S10E08 - "First Do No Harm" - Drew Blood

This episode of Drew Blood's Dark Tales is brought to you by Factor. Who's got the time, friends? You start the year off with these big ideas. You're going to start cooking, eating better, get healthy, all that stuff. And before you know it, you find out how much time and planning that all takes. Unless you use Factor, that is, then it's easy. Factor meals make all this possible. With a fridge full of pre-prepared meals designed by dieticians and crafted by chefs, I've got a healthy breakfast, lunch, or dinner ready in two minutes flat. No prep, no stress, and most importantly, no guilt. It's no wonder that after only four weeks, 97% of customers say that Factor helped them live a healthier life. I can certainly vouch for that. It's a total no-brainer. And you know me, I hate using my brains. Makes my head hurt. Head to factormeals.com slash drew50off and use code drew50off to get 50% off and free breakfast for a year. Eat like a pro this month with Factor. New subscribers only varies by plan. One free breakfast item per box for one year while subscription is active. Hey, thanks for your support, friends, and for supporting our valuable sponsors. Hey friends, it's me again. You know what's really easy to do and even easier to forget? Help me out and hit that like button if you're listening on YouTube. If you're listening somewhere else, what the hell? Pop in and give me a thumb. Say hi while you're at it. Helps me a ton with that damn algorithm. And besides, it's always nice to see you there. Alright then, let's hop on that crazy train. All aboard! Oh, shit. I see you there, friend. What's going on? It's good to have you back here this February 20th. A couple holidays to address. First off, it's National Cherry Pie Day. and most importantly, it's National Love Your Pet Day. How's that right, Chester? Who loves you, buddy? That's right, pal. Who's better than you, huh? Well, no, I don't happen to have any cherry pie at the moment. Come on, isn't my love enough? I got that holiday covered. Ungrateful prick. Ah, fuck him. Come on in, friend. Son of a bitch. So before we get started, check out simplyscarypodcast.com and become a patron. For $7.99 a month, you get the entire catalog ad-free and available to download or stream. And if you still want to pet your pie after that, pop in at patreon.com forward slash drewblood. Sign up there too. Alright friends, smoke them if you've got them and drink those glasses to the bottom, y'all. Cause your old buddy Drew Blood's got a tell to tell. And tonight we welcome back author Michael Marks by way of our friends at Valox Books. In this one, Jonathan Byers gets stabbed behind a bar and bleeds out in an alley. But that's only the beginning. So without further delay, y'all, from author Michael Marks, I give you, First, Do No Harm. I wonder so many times how many lives have been changed forever in the dark corners of the world. How many courses altered, shifted, or stopped altogether with a simple twist of fate? How many existences have been lifted high or burned to the ground in the places most people pass by without a second thought? I think about it all the time, because the direction of my life was decided in a place like that. The events of that night changed everything for me And I'm still wrapped up in them, even ten years later I had been feeling sick from too many drinks And the bathroom at the bar I frequented was full Leaving me to end up in the alley I emptied the contents of my stomach behind a dumpster And leaned up against the wall with a slight realization of exactly how drunk I was I decided I should probably go home and began to make my way toward the street. In that exact moment, a man stepped into the alley and began walking towards me. He started saying something about money, and in my drunken state I thought he was just some homeless man. I hand-waved him and muttered some drunken nonsense about how I had spent it all at the bar. I didn't see the knife in his hand or the desperate look in his eyes. When he grabbed me, I didn't even attempt to push him away until after he had already slid the blade between my ribs. I was so wasted I didn't even feel the pain at first, just a hot rush of blood pouring down over my stomach and soaking my shirt as he pulled his hand away. I fell backwards onto the filthy wet ground and gripped at the wound in my side. The man screamed at me again, something about my wallet, before he got down next to me and began rummaging through my pockets. The edges of my vision grew dark, and the warmth from the drink was replaced by a bitter cold that froze my muscles. I sobered up as it all hit me what was happening. The sound of footsteps splashing through the alley puddles as the man ran away with the contents of my jeans pockets. the feeling of blood pulling underneath me as I pressed my hands against a wound in a futile attempt to make it stop. I wonder how many people's stories end there. How many had their whole course in life stopped right there? More than that, I wonder if that would have been better, to just let myself slip into the darkness quietly. Instead, as my eyes closed and each breath I took grew shallower, I felt a sudden presence above me. A hand gripped my shoulder firmly, but gently. Do you wish to live, Jonathan? The voice I heard seemed as if it was pitch