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“I’m done.”
I look up at him, and he appears a little pale. One-handed, he pulls out the IV, puts a cotton ball over the site, and tapes it to his skin. I believe him when he tells me he’s done this before. It all comes so naturally to him, there’s no hesitation.
“How do you feel?”
“Okay, little queasy, but it’ll pass. I’ll need to take it easy for a couple of days.”
I nod and stand, then sit back down. My mind is full of everything and nothing at the same time. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“Simon?”
My eyes spring open, and Hank is leaning forward in the chair with a knife in his hands.
“Yes?”
“I need you to move the IV and bags out of the camera’s view and anything else that might give us away.” He points to his leftover food. “Your first stab needs to hit me here,” he points to his upper chest on the left. “It’s going to cause an arterial blood spray, which will go all over you. For this, we’ll be using the blood we’ve just taken.”
“Okay.” I’m nodding repetitively at him, and I can’t seem to stop.
“You’re going to use gaffer tape to tie me to the chair. You’ll stab me here.” He points again to the same spot. “Then a couple of times in my stomach. Got it?”
“Y-Yeah.”
He picks up the orange juice and finishes the last of it. “Okay. I’m going to sit here for another ten minutes, then we can start.”
I nod and begin moving all the other things out of the way. Hank has really thought about everything. He’s got a tripod set up with my cell phone already attached, and he’s timed it so it’s late afternoon. The light in here isn’t that great, but good enough to comprehend what’s going on.
“I’m glad Ann loves you.”
The leftovers fall clumsily out of my hands and into his cooler. “What?”
“I’m glad Ann loves you. This would be so much harder to do if I didn’t trust you, and I only trust you because of her.”
Ann.
Jesus, is one woman worth all of this?
Killing him would be easier, and I’d be done with him and her, but she’d never forgive me, and even if my whole life is a mess right now, there’s one thing that bears true.
I love Ann.
“I love her too.”
“I know.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, and I take comfort knowing that he at least believes Ann and I are in it together.
The gaffer tape is in my backpack. Bending down, I retrieve it and begin cutting off lengths. Hank watches me in silence. With the prop knife in his hands, he keeps pushing it into his leg, I assume to make sure it’s working properly. Hank puts the knife down, takes off his shirt, and fastens a brace around his body. With a funnel, he pours his blood into a black plastic pouch. It looks bulky, and I quirk an eyebrow at him. Hank sighs—he really doesn’t enjoy explaining himself.
Hank points at the pouch. “This will be stuck on my back with the brace… they won’t see it. Most of the device will be tucked down one side, and my other arm will keep it in place. When I’ve filled this up, you’re going to attach it. I’ll lie on it, when you stab me…” Hank holds up a piece of tubing, “… it’s going to take a few seconds for the blood to work its way around to the front of my body. Hold the knife down, scream, stare at me, whatever, but hold the position until I give you a slow blink. Then pull out the knife and voila!” He raises his hands in the air. “Blood spray.”
“Will it work?”
“Well, it does in Hollywood every day.”
“Is there an explosion, a noise?”
“No, my body weight will do most of the work. All you need to do is stab, push me down, and gravity will do the rest.” He holds up the pouch he’s attached clear tubing to. “Can you stick this to the back of my brace?”
