In The End, Only Darkness

by O'Rourke, Monica

  That burning smell …

  Ian looked at the corner of the room. A large pot had been set up and something inside was simmering on a platform above Sterno canisters. “What is that?” he asked.

  “Metal,” Ernest said. “A combination of metals, actually. Some old figurines, melted down. Lead and tin mostly. Silica. A bunch of stuff. Carefully mixed and tested.”

  “Tested on what?” Caleb asked.

  Ernest looked up. “Strays. Mostly.”

  “What, uh, what’s the metal for?” Ian asked.

  Ernest snapped opened a container of smelling salts and ran it beneath Nolan’s nose. “You’ll see.”

  Nolan’s head jerked from side to side. He strained against his bindings.

  On a tray table beside the butcher block was an assortment of instruments. Ernest stood beside it and picked up a notebook and pen. He tried to hand them to Ian, who refused and backed up a step.

  “You have to keep notes, Ian.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because Caleb is stronger. I may need his help with … you know. Other stuff.”

  “No way. I don’t want my handwriting in any journal.”

  “You idiot,” Ernest said. “We’re all in this. Someone has to keep notes, and I can’t fucking do it. I’m going to be too goddamned busy to write, asshole. Besides”—he pointed at the camera mounted in the corner—“I’m recording this. So fuck you and your handwriting. There’s a permanent record.”

  Nolan screamed a series of desperate and incoherent sounds into his gag.

  Ian snatched the notebook and pen out of Ernest’s hand.

  Caleb moved across the room and studied the tray of instruments. “Ernest, you are one seriously disturbed fuck.”

  Ernest handed him clamps. “Start with the nipples. Just don’t cut them off.”

  “Me?” Caleb’s face contorted. “Hey, isn’t that kind of queer? I don’t want to …”

  Ernest sighed, rubbing his eyes with his index fingers. “Look—this is an experiment. It’s medical, not sexual. If you get a hard-on while messing with his nipples, that’s your hang-up. Otherwise, just goddamn do it. It’s part of the experiment.”

  Caleb moved to the other side of the table. Frowning, he ran his palms over Nolan’s breasts until the nipples stood erect. Using the clamps, he grabbed hold, Nolan writhing beneath him.

  “I still don’t see what nipple clamps have to do with anything,” Caleb muttered.

  Ernest ignored him and turned to Ian. He said, “You ready? Before you write anything, I need you to help prep the subject. I want you to get a feel for this stuff.”

  Ian stepped forward and Ernest handed him the next instrument.

  “What the hell do I do with—”

  “We’re all pre-med,” Ernest said. “Figure it out.”

  Ian knew what he was supposed to do with the tool, but—

  “Can you handle it?” Caleb asked. “Need help?”

  “You couldn’t deal with a nipple clamp, but this you’re okay with?” Ernest said.

  “Fuck off.”

  Ian swallowed back a mouthful of spit. “I … yes, but, I don’t know how … I mean, I’m not sure.”

  “Just stick it up his ass,” Ernest said.

  “You got issues, man,” Caleb said.

  “I know where it goes,” Ian said. “I just don’t see what this has to do with your experiment.”

  “We start small, Ian. Clamps, a few tubes. Understand?” Ernest said. “Part of the experiment is a study in resilience, big and small. I have lots more planned. Trust me.”

  “How will we know what he’s feeling? Isn’t that part of the experiment? Isn’t that what you want me to write down?” Ian wasn’t sure if he wanted to know, or if he was stalling. He stared at the instrument in his hands, and it seemed to have become very heavy.

  “How the hell do you think he’s feeling?” Ernest smiled. “Never mind. We’ll ask him in a minute.”

  “Oh.” Ian lubricated the end of the tube with Vaseline and tried to push it into Nolan’s anus. “I can’t do this,” he said. “It’s. He won’t cooperate.”

  Ernest said to Caleb, “Make him cooperate.”

  Caleb nodded and took the length of metal tubing, which resembled a thin toilet paper roll, from Ian. He pressed it against Nolan, pushing and twisting until it found its way inside his writhing body, tearing the soft, delicate tissue at the opening of his anus. Blood tricked down his ass onto the table.

  Nolan screamed into his gag, and he bucked his legs, but Caleb pushed the tubing in farther.