shifted to be higher than it should be. There was a mechanical tinge to the way it sounded. I attempted to answer yes, but it was like there was a stone crush in my chest, and I wasn't even able to sputter out the syllable. A cold finger touched my lips, and the voice shushed me. Shhh. No need to speak. Your answer is clear enough. It sounded as if the owner of the metallic voice began rummaging around in some kind of toolbox. Metal objects clinked together as they were shifted around. I tried to open my eyes but could make out little more than a gray blob hovering over me. I must warn you, Jonathan, there is a cost. There is always a cost. The cold hand gripped my wrist tightly and lifted my palm away from the wound in my side. I didn't have the strength to struggle against it. Are you willing to pay the cost that comes? I couldn't properly answer the voice, but if I could have, I would have said yes. In that moment, with darkness and cold wrapping itself around me to drag me into whatever comes after this life, I would have said yes. I would have screamed it at the top of my lungs if they still held the breath. The metallic voice knew, though. I didn't need to use even a single word. My answer was clear. The next feeling was pain. Excruciating pain. Some sort of instrument dug into my wound roughly and with little care given to my comfort. I opened my mouth to scream but a strap was pushed into my mouth. I could taste old leather on my tongue. Bite this, said the voice. This will hurt a considerable amount. What occurred next was a blur of pain and heat. My muscles seized up as if I was being electrocuted, and I could feel my teeth sink deeply into the leather strap. I nearly spit it out at one point, but the owner of the metallic voice placed a cold hand over my mouth and hushed me. His other hand continued its work for a few moments before the metal instrument was torn free from my wound. The hand left my mouth, and I prayed that whatever was happening was over. I looked through the blurry mess of my vision to see bright orbs of red hovering over me for a moment before darting out of my vision. The sound of someone rummaging in a toolbox started up again for a moment. We are almost finished, Jonathan. The voice seemed even higher, filled with a mix of unnatural reverb and total excitement. Please bite down again. I had almost no time to do as I was asked before something new was pushed hard into my wound. Then there was darkness. I had blacked out from the pain. I had dreams of being torn to pieces and stitched back together again. Screaming in the dark as unseen hands took me apart and rebuilt me like watchmakers learning their craft. I could hear the tick of a metronome as they worked. The sound was steady and rhythmic, and I tried to focus my breaking mind on it as fire pulsed through the veins that were still left in my body. After what felt like forever, the unseen workers left my side, and a cool air rushed over me, and the feeling of rain dotted my sweat and blood-drenched skin. Hey man, you shouldn't sleep here. I heard a gruff voice say through the haze as my eyes slowly opened to someone standing over me. I rubbed the blur from my eyes to see a dirty, disheveled old man with a grungy beard standing over me. He pushed me with his foot to try and rustle me away, his overgrown toenails digging into my skin. The fog in my mind started to clear, bringing my impending death. and my ten-voiced savior back to the front of my thoughts. I shot up so fast that I think I scared the homeless man who had been trying to nudge me awake. He jumped back away from me as I scrambled to my feet and lifted my blood-stained shirt looking for the wound that had been in my side. Hear that blood? I heard the man ask me from what felt like a million miles away. The blood was indeed there, still soaking my t-shirt. There was a tear in my shirt as well. I can remember sticking my hand through it and realizing the size of the knife that the mugger had driven into me. There was no wound, though. No wound. No pain. Not even a scar where there should have been a fatal stab wound. Nothing at all. Are you okay, brother? Do you need a doctor or something? The man switched his focus between me and the dry pool of blood on the ground. Far too large a pool for any man to stand up after losing. I'm fine. The words came out of my mouth half as an answer and half as a statement to myself about the reality of the situation. I'm fine. My tin-voiced doctor had vanished. and with him the thought of his mentioned cost. Occasionally, over the last ten years, the memory of my agreement to incur some great cost popped into my head. But when a dead isn't staring you in the face, it's easy to forget about. Even more so when you're faced with the miracle of simply being alive. Eventually, I convinced myself that the cost must have been the pain I endured that night. The memories of feeling torn to shred still invaded my dreams from time to time after all. I should have known better though. I should have appreciated the time I was given before collection came. Ten normal, happy and healthy years. Ten years in which I found my wife Ella and had my son Thomas. Ten years in which I went from a depressed and heavy drinking kid fresh out of college who was lost to his place in the world To a proud high school history teacher and family man