He said Damon would be notified of my location shortly before the event of my death.
Nathaniel expressed the hope that Damon would show up and witness my end. He then confessed, sheepishly and apologetically, that if this happened, he might decide to torture me (during my half hour of stress-free dying) to make the revenge be of superior quality. “If it does come to that,” he added, “let me say in advance that I am very sorry, but also very grateful that you went through the unpleasantness, thereby fulfilling my wildest fantasies of justice.”
Damon did show up. He had been warned not to bring the police, or I would be executed on the spot, regardless of the consequences to the executioner. So he came alone. He looked awfuclass="underline" pale, tired, ravaged.
My mouth was covered with masking tape. When Damon entered the room, Nathaniel pointed his gun at me, and with his free hand, pointed to a pair of handcuffs hanging from an iron bar attached to the wall. He told Damon to handcuff himself to the bar or he’d kill me.
“No,” said Damon.
“No, what?” said Nathaniel.
“I’m not handcuffing myself.”
“But I’ll kill her.”
“I understand.”
“And it will not be painless for her.”
“For me either.”
“You mean her death?”
Damon nodded.
Nathaniel said, “That’s right. That’s the whole point. You will suffer.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“You’re counting on it?”
“Why do you think I kept taking walks at night even after having been attacked regularly by men whom I assume were sent by you? Including that night in the subway when Anna saved me. It’s because for a while now I’ve been a masochist.”
Nathaniel turned his gun against Damon. “Handcuff yourself or I will kill you and her.”
Damon handcuffed himself.
“That’s better,” said Nathaniel. A moment later, he added, “I will kill her with a plastic bag.”
He took two rubber bands and slid them over my head. They fit snugly around my neck. He tore the masking tape off of my mouth. He slid the plastic bag over my head and tucked its edge under the rubber bands, making sure there were no leaks of air.
“It should take about half an hour for her to die,” said Nathaniel. “Maybe a little longer, since it’s a large bag.”
Through the transparent bag I could see Damon staring at me. He said, “I love you, Anna,” and did nothing.
“I love you too, Anna,” said Nathaniel. “It won’t be painful. I’ve decided not to use the torture, because this method of dying offers a subtle kind of horror, an exquisite kind of pain to the beholder. He’ll see your face and lips turning blue.”
Damon and Nathaniel began to talk.
“I’m finally getting what I deserve,” said Damon. “It’s such a relief, after all these years of torment and agony and guilt.”
“It was wrong of you to write that letter, to ruin my career,” said Nathaniel.
“No. It was wrong of me to have been the cause of my brother’s suffering. So now, finally, justice will be done.”
“You’re bluffing. It’s a ploy to get me to free her.”
“No and yes. I’m not bluffing, but it is a ploy. The truth is that my greatest deliverance would come if you killed her, and yet out of love and guilt, I feel I should make an attempt to save her, and the only attempt I can make is to tell you that my greatest deliverance would be if you killed her. That is what would truly put me at peace; I would then have suffered as much as my brother suffered.”
“Anna, did you know you were going out with a weirdo? It must be very disappointing to discover this on your deathbed.” He paused and turned to Damon, “So you’re telling me that the ultimate pain for you would be the pain of not having the pain. But you know, I think I’d rather simply give you the pain of having the pain.”
The phone rang. Nathaniel answered, saying, “Etiquette hot line,” and then said, “Actually, I’m sorry, that was a slip, I’ve quit my job and am no longer an etiquette expert.” After listening for a moment, he said, “No, please don’t insist. It can’t be that urgent. No, please.” He sighed. “All right. You say you’re at your own party and a woman has walked in with dog shit on her shoe, and she’s spreading it around your living room carpet, and your question to me is: Can you tell her? The answer is no, or you will forever spoil your relationship with her. Chances are the damage is not increasing but decreasing with every step. She will eventually notice the problem on her own and clean it off in the bathroom, and she will never reveal that she was the culprit. You’re welcome.” Nathaniel hung up.
Just then, there was an explosion at the door. Damon’s brother, Philip, entered the room in his wheelchair, holding a gun, an antique sword lying across his lap.
“Take that bag off her head,” he said to Nathaniel, who happened to be gunless, having placed his weapon aside after Damon handcuffed himself.
Nathaniel hesitated a moment, and obeyed.
“Now untie her,” said Philip.
Nathaniel obeyed. Philip tossed me the sword.
“Uncuff Damon,” said Philip.
As Nathaniel did so, Damon stabbed him in the arm with a hypodermic needle.
“What are you doing?” asked Philip. “Will it kill him?”
“Eventually,” said Damon. “In a few days.”
“That’s too long. I don’t want to wait that long. I want to kill him now.”
“Okay, but wait a minute. Take off your clothes, Ben,” he said to Nathaniel.
Ben just stood there and did nothing, as he became light. “I feel light-headed,” he said.
“No, you feel light, period,” said Damon.
“Do what he says!” Philip shook the gun at him.
Ben took off his clothes. He hopped up in the air and did not come back down. Damon had overdosed him; he was clearly past zero.
“What is this?” said Ben. “Am I dead?”
“I suppose, in a sense, you are,” said Damon.
“One sense is not enough,” said Philip. “He must die in all senses of the word.”
Philip rolled his wheelchair over to me and grabbed the sword from my hands.
He rolled himself under Nathaniel, who tried to swim away, in air. Philip slashed and poked his sword at him, but Nathaniel was too light to be pierced significantly. Each strike from the sword only caused him to bounce away, escaping with barely a prick.
When he reached a wall, he would push against it with his feet, to propel himself away from Damon, who came to retrieve him. Damon would tap him back, like a balloon, toward Philip’s sword. Sometimes he simply tossed him back to Philip, who swung the sword at him like a baseball bat, sending him flying off in another direction, with a shallow wound.
Nathaniel begged me to make them stop. I did nothing.
The phone rang. Damon picked up the receiver and listened. He then hung up, and said to Ben, “The woman of the party said the damage did not decrease but increased and that you can expect to receive her carpet’s cleaning bill.”
Philip continued trying to stab Ben, but unsuccessfully. So finally, Damon lifted Philip out of his chair and raised him over his head. They were standing under Nathaniel, who was hovering horizontally, face down, near the ceiling. Philip stabbed Nathaniel through the stomach, tacking him to the ceiling.
Nathaniel screamed, and then gurgled, as blood floated out of his mouth. Philip dislodged his sword from the ceiling, and was placed back in his chair by his brother. He shook the Nathaniel-topped sword like a baby shaking a giant rattle. He knocked and banged Nathaniel against the floor, cutting the sword through his stomach further.
It did not take long for Nathaniel to die in every remaining sense of the word.