  “It’s in,” Caleb said. “It’s secure.” To Ian he said, “Just think of him as a cadaver. Easier that way.”

  “Good job,” Ernest said. He leaned over Nolan’s face. “I’m going to remove your gag now. I want to ask you a few questions.”

  Nolan’s head bobbed like a float on a lake. Ernest removed the gag and Nolan screamed and begged for help.

  “Please!” he cried, lifting his head off the table. “It hurts! Take it out!”

  Ernest stared at Nolan, a wry smile plastered on his face.

  “You fucking psycho!” Nolan screamed.

  Ernest stuffed the gag back in his mouth and clicked his tongue. “No use. He’s just gonna be an asshole. How predictable. Anyway, the interesting part’s coming up. I’ll do it myself but may need some help.”

  He took a long thin metal tube—so thin it resembled a wire, but it was hollow, like the world’s most narrow beaker—from the utensil tray.

  Moving to the end of the table, he took hold of Nolan’s penis, which failed to respond. “Grab it,” he said to Caleb.

  “No way! Nipples were bad enough. I’m not touching his dick.”

  “Look, dipshit, you’re pre-med. You think you’re never going to have to touch a dick? I didn’t ask you to suck it, just to hold it. I told you, there’s nothing sexual about any of this.”

  “You like bringing pre-med up a lot,” Caleb said. “Seems more like an excuse for you to play with this guy’s dick.” Looking away, he grabbed Nolan’s penis. It lay unresponsive in his hand.

  “I need you both to hold him as still as you can. Ian, pin down his chest.”

  Ernest grabbed Nolan’s penis and tried to push the metal rod into the urethra. Nolan screamed into his gag, his head thrown back, the veins in his neck straining beneath the skin. His body was coated in a fine layer of sweat, and the smell in the room was a mingling of metal, blood and musk.

  “Shit,” Ernest said, “hold him!” The rod kept slipping. Fitting it into the narrow urethra was more difficult than he had anticipated. “Get him hard,” he snapped at Caleb.

  “You fuckin’ kidding me?” he yelled.

  Finally, it slid inside. He dropped Nolan’s penis and stood back, panting. Turned to the camera and said, “Goddamn. Okay. All tubes are in place.”

  Ian moved to the edge of the table. There was a small amount of blood on Nolan’s crotch. It terrified Ian … yet somehow it was exhilarating.

  “Ready to begin,” Ernest said, grinning. He looked at Caleb and said, “Pick an orifice, any orifice.”

  Caleb ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. “You’re seriously disturbed, man.”

  He tossed Caleb a pair of heavy-duty work gloves. “We’ll start with the ass. That tube gets hot, so make sure you wear those. Hold the rod tight. Make sure it stays up his ass.”

  Caleb nodded.

  “It cools pretty fast,” Ernest said. “I considered putting him in water, but that would have been a real pain in the ass. Can you imagine if we’d had to start dragging bottles of water down here? That sink is useless.” Ernest dipped the metal spoon into the simmering molten metal and stirred.

  “We should be able to get enough into the tube if we work fast, before he starts flopping around too much. Otherwise it’s just going to spill all over his legs.” He filled the ladle and held it up, steam rising, the smell of the metal stronger now. “We don’t want to get
this on us. It’s over two hundred degrees, so be careful. And work fast. Got it?”

  Caleb nodded, getting a better grip on the thick tube protruding from Nolan’s ass. Ian stood off to the side, watching them with a transfixed expression of revulsion and horror.

  “When I’m done, pull the tube out fast. Then cover up his asshole with the tape and stuff.” Ernest poured the contents of the ladle into the tube. Seconds later the liquid reached its intended destination and Nolan went berserk, flailing against the ropes, his agonized screams muffled against his gag. Moments later, he was still.

  “He dead already?” Caleb blurted, pulling the metal rod out of Nolan’s ass, covering it with bandages and tape to keep the liquid from leaking out.

  Using the stethoscope from the instrument tray, Ernest listened for a heartbeat. He shook his head. “No, not dead.”

  Ian dropped against the wall and buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god,” he croaked. “Oh my God.”

  “Get a grip,” Ernest said. “We’re not through.” He removed the gag from Nolan’s mouth, and a trace of spit and vomit trailed away with the cloth.