Ten short years that I didn't look at with nearly enough joy and wonder Ten years where I never got sick, not even a cough or a sniffle Where I felt healthy, hearty and prepared for anything I wasn't prepared though. It wouldn't even be possible for me to prepare myself for when my savior would re-enter my life with the expectation of collecting what he was owed I pulled the ringing phone from my pocket and looked at the caller ID The number was blocked I threw the phone down on the seat beside me and ignored it. I had just finished a rousing round of parent-teacher meetings and I was exhausted. I certainly didn't feel like talking to some telemarketer. The sun was setting over the highway as I drove towards home. The sky was cast in a mixture of orange and purple. It was a beautiful sight. The serenity of the scene was cut through by the sound of my phone ringing again. I picked it up to see another number I didn't recognize. When I didn't answer, this was quickly followed by a third number I didn't know. Then a fourth. Just as I was beginning to get frustrated and annoyed with the explosion of strangers calling my phone, a text message popped up from yet another new number. Answer your phone, Jonathan. My frustration was replaced by a sudden cold feeling in my gut and a tightness in my chest. The same text repeated between each call to my phone. My heart thundered in my chest as I pulled off to the side of the road and answered the latest strange number. Hello? There was a long pause filled with the hiss of white noise before I heard some shuffling on the other end of the line. Hello? I said with more agitation and fear this time. I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, but this isn't funny. There was a whir like a machine starting up and a clicking noise. The white noise suddenly cut off and the other end of the line was totally silent. I almost assumed whoever had been calling hung up on me. But before I took the phone from my ear, I heard another click, followed by the sudden and far too loud voice of a woman. Hi, is this Mr... She paused as if reading my name off some list. Jonathan Byers? Her tone was cheery and friendly, as if she was about to sell me something. Yeah, speaking, I said back. I was a bit caught off guard by her secretary's voice and her calm demeanor. Mr. Byers, I'm calling today to collect a debt. Any information obtained today will be used for that purpose. Do you mind if I record this call for quality assurance purposes? My heart sunk in my chest. I didn't owe any outstanding debts that I knew of besides one. The tin-voiced man in the alley. The one who saved my life. Still, I asked the question I already knew the answer to. What is disregarding? I could hear the fear in my voice, unsure of what my miracle would finally end up costing me. Um, let's see here. She sounded as if she was shuffling through paperwork on the other end of the line, caught off guard by my question. This will be payment for services rendered by one of our physicians. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the confirmation of what I'd feared, but found myself unable to respond. After a few seconds of silence, she continued. Mr. Byers, we have some instructions for you to follow, and I highly suggest you follow them all. To the letter. Her words were threatening, yet her tone remained polite and consistent. An unbreaking customer service voice. Our physician's payment requests can be a bit more complicated than some of our other agents. Do you understand? I nodded my head to signify that I understood and then realized I was talking on the phone. Yes, I finally responded. That's fantastic, Mr. Byers. I heard the shuffling of more papers and what sounded like typing. Far behind the woman and her actions, I heard what sounded like a growing white noise underlaid with quiet screams. The sounds were subtle, but they were certainly there. I'm going to hang up with you in a minute. After I do, you will receive a text with an address in it. We are going to need you to go there and wait for further instruction. An address? I didn't understand. The screams behind the woman grew louder. What address? Why? You'll find out when you're there, I'm quite sure. She paused for a moment, and deep in the white noise I heard a cry for help. I'm going to hang up now. We probably won't talk again for a while, so I do hope you have a wonderful rest of your day, Mr. Byers. You too. I said the words reflexively, and no sooner had they left my mouth did I hear a shriek of pure terror on the other end of the line, followed by a click. I took the phone away from my ear, still holding it with a death grip, and wondered for the first time in a long time who exactly I had made a deal with. The address popped onto my phone a few moments later, and I found myself staring at it for what felt like an eternity. I wondered if I should go, if it was the smart thing to do. None of this made sense. What was going to be expected of me when I got there? Suddenly, as if to motivate me, three pictures were texted to me from the same number as the address. The first was of the outside of my house, my wife and son walking up the drive. The second was through the front window of my wife doing something in the kitchen. Finally, the third popped up as my brain registered whoever I owed was at my house. Please do