn’t been for Deirdre, we might have made it.”

  Perhaps ten minutes passed. There seemed to be nothing more to say, so they just held each other. Lying there, feeling Elisa pressed up against him, he came to a decision. When they came to get him, he was going to echo what Thomas More had done. Keep his dignity. If this is what it had come to, they might kill him, but he’d go without crying or begging. Maybe no one would see it but the executioner, but even so, it was better than giving them the satisfaction of seeing him fall apart.

  Elisa spoke before Chris did, but she spoke what he was thinking.

  “I think it’s been over an hour.”

  “I doubt they’d forget about us. I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but it’s probably not the time to get our hopes up, yet.”

  Her arm tightened again around his middle. “I’ve never given up hope.”

  He chuckled. “You were always like that. I remember you had a hellacious home life and you still always made the best of things.”

  “It wasn’t always easy.”

  “I’m sure. My parents were great. I can’t imagine what you had to go through, from what you told me back then.”

  “My stepdad was a beast. Abusive. And he made inappropriate comments to me, and about me to my half-brothers. Jay and Dennis, they made me stay away because they were afraid for me. I have no idea how my mom put up with it, but she apparently loved him, however weird that seems to me. He died twenty years ago.” She paused. “My mother wanted me to come back when he was dying. To see him one last time. So I did. Seeing him there, in that hospital bed… I had built him up into this monster, all those years, until he was larger than life. I was really afraid, walking into the room, but then I got there, and I thought, ‘That’s all he is?’ He was this shriveled little old man lying there, a wisp of a thing, like a dry husk that a breeze would blow away. I know some of it was the cancer, but I thought, ‘This is what I’ve been terrified of, all this time?’ And since then, I’ve always remembered that. What you’re afraid of tends to be very much less than what you think it is. Maybe that’s what death will be like. Maybe we humans have built it up into this horrible thing, and then when we’re there, we’ll laugh, and say, ‘Wow. This is what I feared? If only I’d known.’”

  Chris kissed the top of her head. “I think I love you.”

  She smiled. “You only think so?”

  “I didn’t want to be too forward.”

  Elisa laughed, a genuine, joyful laugh. “Still as gentle and kind as you always were, Well, Chris Fran
zia, I think I love you, too.”

  The lights flickered suddenly. There was a sound like a static crackle. He looked up, feeling the hairs on the back of his arm prickling. The overhead lighting came from recessed fixtures with circular panels of translucent glass. It looked fluorescent, but it was hard to be certain. There was another flicker, another crackle, and the lights went out. The room was plunged into complete darkness.

  Then there was the soft click as the lock on the door unbolted, and a slight creak as the door opened just a crack. There was a faint sliver of light from the hallway. Chris tensed as his fight-or-flight impulse took hold.

  Was this it? Were they about to be led to their deaths?

  A minute passed, then two. Nothing more happened.

  He stood, and Elisa let her arm slip from around him. He walked slowly toward the door, and then pulled it open.

  No one there.

  “What’s happening?” She came up behind him, put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I don’t know. I wonder if the power failure caused the locks to malfunction. They’re all electronic. They’re operated by keypads.”

  “That’d be a dumb design. Don’t you think they’re smarter than that? Fancy electronic locks that malfunction and release everyone they’re holding prisoner whenever the power stutters a little?” She pointed out into the hall. “And there’s obviously a backup generator. There are emergency lights in the hallway.”

  Chris peered out into the long hall, first in one direction, then in the other. It was hard to see very far. Even with the lights positioned along the floor every ten feet or so, he could only discern a little way.

  “Do you know the way out?”

  He shook his head. “I was brought in drugged. I have no idea where the exit is. I think we’re below ground, if this is the same hallway I was in when I first got here.”