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Incision, Inc.

Myke Edwards

    Tobe Howard’s neck was raw and red. He had been sitting on the edge of the plank the doctors claimed to be a bed, running a hand over his jugular. He assured himself it was still there and in one piece, but he also wanted to protect it. A watchful eye stayed glued to the door, afraid that the doctors would come in and see him in such a state.
    After four months of pills and straightjackets, he looked worse than ever. With his unkempt hair and sunken eyes, some would even say he did in fact look crazy. Regardless of the situation, he simply feared for his life.
    One month before, another inmate in the Cherrywood Center for the Criminally Insane had been found with his neck sliced open, and his body completely drained of blood. The incision was perfect; not a trace of blood or foreign DNA was found. Not a single drop of blood.
    It had happened four times since then.
    There seemed to be no pattern to the killings. The first victim was a man who killed his wife and three young children. The next was an animal abuser driven by the “Voice of God”. All the victims stayed in different areas of the asylum, with no similarities in age, race, religion, or anything else, other than that they were all male. One happened on meatloaf day, another on chocolate pudding day. To add to Tobe’s paranoia, all the deaths occurred when the inmates slept, which caused an upswing in sleeping medications being handed out. Anyone could have been next, at any time.
    With no suspects and no clues, nobody knew what was going on.
    Naturally, the authorities, doctors, and orderlies kept quiet on the M.O. of the unknown assailant, but word leaked out, and some of the inmates picked up on a few things during their two hours of free time. Tobe knew that if he could see Jake, they could put together information a lot quicker than everyone else. Jake was smart like that. The only problem was that they had no one who would listen to or believe them.
    He could picture the bodies—lifeless, eyes wide open, at their most innocent. Some of the inmates in this place were big, tough men who would never go down without a major fight. Whoever could cause these images to flash through Tobe’s mind must have been a professional. A professional who deserved to be locked up more than most of the other inmates, and Tobe knew it.
    If Jake was still around, he would know what to do. Jake always knew what to do...but the doctors had told him that Jake had to go away, and that Tobe would stop acting so crazy without him around.
    He knew he wasn’t crazy, no matter what they told him. The ignorant judge, the asshole cops that arrested and beat him, or even Drs. Glover and Reilly had to remind him numerous times of his insanity. But he knew that being stuck in a padded cell was better than being raped and beaten in a normal prison, so he went with it.
    All he did was blow up a few churches...with people inside them. Sure, that made him deranged. Definitely criminal. Sociopathic, even. But insane? Never. If he truly were crazy, he wouldn’t even be cognizant enough to know it, but that defense couldn’t convince the judge and jury. Jake told him to commit the crimes and how, but Tobe was the one who did it. At least Jake was in there with him, although Tobe hadn’t seen him in a few weeks.
    So he sat there, guarding his neck, hoping no one would question him why. Up until a month ago, he would have said Jake told him to do it, but Jake hadn’t been around lately. Besides, that ultimately resulted in more pills or straightjacket periods. The straightjackets usually came after violent outbursts, but those were because no one would listen to him about Jake. Using the “I’m crazy” excuse turned out to be a better way to stop the questions, but wasn’t exactly a solid defense...or the truth, according to him. Tobe had experienced his fair share of different “treatments”, so if anyone asked about his neck, he figured telling the truth would be the best course of action.
    Doctor Glover walked into the cell. A big, Nordic-looking orderly named Bruce guarded the door. Tobe always thought they looked stupid with their white dress shirts and black bow ties, kind of like Steak & Shake employees. His comments about them needing paper hats were lost on most of the orderlies, as he assumed that their brains were nothing but steroid-saturated muscle. Still, it didn’t stop Bruce from giving him periodic beatings, just enough so that the doctors never said anything to him. Tobe hated him more than anything, and wasn’t too happy with the doctors for turning a blind eye to it.
    “Worried about getting killed, Howard?” Dr. Glover asked.
    “Just a little.” He tried to laugh it off. It didn’t work.
    “Well, we’ve got extra security working now, so you can just relax.” He handed Tobe a small paper cup. “Take your pills, then it’s lights out.”
    Tobe obeyed, thankful that there was no little blue pill mixed in with everything else. He always fell asleep too quickly with those blue ones. That night, he had a plan.