hurry, Jonathan. Pay the cost as promised. I read the text in that mechanical voice, and the image of two large glowing orbs in the blur of my vision was recalled in my memory. I started the car back up and nearly peeled out as I stepped on the gas and headed towards the address I had been given. This episode of True Blood's Dark Tales is brought to you by Factor. When you're as busy as I am, it's all too easy to grab something quick and unhealthy to eat instead of doing the right thing for yourself. If only there was a way to grab something quick that's also healthy and conducive to your fitness goals. Man, if someone invented something like that, it'd be one hell of a product, wouldn't it? Oh, that's right. They have. It's Factor. Factor makes healthy eating easy. You get chef-prepped, dietitian-approved meals you can prepare in a snap. Meals you'll really look forward to and never regret. You'll never get bored, either. They've got a hundred rotating weekly meals to keep things fresh. High-protein, calorie-smart, Mediterranean, GLP-1 support, ready-to-eat salads, and even this new muscle pro-collection for strength and recovery. 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Head to factormeals.com slash drew50off and use code drew50off to get 50% off in free breakfast for a year. Eat like a pro this month with Factor. New subscribers only varies by plan. One free breakfast item per box for one year while subscription is active. Hey, thanks for your support, friends, and for supporting our valuable sponsors. The place I had been instructed to go was a house in a quiet neighborhood. I could see some of them through their front window sitting down to dinner. I realized my own wife must be concerned at where I was and texted her that parent-teacher conferences had run late and I had a few extra things to finish up at the school. She told me she understood. She told me she loved me and would leave dinner in the oven for me. I felt like shit lying to her, but even trying to explain what was going on seemed impossible, especially considering I didn't really know myself. I considered warning her about the pictures I'd gotten, but decided that was too risky. Whoever was doing this to me seemed all too capable of knowing what texts I sent, and it was not a chance I was willing to take. I sat parked in my car with my phone in my lap, waiting to hear what was expected of me. The house I'd been told to go to was like the others around it, a typical suburban home, beige-colored with a brown door. All the lights were off and the shades were drawn, making it seem as if no one was home. staring at the house led me down corridors of speculation regarding what I was going to have to do there corridors best left unexplored instead I closed my eyes and remembered that mechanical voice the voice of the physician as he healed me through some of the worst pain possible I drifted back to the dark where I was torn apart and nearly lost myself there when my phone rang snapping me back to reality. I answered the unrecognized number and before I could say hello, I heard his voice. Hello, Jonathan. I trust I'm finding you in good health? It was still high-pitched and mechanical. I would confuse it for an artificial voice if the inflections of emotion weren't so perfectly placed. It was something alive. Yes, I responded timidly, scared to ask the question that was in my head. I expected nothing less. There was a sense of pleasure in his statement, pride in his work. I know you're more than likely eager to hear how you will settle your debt with me, but worry not. It couldn't be simpler. He waited for my response, but I gave none. I simply let out a heavy breath into the receiver and waited to hear what was next. Well then, I suppose I shouldn't leave you in suspense. The man who lives in that house will be coming home soon. He is a middle-aged gentleman, no family and few friends. You'll be able to recognize him by his large framed glasses and baldened head. I would hate for you to make any kind of unforeseen mistake. Mistake? I felt my stomach sink as I listened for the part I was to play. Yes, Jonathan. I would be quite unhappy if you killed the wrong man. There it was. What I had known in my heart was coming all along. I was to be this physician's personal assassin for whatever reason he deemed appropriate. I felt as if I was going to throw up, but managed to hold it back. I didn't have the stomach for this, nor the constitution. I was a teacher, not a killer. You want me to kill someone? My voice shook. I don't think I can do that. Whatever else you want, but I can't do that. Life is the only thing that pays for life, Jonathan. I told you the cost would be high, and you accepted. The tin voice sighed, and it sounded like the release of steam. I suppose we can always go with the alternate form of payment? What alternate form of payment? I eagerly asked a question as soon as his words hit my ears. I was ready to do nearly anything else. I sent you some pictures, Jonathan. Think about those and then consider how eager you seemed to be at the idea of alternate payment. The voice lacked malice. It was as cold and calculated as one would expect a surgeon to be. He threatened the death of my family and never treated it as anything more than a transaction. I had nearly forgotten that he was at my house that he was watching