THIRTY-SIX

He couldn’t remember if it was the third or fourth time he’d come back round. He didn’t even care what happened to him any more. He just wanted to black out again and for the pain to go. But it didn’t. It was coming over him in waves, the worst pain he’d ever felt.

He could see Connolly bent over him, concentrating as he carved another letter into his chest. He had told him what he was going to write but he’d forgotten. Pain just overcame everything. Couldn’t think of anything but wanting it to stop, couldn’t remember anything but the pain.

‘There,’ said Connolly. He looked up, grinned. Sprays of drying blood on his face.

McCoy heard Abrahams behind his head.

‘That’s enough for now,’ he said.

‘Fuck off,’ said Connolly. ‘I haven’t even started.’

Abrahams sighed. ‘Okay. If you must.’

Connolly put the bloody scalpel back on the metal table. Looked through the other instruments like a kid picking his favourite toy.

All McCoy wanted was for him to hurry up. To hurt him so bad he passed out. To escape back into the darkness. Hide there where Connolly couldn’t get to him.

Connolly held up a small bone saw, showed it to McCoy. ‘This one, I think,’ he said.

He pulled it along McCoy’s arm experimentally, teeth pulling and cutting through his flesh. McCoy screamed as the pain hit. Connolly grinned happily, went to draw it through McCoy’s arm again and stopped. Looked confused. He swayed a bit, then fell, slumped over McCoy’s chest.

Abrahams appeared behind him, syringe in hand. ‘He’s had his fun,’ he said. ‘Now it’s time for mine.’

McCoy felt the black calling him back, felt the weight of Connolly being lifted off his chest, and drifted away.

*

He thought he could smell burning, like an electricity transformer overheating or a plug before it blew. He opened his eyes, wave of agony from his body. Turned his head, thought he saw Abrahams undoing the straps holding Connolly’s body down on the other table. Blinked, tried to focus. Thought he was going to black out again. Did.

The smell again. The burning. He turned his head. Elaine was strapped to the other table, Abrahams holding the paddles of the ECT machine to the sides of her head. A warning tone and then she shuddered and jerked; the smell of burning got stronger. Her legs were kicking under the straps, body writhing. Abrahams took the paddles away and her body suddenly became still.

Abrahams bent over her, took the leather block out from between her teeth. Caressed her cheek, kissed her.

McCoy turned away.

He told himself he wouldn’t turn back, that he’d keep his eyes on the far wall. Waited, could hear Abrahams wandering around, whistling as he picked up things from metal trays. McCoy knew exactly what it was he was picking up. A hammer and a long pointed probe.

He told himself he wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t look. He didn’t. Not even when he heard the hammer hit the probe. Not even when he heard the faint crack of her skull giving way and he started crying. He felt sick when he heard the scraping. Kept his eyes on the wall, tried not to believe he was next. The scraping went on. He willed himself back into the darkness.

*

‘McCoy!’

He came to suddenly. Abrahams was undoing the strap across his chest. Helping him sit up. As he did, the pain across his chest hit him. He tried to breathe, to ride it out, tried not to pass out.

‘Breathe,’ said Abrahams. ‘Try to breathe.’ He held a cup of water up to his mouth and McCoy tried to drink it, most of it spilling onto the cuts on his chest.

‘Better?’ Abrahams asked.

McCoy nodded.

‘Good.’

Abrahams cocked his head. Distant sound of a siren. Smiled. ‘Perfect timing.’

McCoy raised his head, blinked. He felt woozy, tried to focus.

Kevin Connolly and Elaine Scobie were sitting in the two chairs dressed in hospital gowns. They both had black eyes, bruises on their foreheads, dried blood around their nostrils.

McCoy’s head spun, thought he was going to pass out again. Tried to hold on. Blinked a few times, tried to believe what he was seeing. The sirens got louder. The two of them were holding hands.