#

    Each cell door had a small, Plexiglas-covered window at the top, so doctors and orderlies could check up on the inmates. Very little sound came through, but Tobe could still look out onto the concourse to see what was going on. He planned on staying up all night, hoping to see if he would be the unknown assailant’s next victim. Periodically, he would check the window. He actually wanted the murderer to come into his cell. Using a pillowcase and hiding out of sight, he could surprise the assailant, strangle him, and be the big damn hero he hoped blowing up those churches would have made him. Never mind the screams or cries for help, Tobe himself yelled and pounded on the walls regularly, but no one cared. It was an asylum, after all.
    Dr. Glover mentioned extra security, but Tobe had only seen one extra guard. Each wing typically had only one night watchman, and he wondered if two would do the trick. Every time an attack had occurred, the guard was found unconscious and strapped to a chair, with no recollection of his entire shift.
    The idea of guards trying to keep prisoners alive always confused Tobe. If society locked them away for horrible, “insane” crimes, why would they care if the people were left alive or not? Before his bombing spree, Tobe never liked the idea of paying good tax money to keep psychos alive, while they did nothing in return. He was glad Jake put him on the right path, even if he ended up in a padded cell because of it.
    But now the tables were turned, and as the hours dragged on, Tobe felt grateful for the security, no matter how understaffed, undertrained, or underpaid they were.
    The small shaft of light streaming into his room seemed to be the only place the guards could see the inmates, so Tobe hid out of sight. He peeked out the hole every hour or so, doing pushups and crunches in between glances to stay awake and in shape. Nothing ever happened. He paced around for a while, and eventually started pounding on the wall. In a fit of frustration, he screamed for Jake to come to him; Jake always helped him out of situations like this. Finally, he sat on his bed to wonder if all his worrying was worth it.

#

    He woke up the next morning to Dr. Reilly handing him his cup of pills. Realizing what had happened, he jolted up and felt his neck.
    “Is everyone okay?” he asked in between pills.
    “Everything’s fine,” Dr. Reilly said in his dry voice.
    “No one died last night?”
    “No.” He patted Tobe on the shoulder and left the room. “But that’s nothing you need to worry about.” The orderly glared at him before slamming the door shut.
    He spent the day mostly dozing, with a bit of worrying mixed in. By the time night fell, the two guards, Mick and the new guy Perry, paced around the hall, looking just as worried as he was. He tried to exercise so he could stay alert, but he was just too distracted.
    At one point during their rounds, Mick walked by the cell doors, but lingered a tad longer than normal at Tobe’s door. He pretended to be sleeping until Mick walked on by. It left him more than a little paranoid.
    His paranoia was grounded, however. Within the next hour, Mick slowly opened the door, while Tobe sat up. Of all the people here to pick, and its gotta be me, he thought. He wanted to hide against the wall and kick Mick in the head, or he could pull the guard’s ankles out from under him and then smother him with a pillow. He imagined a few other things he could do to this man before Mick slammed him in the chest with a taser. It knocked him on his ass, and even though he stayed awake through it, he had no energy to move or do anything other than try to breathe.
    “You picked the wrong guys to mess with, psycho,” the guard said. “My parents and brother were in that church.” He started fitting a straightjacket over Tobe’s torso. He worked quickly, securing and fastening the straps, and giving Tobe a good kick in the head when he finished. Stars flashed in the darkness before him.
    When Mick left the room, he kept the door open a crack. Bile rose up in the back of Tobe’s throat; his heart pounded. Laying there in that straightjacket, he wished he’d never bombed those churches, no matter how money-grubbing they were, never mind the fact that his parents lost everything thanks to them, no matter how convincing Jake was; he just wanted somebody else to get their neck cut. Most importantly, he wanted to know what was going to happen to him, and how.
    Before he could stress himself out too much, he drifted off to sleep.