them I had no way around this I sat there listening to the occasional machine sighs of the physician for what felt like forever trying to come up with some way to escape what was happening. His voice finally broke the quiet. You were wise not to warn them, you know. I would have taken them as payment before she even had the chance to react. Tears started to leave my eyes at the thought of that. My building frustration collected and pain behind my eyes and forced them down my cheeks. I don't want them though, Jonathan. I have personally selected a most viable candidate who should be arriving at the house you are parked in front of in under three minutes. There was a barely detectable perk of excitement in his voice. You need only do your part and your debt is clear. Your wife and child never the wiser and happy to have you alive and well. I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they might break and slammed my fist against the steering wheel. My options were low and my strength was fading. I didn't just want to say no. I wanted to scream it into the phone receiver. Every ounce of me wanted this to not be real. I'll do it. The words spilled out of my mouth in a defeated voice. Excellent choice, Jonathan. His ten words scraped my eardrums. It's the best option for both of us. Yeah. I answered just in time to see a car pulling into the drive of the beige house with a brown door. The man who got out was balding and wearing large framed glasses on his pudgy face. He was built like you would expect any middle-aged man to be, with some weight on his sides and belly. He walked up the drive to his front door and disappeared inside. Look under your seat, Jonathan. There was a whirring sound now behind the physician's worn machine voice. I left you a gift. Beneath the seed I found a crumpled brown paper sack. It was lighter than I expected it to be as I pulled it out and set it in my lap. I unfolded it slowly. I wasn't eager to find out what was inside despite the itch of curiosity in the back of my mind. I reached in to find a pair of surgical gloves Surprisingly, I had the presence of mind to realize I should probably put them on before I grabbed the other object inside, which was a small leather case I unzipped the case and saw the metal gleam in the street light before I realized what it was I was looking at It was a scalpel, the tool of a physician Please leave as much of him intact as you can, Jonathan. I could hear the voice crackle out of the speaker of my phone on the seat next to me. I have a need. There was a gate at the side of the house that led into the backyard. The man had left it unlocked, which gave me a solid hope that there wasn't a dog waiting around the corner to tear into me as I crept up to the house. I pushed the gate open slowly. Every single tiny creak sounded like thunder, and I was positive it was going to get me away. I considered Bolton for the first time right there, but reminded myself of the pictures I'd been sent of my own family. I slowly shut the gate behind me and slipped into the side yard. I could hear soft music coming from inside as I pressed myself against the outside wall of the house and slid along towards a window. I felt ridiculous and terrified at the same time. I didn't exactly have a good idea of how to approach a house to murder the occupant, and felt as if I was taking my stealth cues from old cartoons, creeping on tiptoes and flattening myself against walls. Still, the reality of my situation, and the fact that I was going to have to take the life of another man to protect my family, was all too apparent to me. I peeked through the window, being careful not to expose too much of myself, and watched as the man walked from his living room to his kitchen and pulled out a frozen dinner. I crouched low and past the windows that looked out into his backyard, until I was in position to look through his back door. It was a sliding glass door, so I could easily see him abandon his dinner for a moment to run down the hall, most likely towards the bathroom. I recognized my chance and tried the back door. Much to my surprise, it slid open easily, and before I had a chance to think about what I was doing, I was inside. I could hear running water and the man whistling down the hall. I ducked down behind his couch as I heard the water shut off and footsteps head back towards the living room. Every muscle in my body tensed and my breathing seemed to freeze as he walked right by my hiding spot. I expected him to see me, to scream, to run to his phone and call the cops, or to suddenly attack me. Instead, he strode past, oblivious to my presence, and started to unwrap his frozen dinner. I peeked over the couch, once again recalling those old cartoon versions of being sneaky and felt as ridiculous as I did terrified. His back was to me as he pulled down a bottle of scotch from a top cupboard. My breath came back to me as I ducked back behind the couch and looked at the scalpel in my hand. Time to pay your debts. The tin voice rang in my head, but as more words came, my own voice mixed with it, until my thoughts sounded like we were speaking in unison. One life puts you in the clear. You don't know him. This is for your wife and son as well as yourself. Just get it done, and everything will be fine. I peeked back over the couch and his back was still to me as