The sound of fingernails woke the esteemed mayor of the community. After a moment in which he recognized nothing of his surroundings, little by little reality imposed itself. White, that was certain, so it was a hospital. With some effort, he could move his extremities — slowly. They burned. The spasm in his face as he grimaced in pain dragged waves of agony. What happened? The dripping continued. Water… that was it! A bastard had attacked them.
"Water!"
"Of course! Don't worry, it's Evian water, not that filter crap."
"Huh? Right, yes, give it to me please."
"First I need to know if you're conscious. What's the last thing you remember?"
"A fat man jumped. I was at a party… a work meeting, and someone — an anarchist for sure — tried to eliminate me."
With a smile, the nurse handed him a paper cone. He drank it — for luxury water, it tasted very similar to any bottled kind — the mayor was grateful he had never fallen into the game of water luxuries.
"I'll come see you in a few minutes and we can talk."
The room fell silent — no — he was sure he heard a drip. A small scratch on the floor — but it was hard to move — how much time had passed since the attack? It was clear this was one of those maniacal killers running loose. No one was trying anything. The police chief shrugged, and the brand-new squad assured they couldn't be in many places at once. The mayor hoped to see results. He had requested a lot of money to maintain that squad. If they didn't show results, it would become known that he only used half for these elements who, in his judgment, weren't doing anything. Because life was made easy for them. If someone fell, it was organized crime — some of them were. Oh yes! How the death of the satanic cultists helped his image! It was a surge of popularity! Although he couldn't concentrate much. Besides the scratches, now there was a smell… had he wet himself?
"Nurse! Why isn't anyone cleaning? This place stinks!"
"Of course I'll bring housekeeping. But sir, I remind you that you have severe burns all over your body. The aroma — I'm afraid — will be difficult to eliminate in the coming days."
"So it's ME who stinks? Is that what you're saying?"
"Of course not! That would cost me my job. Anyway, on other matters, you're scheduled for surgery today — perhaps — there will be a shortage of staff, but since it's for you, I'm sure the hospital or the government will ensure you get into the operating room today."
"No useless person is going to treat me. I want to speak with the doctor in charge!"
"That will be a bit difficult. He was here when you were still unconscious. I'll try to ask him. Meanwhile, you'll be glad to know that you are the sole survivor of that tragedy. Did you know that the one who attacked you is called 'the vigilante'?"
He didn't hear the last part — everyone dead! His lawyer, lovers, partners... Everyone! — For a moment he wondered if the documents had been delivered before they died. He wouldn't know. Where was his family?
By now, both his wife and children should be seeing him from the door — even if all were glued to their phones, at least for public image — his wife was missing... He sighed. He had explained this several times already. But the ex-actress wasn't cut out for this.
Without realizing it, he was looking at the ceiling again. He had slept for minutes but felt better. When trying to change position, he felt the burns in other areas. Covered with gauze, the areas affected by more severe burns. Moving his neck, he felt things weren't so resolved… There, on the enormous window of his private room, was a blood mark — a circle that seemed to smile at him from a slightly tilted angle — the mark seemed fresh but wasn't natural. The mouth had been outlined — with a finger perhaps? The grimace extended beyond the edge of the stain. There, in a sickly way, a heart.
"Nurse! What is that? I want a police officer here!"
"There's no one, distinguished mayor. Everyone went to follow the butcher's trail. There were some guards outside your room, but I haven't seen them in the last few minutes."
"Give me my cell phone! You haven't cleaned this. I'm sure you'll be fired. Get me someone on the phone, and I won't say anything on my part."
"My, I had heard that politicians were egocentric! But this is surprising."
"Oh. So all the kindness was fake? You think I didn't suspect it? No one loves me even though I look out for the people. Don't make it harder — bring whoever has authority in this place."
"That would be me… Wait, I think they need me next door."
About to shout several insults at being ignored, he fell silent — indeed, someone was lamenting —. But when the nurse entered, those laments became screams of fear, abandonment, despair, and finally choked coughs. Then a heavy silence fell. That's when he heard other voices...
"The butcher is here!"
"Help! He killed my mom. I can't move! Someone do something!"
The face of the little man he had mistaken for a nurse appeared. His clothes were no longer immaculate white. There were traces, stains. The terrifying thing was a blood handprint right on his waist.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I'm afraid we'll have to postpone our conversation a little. There are many people to attend to, and only me. Some of the staff left — the rest, let's say I took care of them —. Don't worry, before you know it I'll be back. I can't leave without visiting you. Save that smile for me while I'm gone."
