Chapter 26 #3
“Medication numbs. It doesn’t fix anything.” I let out a breath through my nose. “And what you called therapy…” I shook my head once. “Pathetic.”
The room held its breath with him.
“In the past,” I continued after a moment, voice dropping.
“They were more efficient.”
I reached out, dragging a fingertip lightly across the edge of the table, feeling the surface under it like I needed something physical to anchor the thought. “Lobotomies worked, didn’t they?” I glanced back at him.
“People became… easier afterward… more manageable.” I let that sit, let it settle in his head.
“But I guess that was fine, right?” I added, a faint edge of something mocking threading through it. “It was for their own good.”
He was sweating now. It clung to his skin, caught in the lines of his face, his breathing shallow and uneven. I looked at him again, really looked this time.
“I don’t think you’re well,” I said, almost thoughtfully.
“Drugging kids. Tying them down like animals.”
I watched his throat move as he swallowed.
“Do you know what happens to men who do that?”
He broke. “Please,” His voice cracked completely now.
“Please, I, I’m sorry, I,”
“But I’m not like them.” I cut straight through it, not raising my voice, just removing his from the space.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” That made him hesitate, confusion slipping in between the fear.
“I want to help you.” I took a step toward the table.
“You’re not well,” I continued, like I was explaining something simple. “We should fix that, don’t you think?”
His breathing picked up again, faster and messier. I reached the table, my fingers hovered over the objects for a second before closing around them. One hand gripped the hammer, the other the ice pick.
That’s when he really started the begging.
Words tripping over each other, tears mixing into it, his whole body straining against the restraints like he could pull himself out of it if he just tried hard enough.
I turned back toward him, Zwierek met my eyes first, just for a second, but enough for him to understand, and he gave me a small nod as confirmation.
He moved behind the chair, hands coming up to grip the man’s head, holding him in place no matter how much he twisted, no matter how hard he tried to pull away.
I walked toward them, slowly, every step made him more frantic.
“Please, please don’t, I didn’t, I swear,”
“Shhh…” I stopped in front of him, close enough that he couldn’t lean away any further even if he tried. “It’ll go a lot quicker if you just stay still.”
I raised the ice pick to his eye, positioning the tip up under his eyelid as I spoke.
“So…” My voice dragged a little, like I was recalling something from far away, something I’d read a hundred times and never thought I’d actually use.
“According to Walter Freeman’s method… the pick is supposed to go about two to three inches in, right through the thin bone behind the eye… ”
I raised the hammer and gave the ice pick a firm, controlled tap. He screamed. It tore out of him in a way that didn’t sound human at first, too high, too desperate, his whole body jerking against the restraints like it might somehow undo what had already been done.
“I’m begging you, stop, STOP,”
“Shhh…” I exhaled softly through my nose, almost irritated, my grip steady as I leaned in. “Doctor… I’m trying to concentrate.”
He didn’t stop, of course he didn’t. The sound of him filled the room, bouncing off the walls, crawling under my skin, not in a way that pushed me away, but in a way that made everything feel… clearer. I continued anyway.
“When it’s in place…” I murmured, almost like I was explaining something to a class, “...you move it side to side to disconnect the frontal lobes.”
My movements obeyed my own instructions, the ice pick shifting first to the right, then to the left, as if to ensure a perfect result. The sound he made changed a little before it faded out, gradually, until there was nothing left. I stilled, hand still wrapped around the handle.
“... there we go,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, something almost satisfied slipping into my voice without permission. “That’s better.”
For a moment, I just stood there, looking at it, at him, at what was left of him. Then something nudged at the back of my mind.
“Although…” I added after a second, tilting my head again, studying it like I was checking my own work. “Maybe it should go a little deeper.”
A faint breath left me, something that almost resembled a quiet chuckle.
“Just to be sure.” I lifted the hammer again. “Remember, doctor…” I said, voice dropping just a little, almost gentle now. “This is for your own good.”
This time his body gave out completely. The tension left him all at once, like whatever had been holding him upright had simply stopped.
I held it there for a second longer before letting go.
The tool slid free and Zwierek released his grip at the same time, stepping back as the man’s weight sagged forward, held up only by the chair and the restraints.
And just like that, there was nothing left of him.