Bow looked at him, fear and hate in his reddened eyes. That’s better, Frank thought. He had to mix threats and insult to push the researcher’s buttons.
He thrashed in his bonds, and again…
“Don’t do it!” Bow shouted. “You shouldn’t strain yourself! It’ll kill you!”
“And they will kill you,” Frank’s lips curved in disdain. “Oh yes, they will! You’ve already betrayed Kathleen and her cause. Once a traitor, always a traitor. You—”
“Stop it!” Bow clenched his fists.
“You’re a nerd and a woos, you wire-fucker!”
Bow grabbed the scalpel and hissed, his eyes glistening,
“You’d better shut up — now.”
“Or what? Come on now, show me how you do it! If you think you can. The sight of blood scares you more than your employers do!”
“Shut up!” Bow screamed and jumped toward the bed. The blade in his fist glistened under the lamp.
“What — can’t you take some tough love? Kathleen was right when she said—”
Bow pressed his elbow on Frank’s chest and brought the scalpel up to his face. At that time Frank rolled his eyes and shuddered, his mouth wide open and drooling.
“Shit!” Bow recoiled. “Didn’t I tell you!”
Frank hissed and rattled, foaming at the mouth, acting out a fit. Bow’s thin fingers grabbed his chin. The researcher turned the scalpel’s blade toward himself and pushed the handle into his captive’s mouth trying to unlock his jaw and release the tongue. Frank clenched his teeth and headbutted him. The scalpel cut Bow’s eyebrow open.
When Bow’s fingers snapped in Frank’s teeth, the researcher went white. His eyes bulging, he tried to pull his fingers free. The scalpel now clenched in his teeth, Frank headbutted him again. The blade brushed Bow’s cheek and fell onto the bed.
Bow recoiled, groaning. He stumbled to the table and, clutching at the cuts with one hand, groped for a weapon with the other. The tools and steel boxes clanged onto the floor.
Frank squinted to look at his chest. The scalpel lay on his stomach. He jerked, leaning to the left, and pushed it off into his outstretched hand. He had to hold it by the blade in order to turn the end toward the strap.
Disregarding pain from the cuts, he concentrated on keeping the blade in his hand slippery with blood. He flexed his wrist until he managed to make an incision in the strap. His hand could move more freely now. Twice more the blade slid across the leather until only a thin strip remained intact.
By that time, Bow had stopped groaning and picked up one of the syringes filled with the greenish liquid.
The strap snapped. Frank’s fist holding the scalpel shot forward. At the same time, he jerked his head to one side. The syringe pierced the headrest. The scalpel, Bow’s chest.
William Bow’s eyes opened wide. He hiccupped, let go of the syringe and collapsed to the floor.
Frank was already unstrapping himself, hurrying to get up and lock the door. He sat up, dangling his feet. The room swayed and swam before his eyes. His body refusing to obey, he couldn’t grab at the armrest. Nauseous and feverish, Frank started shaking…
When he came to he was lying on the floor. The wounded Bow whimpered next to him. Frank managed to get on all fours and forced his limbs to carry him to the door. Locking it was almost beyond him. His head spun; his fingers kept sliding off the thumb lock. He tried and failed to scramble to his feet. This had to be the painkiller’s side effects Bow had warned Claney about.
He finally locked the door and stretched out under it, breathing deeply. It was essential he got some rest. Getting himself into an adrenaline-powered frenzy wouldn’t do him any good. He had to hurry, though: somebody could walk in any minute, either a tech or Dickens himself.
He crawled over to Bow. Grabbing his shoulders, he sat the researcher up and leaned his back against the equipment stand. Bow’s head fell onto his chest. Blood oozed over the lab coat, the scalpel’s thin handle showing in its folds. Frank took a couple of deep breaths and patted the man’s cheek. His hands didn’t obey him, but it was enough for Bow to perk up. He groaned and moved his hand trying to reach for the scalpel.
“Where’s Maggie?” Frank croaked, grabbing his wrist. “Where do you keep her father?”
Nausea overcame him. He couldn’t suppress it any more and opened his mouth almost instinctively throwing up onto Bow’s lab coat. Frank wiped his mouth and felt much better. Leaning against Bow’s shoulder, he got up and repeated his question.
Bow grinned and snorted.
“You can’t get out,” he spat out a blood clot. “No good trying.” He grinned again, glancing at the syringe under the bed, its needle bent.
Frank turned, taking in several round plastic gates that looked like tomography scanners. He bent down, grabbed the man’s shoulders and jerked him up.
The researcher groaned. Frank pushed him onto the bed and started strapping him in.
“Once I pull the scalpel out, you’ll bleed to death,” he spat out the bile. “But if you tell me where they keep Maggie, I’ll leave you here. I won’t hurt you any more. I promise.”
Bow’s eyes glistened under the lamp. Frank bent down to pick up the remaining syringes and showed them to the researcher.
“Something tells me it’s not saline. I can inject both and I’ll take my time doing it. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Bow was now staring at him, his eyes wide. Looked like Frank found the right tool.
“Where’s the girl and her father?” He shoved one of the syringes into his pocket and removed the needle top off the other.
“They’re… not far from here.”
Bow’s left arm wasn’t strapped in completely as Frank had cut one of the belts. The researcher bent his elbow pressing his hand to his chest.
“Don’t!” Frank didn’t want him to disturb the scalpel in his chest. Maybe that was what Bow counted on, hoping to terminate his ordeal. The blade must have gone through the lung close to the heart. Another inch, and he’d have already been dead. “Where are they?”
“The girl’s at the end of the hallway…” Bow’s hand fell onto the armrest. “Her father next to her. There’s,” he glanced at the wall to his right, “there’s nobody in his room now. They’re busy with the girl.” He had trouble speaking. Every quick breath between phrases brought blood up to his lips.
Frank dropped the syringe. Without taking his eyes off Bow, he reached inside the only steel box left on the table. He groped inside for a square of muslin and pulled it out to wipe Bow’s face. Red spots covered the muslin. For a second, he stared at his hand. He’d completely forgotten he’d cut his fingers with the blade.
He wiped Bow’s face, tore a strip of fabric off the hem of his lab coat and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. The researcher breathed in fits, his throat seething. His eyes were closed. Frank didn’t know much about medicine but he remembered the coach telling him that with a perforated lung, you should plug the wound straight away otherwise the lung would curl up and collapse. Apparently the blade didn’t block it completely allowing for a slight stream of air to seep through. That could alter the pressure in the chest cavity and then…
Frank rummaged through the table looking for something to block the wound with. Nothing. Bow could die at any moment leaving him none the wiser.
“I’ll help you, I promise,” Frank said. “If you can tell me how.” Was he really going to save the life of this cowardly asshole? After him betraying Kathleen and torturing Barney? He who knew what his bosses were about to do to Maggie and thousands of people…
Bow hissed and open his tearful eyes, glistening with the fear of death.
“The medicine cabinet…” he managed. “The first aid kit.”
He tried to raise his left hand, pointing. Frank stepped into the far corner and opened the cabinet. One half of it was a locker with lab coats on hangers. The other had many shelves. Frank found the first-aid kit on top of the upper one.