#

    The whooshing of Tobe’s cell door opening woke him. A man in a white lab coat, not too different from those worn by the doctors, entered his cell. He was barely tall enough to touch the top of the door frame, with spiky blond hair. Even in the darkness of the room, Tobe could see the man’s eyes were deep and dark, the kind that no one could tell what their focus was.
    With silent precision and a mission to fulfill, the man pulled a straight razor from his sleeve, the kind from an old time barber shop. As he came closer to Tobe, the razor inches from his neck, Perry burst into the room, puffing and panting.
    “No, not him,” he said. He breathed deep, trying to catch his breath. “Not him.” He stood upright, and jutted his chest out, holding his ground.
    “Yes, him,” the Razor Man said. “His is good, we need him.”
    “We have plans for him. Get out of here.”
    “Tell me,” Razor Man started, “did you manage to find your car keys so soon? Or did you just give up looking, like with the rest of your life?”
    “I knew something was up when I got down the hall. And I know Bruce has his own plans for this one, so don’t think I’m stupid.” He placed his hand on his gun.
    “We claimed this one, I don’t care what that orderly says,” Razor Man growled. “Leave, or you’re next.”
    “No.” Perry drew his pistol and pointed it at the Razor Man. “I’ve turned my head long enough for you to do whatever it is you do, but you aren’t paying me enough to sell this one out.” He nodded his head toward Tobe, crouched on his bed and shivering. “You’ve gotta make the right decision. Let Bruce have him.”
    Whatever Bruce had planned for him, Tobe didn’t want to find out. And now he has the guards on his side...what a sadistic bastard, Tobe thought.
    “We need his blood,” the Razor Man growled. “We’ll make so much money from it, just wait and see. You’ll get your cut.” He dangled the razor as he spoke.
    Perry aimed at the Razor Man, the hammer of his gun drawing back. Before he could fire, Mick crept up behind and slammed his own pistol down hard on Perry’s head.
    “You’ve gotta think before you move,” he said to Perry, now in a heap on the floor. He looked at the Razor Man. “Now we can get both of them,” Mick said with glee in his voice. “He can be our little treat.” He pointed at Tobe.
    “What are you going to do to me?” Tobe barely managed to whisper. The guard put his now unconscious partner’s head in a basin, one that looked like someone would use while changing the oil in their car.
    Maybe the two men didn’t hear him, or maybe they were just ignoring him, but they looked fairly busy. Razor Man slit Perry’s jugular with his razor, and Mick put a small device over the wound. A small plastic jug sat attached to it, and when it was turned on, blood from the meticulous incision started to fill it. Tobe watched the door frantically for Jake. He knew his friend would walk in the room at any moment, but nothing yet.
    “Gonna take a few sucks for yourself?” Mick asked. As he spoke, Tobe noticed that the man had two teeth longer and sharper than the others. Things were so weird already; he figured he could believe anything at that point.
    “I don’t touch the unclean,” Razor Man said. Tobe figured that guy’s teeth were the same. “Why do you think I use this thing? Besides, we get it all this way.”
    “Touching someone’s never been a problem for me,” Mick said. “Besides, I thought you did this just to sell it.”
    “I do, but I still won’t touch them, no matter how beautiful or pure. They’re not like us.”
    “Their blood’s better, right? That’s why you’re in here, cleaning them out.”
    “There’s a blood disease that humans can get. They have delusions or think someone’s talking to them...kind of like this guy.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Tobe, still huddled in the corner. “There’s something about their blood...I don’t know what it is, but it’s good.”
    “Wouldn’t that make it dirty? Why would you want that instead of something pure? Like our blood...”
    The Razor Man glared at the oblivious guard. He grinned, slowly.
    A few minutes later, the jug could take no more blood. After a bit of jimmying the device and sealing the jug, they finished. Tobe knew he was next.
    All he could do was cower in fear. He wanted to put his hands over his throat, but the straightjacket prevented it. As little as it would do, he curled his legs into his chest. Jake wasn’t going to save him. No one would save him. He shut his eyes. Hopefully, it would be quick and painless...
    ...and yet nothing happened.
    Tobe opened his eyes and watched as the men dragged Perry’s bloodless corpse out of the room. Eventually, the Razor Man came back in the room and glared at him, but made no move to slice his neck.
    “This is your lucky day,” he seethed. “That orderly has plans for you, and I’ve got plans for someone else.” He smiled bitterly.
    Just then, Mick entered. The Razor Man turned and sliced a fine cut right into the guard’s neck. His head and splattering blood landed perfectly in the basin. With the precision and ease that the Razor Man worked, Tobe knew he had performed this several times before. Balled up at the head of his bed, Tobe watched in horror as yet another man, even if he was a vampire, slowly died and became a food source.