The mayor tried to scream, but his cheeks, eyes, and large pieces of his face burned. He clenched his teeth. It was tolerable, but he couldn't stay here. Moving his legs, he felt numbness. The dripping became more evident. Real. Just like the screams — fewer each time —. So he tried to jump out of bed, expecting body pain, but it didn't happen. His chubby legs found no support, and the floor received a new occupant. Surprised that a fall didn't hurt so much, he saw that something had cushioned his fall. Someone in her cocktail dress, used only at meetings where she had to look like a lovely faithful wife. But not much of her features remained. Her turned-up nose, her cheekbones, even her chin were a mashed mess of flesh.
He tried to get up, and that's when he noticed it — he couldn't feel his feet. Fearfully, he lowered his gaze. They were tied, perhaps that's why they had fallen asleep. The ropes were embedded deeply in his skin. Near his wife's corpse, the inseparable bag contained what he was looking for: a small knife she always carried to defend herself if necessary. It hadn't helped her; she hadn't even had time. It didn't matter — there was the tool to escape.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"What!? I… I wasn't trying anything! I fell, okay. I'm getting back to my bed right now."
"Don't lose your head. I didn't come to do anything to you; I'm not finished with the other floors yet. I just came for the noise. Like I said. If you remove the ropes, you might not manage to save yourself. Do you know what a cut to the Achilles tendon is? Well, you don't have those tendons anymore. I kept you from bleeding out… Aren't I good at that?"
"Don't torture me!"
"Do you think I did all this for you? The all-powerful and corrupt mayor? No, my little one. Be good and wait for the detective. If he manages to understand, he'll save you — or not — I mean, you don't deserve to be saved. Hahahahaha!"
The laughter and the horrible man left, but not before turning on the news — there he was, the assassin in a straitjacket being led to this hospital —. It was news from days ago. That had been a great day for the politician. To celebrate, he had organized that damned party that now left him prostrate on the floor. He knew who the "detective" was — a miserable investigator — victim of one of the butcher's first attacks. His daughter had died a horrendous death. If not for him, they wouldn't have captured the killer… But he trusted no one and lay on his stomach. With a little effort, his hands moved him a couple of centimeters. Then — after advancing toward the room's exit, grateful for the polished, blood-slick floor — there it was, waiting for him. That look. One he didn't want to see.
"I knew I'd find you here!"
"Monster! Let me go!"
"Oh, but you're going to live. My crowning glory is coming. I'm not interested in you. Even your children tried to escape rather than defend you."
"They're alive?"
"Of course not! What kind of heartless killer do you think I am? They and their guards are sleeping the eternal siesta. I have to go. There's fresh bread in the kitchen and a destiny waiting for me."
"I hope they kill you!"
"Oh. They will — of course they will — only I won't be the only one. Remember, you're going to have surgery. If you die on the table, everyone who left here will be waiting for you. They all died, and you didn't. I'm sure all that resentment will make a very special hell for you."
As he walked to the elevator, the mayor saw a demon — one who had created a hell of innocent souls to torture him — he knew how many bad things he had done. But he believed none deserved such a definitive punishment. Finally, when he was near the nurses' phone, he heard the detonation. The demon had left the earth. They would come for him and give him the treatment he deserved. Maybe he wouldn't recover his feet, but he would be alive. Surely yes — a long life is better than walking — But what if they were wrong? Weren't there relatives of the surgeons who had lost their lives here? Couldn't one of them discreetly end his existence?
His hand trembled before picking up the receiver. How could he have forgotten? All the medical staff were relatives of other medical staff — they were a damn family! Yes — it was certain they would blame him — Of course! The rich man survived — what must he have promised? Yes, they would surely kill him, and death would be terrible. But no worse than knowing what awaits you. All the souls who would take revenge on him. His pain was no longer just in his feet: his chest, his ears — they heard the pleas —. He could smell their rejection of death. He gathered air to scream. So they wouldn't blame him, he didn't want to go with them to hell.
"I AM INNOCENT!"
The scream prolonged. His mouth open, forcing the burned skin, tore. Blood began to drip, leaving him mute. And in a rictus where they gave him...
Time of death: 60 minutes after the detonation.