  “Now what?” Ian asked, choking back tears, trying not to cry.

  Ernest picked up the smelling salts. “We continue with the experiment. Should we remove the blindfold now?”

  “But …” Ian scratched his head and stepped forward. “But then he could identify us.”

  The other two exchanged glances before turning back to Ian.

  “What did you think was going to happen here?” Ernest asked. “He’s got a metal block up his ass. Did you think he was going to just walk away?”

  Ian swallowed and shrugged.

  “I told you earlier that this wasn’t going to end well.”

  “Yeah, Ernest, but —”

  “And you promised! You said you wanted to be a part of this, that you would always be one of us. You swore along with Caleb and me, fucking told us we were your brothers!”

  “I didn’t know you meant murder!”

  Ernest looked at the floor before speaking, using a patronizing voice not unlike his father’s. “I told you this would be difficult. I told you this would end badly. I told you we would be sharing secrets for life. What about all of that didn’t you understand, you fucking idiot? What the fuck did you think I was referring to?”

  “Come on, Ian,” Caleb said. “You’ve got to see Nolan for what he is. A non-person, just an asshole getting a free ride. He’s a leech, a guinea pig. He’s a goddamned lab rat.”

  Ian looked from Ernest to Caleb and knew they planned to finish. Could he see Nolan as just a giant lab rat?

  He tried to justify what they were doing to the slab of meat on the butcher block table, hidden away somewhere in a room that reeked of damp, dead wine, a room lit by a naked bulb dangling by a single thin wire. The expressions on the faces of his fellow scientists were feral, somehow evil. They were enjoying this too much and would never need to justify their actions. Ian tried to reason that this was all for posterity, tried to forget that this was how Nolan would spend the last minutes of his pathetic life.

  “Okay,” Ian whispered. “I’m with you.” He didn’t know whether or not he really meant it. For now, he did mean it. For now, he would stand with them.

  Ernest handed him the notebook and pen. “Good. Let’s get going then. First entry was, say, 6:00 p.m. Let’s see …” He played with the webbing between his thumb and index finger. “Level One. Subject gagged and blindfolded. Nipple clamps and insertion of rods and tubes. Slight bleeding. Subject … uncomfortable.

  “Level Two. Jot down, like 6:45. Level Two, melted metal enema injected. Subject in extreme pain and passes out. I guess this is where we begin Level Three.”

  Glancing at his watch, he said, “Blindfold and gag removed. Subject will be revived and questioned for response. Start Level Three at 7:00 p.m.”

  Ian wondered what sort of doctor Ernest would become and then remembered his particular fondness for forensic medicine.

  Ernest continued his dictation. “About to revive subject.” Then he grinned. “Level Three. Wake the fucker up.”

  Caleb waved the salts beneath Nolan’s nose. There was no reaction. He waved them for another few seconds, then lifted the vial to his own face and sniffed. He jerked back his head and snorted. “Nothing wrong with these!”

  “Oh, God,” Ian moaned, peering into Nolan’s face. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Ernest rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?” To Caleb he said, “Keep working those salts. See if you can revive him.”

  Caleb waved the salts and slapped Nolan’s cheeks.

  He continued the dictation. “Level Three. Subject so far unresponsive. Efforts to revive subject have been unsuccessful. Unsure at this point what—”

  Nolan rocked his head away from the salts. His eyes rolled around in their sockets, trying to focus, unable. The whites of his eyes were tinged with pink, distorted Easter eggs.

  Ernest leaned over, his mouth by Nolan’s ear. “Can you hear me?”

  Nolan moaned.

  “Nolan? Come on, man, wake up. We need to know how you feel. For posterity.” Ernest looked up at Ian. “Jot this down: Subject unwilling or unable to respond. In great deal of pain.”

  Nolan’s eyes focused. He blinked and tried to press himself into the table. Opening his mouth, all that escaped was a belching groan.

  “Next level before he passes out again,” Ernest said, moving to the simmering pot.

  “Burns …” groaned Nolan. “Help …”

  Ernest said, “This is going to be tricky. Ian, your turn. Grab his dick. Put on the gloves first.”

  Ian got into place and did what Ernest instructed.

