The Thirteenth Skull (Alfred Kropp #3)(38)

Time for an inventory. Shower curtain and those little rings holding it to the rod. The rod? I gave it a shake. Aluminum, too flimsy. A bar of soap. A travel-sized plastic bottle of dandruff shampoo. Why had they given me dandruff shampoo? Was I flaky? I turned to the mirror and was shocked by my reflection. My face was no longer the familiar oval shape I’d had since childhood. I had lost nearly forty pounds since I stole Excalibur from beneath my father’s desk. My face was thin and angular, which made my eyes seem very large on either side of my nose, now slightly crooked after being broken by Delivery Dude. I was so shocked by my appearance I forgot to hunt for dandruff. I looked like a vampire—only I was the opposite of a vampire: vampires drink other people’s blood to give themselves life; I gave my blood to others to give them life.

I opened the medicine cabinet. No razors or other sharp objects, not even a pair of tweezers. A toothbrush, but it was plastic and the end was blunt—I’d have to sharpen it somehow and, even if I had a way to do it, I didn’t have the time.

I decided to brush my teeth. God knew when I’d have another opportunity and, besides, brushing your teeth is one of those normal, mundane things that really center you.

A glob of toothpaste fell from my mouth onto the bandage around my hand and I rinsed it off without thinking.

I grabbed a towel and dabbed off the extra water, but the bandage still felt moist. I could feel my heartbeat in the palm. Maybe I should take it off and wash the wound with some soap. The last thing I needed was an infection.

I’d unwrapped about half of it—Mingus had really wound me up with a lot—when I got an idea. It was a tiny germ of an idea, so I stood there at the sink, not moving, until the idea grew a little, then a little more, until it was not so little and germy anymore.

Grabbing the shampoo from the stall, I unscrewed the cap, emptied the contents into the sink, and then I rinsed it out a couple of times. I sidestepped to the toilet, but couldn’t make myself go. That’s what pressure does to you, like when you’re at a ballpark or movie theater, trying to go while five guys stand in line behind you, waiting for you to finish already!

Water. Lots of water and hopefully enough time for it to work through my system. I ducked my head under the tap and drank until I lost count of the swallows. I wondered why I was bothering to count them. I left the empty shampoo bottle on the back of the toilet and went to the closet in the main room. I dressed in a fresh jumpsuit, and then took the empty wooden hanger and snapped it in two across my knee. I tossed the piece with the hook onto the closet floor, sat on the bed, and pulled the rest of the gauze from my hand. How much time until they came for me? Ten minutes? Five? Two? And how much wrap? Too short and I wouldn’t be able to position it. Too long and I wouldn’t be able to tighten it.

I tore off an arm’s length of the gauze, using my teeth to get the tear started, twirled it until it was firm and ropelike, then tied the two ends together to make a loop. I dropped the loop over my head. Might be a little too big, but there was no time to mess with it. I pried the knot open just enough to slip the broken piece of wood through. After I tightened the knot around the wood, I yanked on the loop to test it.

I went back to the bathroom and grabbed the empty shampoo bottle. An imaginary clock ticked loudly inside my head as I tried to force myself to go. The shampoo bottle had a very small opening, maybe the size of a quarter, and I couldn’t let loose full stream, but thank God my aim was true. I screwed the cap back on. It was one of those flip top numbers: you pressed down on one edge, exposing the little rectangular hole for the liquid to pass through. It wouldn’t have the power or distribution of an aerosol and I’d have just one shot at it. Samuel had told me once that if something was necessary, it was possible. He’d better be right.

I heard the stomp of boots on the steps outside.

Time’s up, Kropp. Step-by-step now. Step-by-step.

I ducked into the main room, grabbed my socks from the closet shelf, and plopped on the bed.

The electronic tings answered fingers punching keys on the pad by the door.

Step: Pull on right sock.

Step: Stuff bottle into sock.

The pop! of the lock snapping open.

Step: Left sock.

Doorknob turning.

Step: Jam hanger and rope into left sock.

The door flew open. A blast of freezing air rushed in.

I had jumped from the bed and was shaking my left leg to make the pants fall over the big bulge in my sock when the two goons from the day before—in my mind, I called them Thing 1 and Thing 2—filled the doorway.

“Up already?” Thing 1 rumbled.

“My first lobotomy,” I said. “I’m pretty excited.”

03:03:26:31

I stepped into a postcard-perfect landscape of snow-covered mountains and bright blue sky reflected in the glass-flat surface of the lake. The thin air cut into my lungs and halfway up the trail to the main cabin I was huffing like a marathon runner on the twenty-fifth mile.

Ten minutes later we were inside the château. There was the ubiquitous fire roaring. There was all the eerie silence and pooling shadows of a haunted house. Past the kitchen, where I mentioned breakfast and where Thing 2 reminded me it wasn’t wise to eat before going under general anesthesia. Down a long, narrow hallway, where I stumbled once and Thing 1 caught me. Through the metal door and down the steps into the medical facility, where I looked down and saw the loop sticking out beside my boot. I was busted if they noticed. They didn’t notice. “Dead man walking!” Thing 2 called, and Thing 1 laughed.