Read Online Last Days by Brian Evenson;Peter Straub - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brian Evenson;Peter Straub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, Horror, Private Investigators, Horror Tales, Murder, Investigation, cults, Dismemberment
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said Kline. "I have to leave."
Kline tried to make for the door but Ramse was pressing his forearm to Kline's chest. "You can't leave," hissed Ramse, "not now that you've come. It'd break Gous' heart."
"But," said Kline. "I don't believe in any of this. I can't stay here."
"It's not that you don't believe," said Ramse. "It's just that you don't have the call yet."
"No," said Kline. "It's that I don't believe."
"I don't care what you believe," said Ramse. "Just do this for Gous. He admires you. What has he ever done to you to deserve this?"
"What has he ever done to deserve losing his fingers?"
"He doesn't see it that way," said Ramse. "He's had the call. This for him is an act of faith. You don't have to believe in it, but you can still respect him."
"I have to go," said Kline, pushing against his arm.
"No," said Ramse. "Please, just for Gous. Have compassion. Please."
By the time the amputation took place, Kline had had a few drinks, had drunk enough in fact that he had trouble making his eyes focus. To see reasonably well, he had to cover one eye with his stump.
Eventually Ramse coaxed the drink out of his hand, goaded him now through the open partition and into the half-room beyond. He stood on the edge of the lit circle, swaying slightly, Ramse beside him, Ramse's forearm tucked under his arm. In the center was the doctor, his mask up now. He had stripped the cloth off the small metal cart to reveal an array of tools that seemed half to be medical instruments, half to be from the knife block of a gourmet chef. Jesus , Kline thought.
Gous came into the circle, smiling, while the tuxedo-dressed gentlemen clapped gently. Two gentlemen were called forward as witnesses, each of them placing a stump under one of Gous' arms. He leaned over the large table, placed his hand on it, palm up. The doctor took a hypodermic off the table and slid its needle into Kline's hand. His fingers twitched. Or rather Gous ' fingers, Kline realized; it was not his own hand, he could not start to think of it as his own hand. The four of them--the doctor, Gous, the two witnesses--stood as if in tableau, motionless in a way that Kline found unbearable, only the doctor moving from time to time to regard his watch. At last he took a metal probe from the small metal cart and pushed at the hand.
Gous watched him, then nodded slightly. The two witnesses braced themselves behind him. The doctor switched on a cauterizer. After a moment, Kline could smell the way it oxidized the air. The doctor let his fingers run over the instruments, then took up the cauterizer with one hand. What looked like a stylized and carefully balanced cleaver was in the other. He approached the table, lined the cleaver along the line Gous had drawn on his hand, and then raised it, brought it swiftly down.
Kline saw Gous' eyelids flutter, then the rest of his body faltered and was supported and caught by the witnesses behind him. All around, the men began to clap quietly, and blood began to spurt from the wound. Kline closed his eyes, felt himself begin to lean to one side, but Ramse caught him, held him upright. He could hear the buzz of the cauterizer and a moment later began to smell burning flesh.
"Hey," whispered Ramse. "Are you all right?" All around them, men were beginning to move.
"Just a little drunk," said Kline, opening his eyes. Gous was there before him, having his hand bandaged.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Ramse. "Gous certainly didn't think so. Not so bad, eh?"
"I don't know," Kline said. "I want to go home."
"The night's still young," said Ramse. "We're only getting started."
The rest of the night was a blur to him. At some point he lost his tuxedo jacket; at another point, he found the next day, someone had smeared a swath of blood across his forehead. At one point he could hear Ramse telling everyone not to give him another drink and then he was outside, vomiting onto the gravel, Ramse seeming to be trying at once to hold him up and to
Kline tried to make for the door but Ramse was pressing his forearm to Kline's chest. "You can't leave," hissed Ramse, "not now that you've come. It'd break Gous' heart."
"But," said Kline. "I don't believe in any of this. I can't stay here."
"It's not that you don't believe," said Ramse. "It's just that you don't have the call yet."
"No," said Kline. "It's that I don't believe."
"I don't care what you believe," said Ramse. "Just do this for Gous. He admires you. What has he ever done to you to deserve this?"
"What has he ever done to deserve losing his fingers?"
"He doesn't see it that way," said Ramse. "He's had the call. This for him is an act of faith. You don't have to believe in it, but you can still respect him."
"I have to go," said Kline, pushing against his arm.
"No," said Ramse. "Please, just for Gous. Have compassion. Please."
By the time the amputation took place, Kline had had a few drinks, had drunk enough in fact that he had trouble making his eyes focus. To see reasonably well, he had to cover one eye with his stump.
Eventually Ramse coaxed the drink out of his hand, goaded him now through the open partition and into the half-room beyond. He stood on the edge of the lit circle, swaying slightly, Ramse beside him, Ramse's forearm tucked under his arm. In the center was the doctor, his mask up now. He had stripped the cloth off the small metal cart to reveal an array of tools that seemed half to be medical instruments, half to be from the knife block of a gourmet chef. Jesus , Kline thought.
Gous came into the circle, smiling, while the tuxedo-dressed gentlemen clapped gently. Two gentlemen were called forward as witnesses, each of them placing a stump under one of Gous' arms. He leaned over the large table, placed his hand on it, palm up. The doctor took a hypodermic off the table and slid its needle into Kline's hand. His fingers twitched. Or rather Gous ' fingers, Kline realized; it was not his own hand, he could not start to think of it as his own hand. The four of them--the doctor, Gous, the two witnesses--stood as if in tableau, motionless in a way that Kline found unbearable, only the doctor moving from time to time to regard his watch. At last he took a metal probe from the small metal cart and pushed at the hand.
Gous watched him, then nodded slightly. The two witnesses braced themselves behind him. The doctor switched on a cauterizer. After a moment, Kline could smell the way it oxidized the air. The doctor let his fingers run over the instruments, then took up the cauterizer with one hand. What looked like a stylized and carefully balanced cleaver was in the other. He approached the table, lined the cleaver along the line Gous had drawn on his hand, and then raised it, brought it swiftly down.
Kline saw Gous' eyelids flutter, then the rest of his body faltered and was supported and caught by the witnesses behind him. All around, the men began to clap quietly, and blood began to spurt from the wound. Kline closed his eyes, felt himself begin to lean to one side, but Ramse caught him, held him upright. He could hear the buzz of the cauterizer and a moment later began to smell burning flesh.
"Hey," whispered Ramse. "Are you all right?" All around them, men were beginning to move.
"Just a little drunk," said Kline, opening his eyes. Gous was there before him, having his hand bandaged.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Ramse. "Gous certainly didn't think so. Not so bad, eh?"
"I don't know," Kline said. "I want to go home."
"The night's still young," said Ramse. "We're only getting started."
The rest of the night was a blur to him. At some point he lost his tuxedo jacket; at another point, he found the next day, someone had smeared a swath of blood across his forehead. At one point he could hear Ramse telling everyone not to give him another drink and then he was outside, vomiting onto the gravel, Ramse seeming to be trying at once to hold him up and to
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