he downed his drink and hummed along to the tune that had come over the speakers. I stood up from my hiding spot and crept toward him with slow heel to toe footsteps. He just stood there tapping his foot on the kitchen floor and humming, entirely unaware of the danger in the room with him. Am I really going to do this? I thought to myself. Of course you are, the tin voice thought back at me. I was a little over an arm's length away when suddenly the man turned around. I don't know if he sensed my presence or he was just ready to pop his frozen dinner in the oven, but I quickly found myself face to face with him. His confused eyes grew wide as he spotted the gleaming metal scalpel clenched in my fist and the rest all happened so fast. It's very much like trying to clearly remember that drunken nut that brought me into this situation in the first place. I heard his glass shatter as it hit the ground. He was starting to shout something as he attempted to run past me, but I brought the scalpel up as if it was a reflex and drove the tip into his throat. His scream was cut off as I felt warm blood pump out over my hand. and I quickly let go of my weapon. His mouth gaped open as he pawed at me with one hand and clutched his throat with the other. I backed away and wiped my bloody hand on my shirt as if that was going to make any difference in how disgusting I felt. He stumbled forward after me, gurgling and sputtering out words I couldn't understand. He finally pulled the scalpel from his throat with a sickening wet sound and threw it to the ground. The blood poured from his neck even faster. I kept backing away and started repeating the words I'm sorry over and over again. Even as I tripped over the couch behind me and fell onto his softly carpeted living room floor. Even as he collapsed in front of me with a large pool of red collecting underneath his quickly dying body. I just kept repeating those words in a panic. He lifted his head one last time and looked at me with eyes that asked why, then fell limp and silent forever. I ran to his bathroom and vomited. I turned the faucet up to be scald and hot and took my bloody shirt off. I looked at my empty reddened eyes in the mirror and felt like throwing up again. Instead, I washed my hands in the burning water and muttered to myself about how I had to do it, how it wasn't my choice. Suddenly, my phone rang and caused me to jump backwards, nearly tripping over the toilet behind me. I pulled the phone from my pocket and saw that it was another number I didn't recognize. It was them. I held the phone to my ear and spoke a tentative, Hello? Hello, Mr. Byers. I'm calling to collect a debt. Any information obtained today will be used for that purpose. Is it okay if I record this call for quality assurance? It was the bubbly-voiced customer service woman from earlier. Yes, I said reflexively, and then remembered the man lying dead in the next room. No, no recordings, please. Don't record this. No problem, Mr. Byers. One second. I heard a whir of noise and a click, then something that sounded like a man laughing. There was a quick hiss of static, and then her voice popped back on the line. Okay, Mr. Byers, as per your request, we've stopped the recording. Thank you. The words fell out of my mouth like broken teeth. I felt sick to my stomach still, and sweat was dripping down my forehead. I felt against the wall and slid down into a sitting position. Of course, Mr. Byers. There was the sound of shuffling papers, and somewhere in the distance there was a scream of agony, so faint I could barely hear it. We've received confirmation that your debt has been paid in full, and we've taken our agents off the alternate means of collection. You mean the people watching my fucking family? I spit out in a sudden rage, remembering that the person behind this friendly voice was involved in all of this. Yes, sir. Believe me that we are just as happy about this as you. It's always nice to have compliant debtors, especially those who repay so quickly and efficiently. Outside the bathroom, I could hear the sliding glass door open again, and I jumped to my feet, my stomach lurching as I did so and my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. I could hear movement in the living room and found myself shrinking backwards away from the closed bathroom door. Someone's here, I whispered to the woman not sure as to why I'd think she cared. That would most likely be the physician, your physician. He's probably come to collect what he was owed. I highly suggest you stay in the bathroom, Mr. Byers. There was a motorized whir from her end of the line, like some small machine spinning up. Your debt is paid. He will leave soon and you can go about your life. No one will ever find out about this. He was there. The physician. The one who saved my life. The one who threatened my family. The one who pushed me to kill that man on his behalf. He was right outside the door and down the fucking hall. I had the chance to see him face to face, to find out exactly what he required so badly that I had to murder a man for it. My hand began reaching for the door. Mr. Byers, I must say it again. I would highly advise you to stay in the bathroom until the physician leaves. You can't undo what you are thinking of doing. She spoke as if she was looking through my eyes. How did you... I trailed off