The Test(15)

—You’re no fun at all, Samaritan! Where’s your sense of humour? You know the drill. You choose one of them or I kill them both.

—I can’t! Just please! Stop this. This has gone far enough.

—You forget your place, Samaritan. Are you really gonna make me count every fucking time?

—. . .

—Wait a minute. The crying, the “Please! Please!” Something’s changed. Do you know these people? They kinda look like you.

He knows. He suspects. My whole body seizes. I want to will myself away from here. I want to wake up. I want the police to storm in and fire a thousand bullets into him as I do. I want to kill. Him.

—I asked you a question, Samaritan. Answer me or I shoot one of them just for the hell of it.

—. . . That’s my wife . . . and my son. . . .

I don’t know what else I can do. My wife is staying strong. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look at me because she knows that would make it harder for me to lie. But Ramzi’s crying. He’s terrified. Maybe the man in charge will let Ramzi go if he knows he’s my son. Even if he doesn’t, I can’t do this to Ramzi anymore. He’s not old enough to understand. He’s scared out of his wits and all he really wants is for one of us to hold him, tell him everything is going to be okay. Now he has to watch me act as if I don’t even know him. I won’t do it. I won’t let him go through this without his father. I’m here, Ramzi. Look me in the eyes and you’ll know. Your father is here and he loves you.

—Forget what I said, Samaritan. You do have a sense of humour. A really sick one at that!

—Don’t make me do this.

—What? You mean this is for real? Jesus fucking Christ!

—I beg you, sir. Don’t hurt my family.

—Hahaha! This. Is. Nuts! I’ve seen some crazy things in my life, but this takes the biscuit.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. There has to be a way out of this, but I can’t see it. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.

—WOW! This is quite the pickle you’re in, Samaritan. I thought you had it easy before, me doing the killing and all, but now! Woooo! Sucks to be you!

I can convince him. He’ll listen.

—I’ve done . . . everything you asked, sir. Everything! All I—

—What in the world are you talking about, Samaritan? You haven’t done everything I asked. You haven’t done shit! You had one job to do, and you found a way to screw that up. I had to shoot two people in the head because you wouldn’t do your job. I’m telling you, there’s a Mrs. . . . Boring Accountant or Mrs. Cashmere Sweater Dude somewhere going through some serious grief because of you. OK, maybe not the cashmere guy, that guy had to be single. But you know what I mean, Samaritan. You got someone killed! Then you did your job once and now you think you’re entitled to . . . I don’t know what you think you’re entitled to. What is it that you want, actually?

—I told you. I . . .

—You don’t want me to make you choose between your wife and kid, is that it?

It’s working. I can save them.

—Please, sir. Please don’t.

—You want someone else to do it.

—NO!

It all comes tumbling down. My hope. My sanity. I will not choose one of them. I will not watch. I’m not strong enough. I want to transport myself, be . . . anywhere but here, feel anything but this. I want to feel nothing. I feel the will to live pouring out of me like sand.

—Good. You had me scared for a minute. That seemed a bit . . . cowardly. That’s not like you. I don’t think your wife would be very proud of you if you bailed on your responsibilities now. Would you? Ma’am? What would you think of your husband if he let someone else decide if you die? . . . No? . . . Is she always this quiet?

She is. She was quiet on that first day in the dentist chair and she never changed. She listens. If she opens her mouth it’s because she has something important to say, or because she knows I need to hear her voice, or the kids need to. There is a stillness, a strength to her that makes the people around her feel safe. I felt it the moment we met. She’s our coral reef, shielding all of us from waves and storms. We live in her world. We need her like we need air to breathe. She is everything. I’m . . .

—Me! I choose me. Kill me. Let them live.

—What are you saying, Samaritan?

—PLEASE! KILL ME! I’m asking you to kill me!

—Are you sure? That sounds like a terrible idea.

—YES! I want to die. Just me.

—. . . All right. Fine. . . .

This is how it ends.

—Thank you.

—That’s just weird, you thanking me for that. . . .

I am grateful. I feel the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. I can turn it all off, end the pain. I can save my family.

—Whatever, your call . . . I just— Are you really sure? I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding. What you’re asking, it’s kind of permanent, not the kind of thing that can be undone.

—I’m sure.

—You want me to kill you, then let someone else decide which one of your wife and son has to die. That’s just stupid if you ask me.

I . . . I don’t understand. I want to die. Me. I want it to end with me.