#

    “You’ve been taking those yellow pills again.”
    Tobe woke, awkwardly splayed on his bed, still in the straightjacket. He had no idea what time it was. He couldn’t tell if the door was still open or not, but someone else had just entered his room.
    “Just...get out of here.” He just wanted sleep, and talking exhausted him.
    “Tobe, you need to look at me.”
    He recognized that voice. After blinking a few times, his eyes focused, and he saw the man standing at the foot of his bed. Six foot tall and wiry, his greasy red hair had grown, and now hung to his shoulders. But how could he have gotten in here? The Razor Man could have just left the door wide open, but that would just be sloppy.
    “Jake? What are you doing here?”
    “Tobe, listen to me. Don’t tell. Don’t tell anybody anything.”
    “But why? I know why that guy keeps coming in here and killing people.” He looked at the floor and took a deep breath. “According to him, you’re not real.”
    Jake laughed. “Who are you going to believe, Tobe? Some whacko that kills people and sells their blood, or your own best friend?” Jake just kept laughing while he talked. “What do you think they call themselves, Incision, Inc?”
    A lump formed in Tobe’s throat. “How do you know all that, Jake?” Tobe sighed again. “I killed those people...those churches. That was me, not you telling me to. Me. I deserve to be here, and you need to go.”
    “You can’t tell anyone anything.”
    “Like they’d even believe me.” Their eyes met. “Good-bye, Jake.”
    Tobe Howard closed his eyes, and once again, he was alone.

#

    Dawn came, and Tobe still sat huddled in the corner, straightjacket and all, with eyes glazed over, shivering slightly. Dr. Glover demanded he receive the best care from the orderlies. They all rushed to obey.
    Police swarmed all over the building, and every time they attempted to talk to Tobe, he just sat silent. He wanted to tell them everything he saw, everything he now knew about the mysterious deaths, but he couldn’t. He wanted nothing more than to tell them everything, but it would make no difference. Somehow, he knew that everyone would still think he was crazy, as much as he knew he was not.
    Days and nights went by with nothing new to report, not even any deaths. Tobe received some shock therapy, which didn’t sit well with him. The doctors hoped it would cure his depression, and reset his brain. After about a week of it, he quit fighting, and just let them carry him away.
    One night, Tobe was just about to drift off to sleep. After being locked up for so long, he finally felt relaxed and somewhat at peace with himself. Well after the doctors had left for the evening, his cell door opened. Bruce, his most hated foe, entered the room.
    The big man flicked on the lights, causing Tobe to cover his eyes for a moment.
    “What do you want?” he mumbled.
    Bruce just smiled, revealing a set of yellowed teeth, two of them ending in sharp points.
    “It’s time,” he said.
    The lights turned off, and Tobe just lay on the bed, continuing to hate the world for a few final seconds.

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