Part 20 (1/2)

”Next level before he pa.s.ses out again,” Ernest said, moving to the simmering pot.

”Burns ...” Nolan groaned. ”Help me ...”

Ernest said, ”This is going to be tricky. Ian, your turn. Grab his d.i.c.k. Put on the gloves first.”

Ian got into place and did what Ernest instructed.

”Hold it up, as straight as you can. Hold it steady.” He turned back to the pot.

”Wha ...” Breathing came as gasping hitches, making speech impossible for Nolan. Tears streamed, dampening the hair along his temples. His eyes were glistening gems, brilliant and dying at the same time, a beautiful comet blazing to oblivion.

Ernest held up an oversized syringe. ”Hold him steady. I'm going to inject this.” The rod in the urethra was narrow, much thinner than the needle on the syringe. ”Okay, hang on. He'll thrash around, so hold him. Steady now.”

He stuck the syringe into the tip of the rod. Moments later, the liquid metal traveled the length and filled the inside of Nolan's p.e.n.i.s.

His shrieks reverberated off the cellar walls. He strained against the ropes, as if in the throes of a seizure. A sudden snap followed Nolan's trailing screams before he pa.s.sed out.

Ernest tossed the stethoscope to Caleb and traced his fingertips over the damaged flesh and bone of Nolan's broken leg. ”Jesus Christ, that was a h.e.l.l of a reaction. He broke his own G.o.dd.a.m.ned s.h.i.+nbone.”

Ernest examined the rest of the body. The flesh on the other ankle was torn and b.l.o.o.d.y, but the rope had held. He secured the broken leg to the table with another length of rope before checking on Nolan's wrists.

Ian pulled the rod from Nolan's body. The liquid metal inside his p.e.n.i.s had already begun to harden.

”Hold it up,” Ernest said. ”If you put it down the liquid will drip out.”

Caleb held up the stethoscope. ”He's still alive.”

Ernest smiled and wiped his brow with his sleeve. ”Level Three was a success, I would say.”

”Look at this,” Ian said, pointing to the underside of the p.e.n.i.s. ”The skin's burning away over here. But nothing's leaking out. I think it's already solid.”

”I can't believe he's still alive,” Caleb said, shaking his head. ”If it was me, I'd sure want to be dead.”

Ernest glanced at his watch. ”Write this: Level Three achieved at 7:20 pm. Subject in agony, yet continues to live. Asked for help. Barely able to speak, yet screamed his head off a minute later. Level Three consisted of pouring liquid metal into his urethra, creating a permanent solid block in his urinary pa.s.sage.”

He cleared his throat. ”Now at ... 7:35 pm, we will attempt Level Four. Will see if administering liquid to victim while asleep revives him at all.”

Ian raised his eyebrows. His hands trembled as he wrote the notes, jotting every word, wis.h.i.+ng this ordeal was over. He leaned against a wall, exhausted.

Caleb handed him a small bottle of water. ”You okay?”

Ian nodded, chugging the water down his parched throat.

”Hey, look at this,” Ernest said. Nolan's p.e.n.i.s-ramrod straight and granite solid-jutted up and rested against his stomach. ”Come on, break's over. Let's do Level Four.”

He held up two small cylindrical tubes. ”Ian, write down whatever I say. Try to capture whatever he says or does. If he wakes up.”

”You have to hold his head back tight, Caleb. If he went nuts before ... I don't have a clue what he might be capable of. These are going up his nose now. If he shakes his head, that s.h.i.+t's going everywhere. Hold him as tight as you can.”

”Up his nose?” Ian said. ”Won't that kill him? That'll, like, fry his brains.”

Caleb shook his head. ”Why didn't you get something to hold him still, like Flunitrazepam or something, man?”

”Date-rape drug?”

”Yeah. Like you don't have access to that s.h.i.+t.”

”Why would I want to use anything that would paralyze him? I want to see his reactions, a.s.shole. I want to see the little f.u.c.ker squirm.”

”You're sure taking this little 'experiment' personally, don't you think?” Ian said.

Ernest thought for a moment and chose to ignore this line of questioning. ”I'm not sure whether this'll fry his brains, but in other tests I've run, it didn't kill the subjects right away. They kind of went nuts, but they didn't die right away.”

”You still talking about small animals, man?” Caleb asked.

Ernest ignored him and instead tilted Nolan's head back and inserted small metal tubes into each nostril. Nolan's breathing became whistling gasps, and his mouth popped open to breathe.

”He's waking up,” Caleb yelled, bending low and holding on tight to Nolan's head.

Dipping two metal turkey basters into the pot, Ernest filled them with the liquid and rushed back.

Before Ernest even touched him, Nolan responded, crying out and bucking on the table.

Ernest yelled at the camera to be heard above Nolan's steady stream of guttural and hysterical cries. ”Level Four! Pour liquid into nasal pa.s.sages!”

Nolan fought, spit and sweat and blood flying everywhere, horrible grunts and animal growls erupting from his destroyed body. Placing the tips of the basters into the tubes, Ernest injected the boiling liquid into Nolan's nasal pa.s.sages.

Inhuman screams poured out of him, seeming to come from some other level of existence. He strained against the ropes securing his body, fighting and stretching so spastically and furiously that sinewy cords snapped up and down the length of his body.

Blood gushed from deep ruts in his skin. Then he pa.s.sed out.

Ernest collapsed. ”Oh my G.o.d,” he panted. ”Level Four complete. Did you get all that, Ian?”

Ian's heart pounded and his head thudded. ”I feel sick.”

”We're almost done. Hang in there.”

”Can't,” Ian said. ”Gonna be sick.”

Ernest said, ”We can't stop now and leave him hanging. We have to put him out of his misery. Take a deep breath. Get a f.u.c.king grip, man.”