  “Hold it up, as straight as you can. Hold it steady.” He turned back to the pot.

  “Wha …” Breathing came as gasping hitches, making speech impossible for Nolan. Tears streamed, dampening the hair along his temples. His eyes were glistening gems, brilliant and dying at the same time, a beautiful comet blazing to oblivion.

  Ernest held up an oversized syringe. “Hold him steady. I’m going to inject this.” The rod in the urethra was narrow, much thinner than the needle on the syringe. “Okay, hang on. He’ll thrash around, so hold him. Steady now.”

  He stuck the syringe into the tip of the rod. Moments later, the liquid metal traveled the length and filled the inside of Nolan’s penis.

  His shrieks reverberated off the cellar walls. He strained against the ropes, as if in the throes of a seizure. A sudden snap followed Nolan’s trailing screams before he passed out.

  Ernest tossed the stethoscope to Caleb and traced his fingertips over the damaged flesh and bone of Nolan’s broken leg. “Jesus Christ, that was a hell of a reaction. He broke his own goddamned shinbone.”

  Ernest examined the rest of the body. The flesh on the other ankle was torn and bloody, but the rope had held. He secured the broken leg to the table with another length of rope before checking on Nolan’s wrists.

  Ian pulled the rod from Nolan’s body. The liquid metal inside his penis had already begun to harden.

  “Hold it up,” Ernest said. “If you put it down the liquid will drip out.”

  Caleb held up the stethoscope. “He’s still alive.”

  Ernest smiled and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Level Three was a success, I would say.”

  “Look at this,” Ian said, pointing to the underside of the penis. “The skin’s burning away over here. But nothing’s leaking out. I think it’s already solid.”

  “I can’t believe he’s still alive,” Caleb said, shaking his head. “If it was me, I’d sure want to be dead.”

  Ernest glanced at his watch. “Write this: Level Three achieved at 7:20 PM. Subject in agony, yet continues to live. Asked for help. Barely able to speak, yet screamed his head off a minute later. Level Three consisted of pouring liquid metal into his urethra, creating a permanent, solid block in his urinary passage.”

  He clear
ed his throat. “Now at … 7:35 p.m., we will attempt Level Four. Will see if administering liquid to victim while asleep revives him at all.”

  Ian raised his eyebrows. His hands trembled as he wrote the notes, jotting every word, wishing this ordeal were over. He leaned against a wall, exhausted from exertion and strain.

  Caleb handed him a small bottle of water. “You okay?”

  Ian nodded, chugging the water down his parched throat.

  “Hey, look at this,” Ernest said. Nolan’s penis—ramrod straight and granite solid—jutted up and rested against his stomach. “Come on, break’s over. Let’s do Level Four.”

  He held up two small cylindrical tubes. “Ian, write down whatever I say. Try to capture whatever he says or does. If he wakes up.”

  “You have to hold his head back tight, Caleb. If he went nuts before … I don’t have a clue what he might be capable of. These are going up his nose now. If he shakes his head, that shit’s going everywhere. Hold him as tight as you can.”

  “Up his nose?” Ian said. “Won’t that kill him? That’ll, like, fry his brains.”

  Ernest thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I would guess it’ll fry his brains, but in other tests I’ve run, it didn’t kill the subjects right away. They kind of went nuts, but they didn’t die right away.”

  He tilted back Nolan’s head and inserted the small metal tubes into each nostril. Nolan’s breathing became whistling gasps, and his mouth popped open to compensate.

  “He’s waking up,” Caleb yelled, bending low and holding on tight to Nolan’s head.

  Dipping two metal basters into the pot, Ernest filled them with the liquid and rushed back.

  Before Ernest even touched him Nolan responded, crying out and bucking on the table.

  Ernest had to yell to be heard above Nolan’s steady stream of guttural and hysterical cries. “Level Four! Pour liquid into nasal passages!”

  Nolan fought, spit and sweat and blood flying everywhere, terrible grunts and animalistic growls erupting from his destroyed body. Placing the tips of the basters into the tubes, Ernest injected the boiling hot liquid into Nolan’s nasal cavities.

  Inhuman screams poured out of him, seeming to come from some other level of existence. He strained against the ropes securing his body, fighting and stretching so spastically and furiously that sinewy cords snapped up and down the length of his body.