The Nowhere Man

57 A Very Persuasive Call

Pain.

Horizontal.

Drifting along as if in a canoe.

Evan’s throat — sandpaper and rust.

His hand cramped around the RoamZone.

Needle jammed in his arm, saline bag clutched in Jack’s blocky fist.

Fluorescent lights floated overhead.

An empty corridor led to another empty corridor.

Doors.

A warehouse interior.

Arranged in the middle of the blank space, lit like a movie set, a full operating theater.

Bizarre.

As out of place as René’s basement lab.

The afterlife was weird.

A doctor in blue scrubs ran over. “Who is he?”

Jack’s disembodied voice, gruffer than usual. “John Doe.”

“Who are you?”

“John Doe Sr.”

Thumb on eyelid.

Flare of penlight.

Latex fingers on the side of his neck.

A nurse called over, “Can someone please tell me what the saline is doing in the freezer?”

Jack waved her off.

Trauma shears zippering open the coat.

Fabric peeling wetly back from Evan’s wound.

“Jesus,” the doctor said. “Um…”

Jack: “Speak.”

“Look, I got a very persuasive call from the 202 area code telling me to get to this location. I want to help, believe me, but I’m an anesthesiologist—”

“An anesthesiologist? For the love of Mary.”

“He needs a vein graft into the damaged subclavian vein. That requires a trauma surgeon.”

“I asked for a trauma surgeon.”

“Guess how many of those there are in Piscataquis County? Your guys, they finally tracked one down, but … um, the weather, the roads — she’s still two hours out. I’m just a placeholder till she gets here. But…”

“Get the words to come out faster.”

“Look. I’m sorry. He’s not gonna make it that long. He’s not gonna make it.”

Jack’s face bunched up.

Evan tried to make a noise, but nothing happened.

The lights wobbled in and out.

“Okay.” Jack tilted his forehead into the span of his palm. When he looked up, his eyes were different.

“Kill him,” Jack said.