with my words, my hand frozen in place and my eyes remaining fixed on the door handle. It doesn't matter. I'm telling you this for your own good, Mr. Byers. There was another faint scream from behind her, followed by hissing laughter. The mundane sound of fingers typing on a keyboard followed quickly after. I'm removing your debt from our records as we speak. You're in the free and clear. Free and clear? I repeated, laughing at how little I felt as if I was free and clear. Blood washes off, Mr. Byers. The mind protects you from traumatic memories and in time you forget all of this So calm She was calm as she told me that eventually the murder I committed would be no big deal A daily occurrence for her. A practiced platitude. What's out there? I asked her, swallowing the lump in my throat. Nothing you want to see. The only thing that awaits you out there is horror being permanently seared into your fragile human mind. Her tone shifted, darkened, and grew ominous. It's ultimately your choice, though, Mr. Byers. I wish you a wonderful evening. Another whirring noise, followed by a click that signified she had hung up on me. She'd left me alone with whatever was waiting beyond that door. With the choice and the warning, I reached again for the door handle. I was once again greeted by the sound of the most boring easy-listening music I'd ever heard as I opened the bathroom door and peered out into the hall. Not that it was so clear over the sound of my own heart thudding in my ears. I took my first steps out of the bathroom and looked down towards where the hall opened into the living room. I swallowed hard, knowing that just behind the couches I could see was the body of a middle-aged balding man with thick glasses, his neck punctured by the scalpel I'd been given. I knew also that more than likely out there where I couldn't see was the physician himself, the former holder of my debt. The memory of those red orbs stirred inside my head and the feeling of being torn apart and put back together again was recalled by my nerves. I felt my eye twitch and tension run down from the base of my skull to my tailbone. My body didn't want to walk forward. It wanted me to run back in the bathroom and close my eyes in the vain hopes that I had opened them in my own bed. I needed to go against every instinct I had to take that first step forward. It was a willful choice. Afterwards, my legs did the work on autopilot. A new sound filled my ears. An electrical metallic hum to a tune I recognized. A hunched-over shape came into view from behind the couch where the body was lying. Broad shoulders wrapped in a worn leather overcoat shifted up and down, and a wide-brimmed hat jutted up from the lowered head. The physician was at work, and he hummed the tune of Somewhere Over the Rainbow as he did his business. Beyond his singing, I could hear flesh being very unsurgically torn from flesh. This assumption was realized in great and horrifying detail as a bloody chunk of something was tossed over his shoulder, landing on the couch with a tiny splatter of blood. I gagged and quickly covered my mouth to muffle the sound. The sounds of the physician's vile work suddenly stopped. His shoulders no longer making their movements and his head raising from his focus. He had heard me. Hello, Jonathan. His voice clicked like a machine switching functions. He held up a single finger and I could see a metallic hand with hinged joints. It looked brass or possibly copper. At first, I thought it was a glove, but as he wiggled his fingers, I could see individual pistons moved the fingers and realized I could see through the open parts of the hand. It was impossible. What? I went to ask something, anything, but my voice froze in my throat. One moment, please. I'm almost done here. He sounded like a freshly wound but old clock grinding its gears together. He cut something new free and placed it into what looked like a doctor's bag. I could see several other blood-stained parts glistening from inside. He clicked it closed and set it aside as he got to his feet. His body shifted so I could see the body of the man who I killed and notice he had been cut wide open. the stained white of his ribcage caught my eye. This is why you had me? I couldn't finish my thought. He kept his back to me and wiped his metal hands on his long coat before adjusting the wide, flat brim of his hat. He turned slowly, and the first thing I noticed were the large red orbs shining beneath his hat. They were exactly as I remembered them, but now I could see they were lights from behind a set of metallic rimmed goggles. Just below the lights was a long protruding beak that looked like it was made of leather. It took me a second before I realized it was a mask. It was a plague doctor's mask. First, do no harm. He spoke as he cleaned the scalpel on his sleeve. Not truly a phrase that appeared in the original Hippocratic Oath, but one I'm still forced to abide by. You cut pieces off of him. You stuffed them in your goddamn bag. I felt sick and clenched my teeth, taking a deep breath between thoughts. That seems pretty goddamn harmful. He was already dead, Mr. Byers. Thank you for that, by the way. Don't think I don't appreciate the efficiency in your expedient exsanguination. He snickered at his alliteration, and it sounded like someone shaking a rusty can full of pennies. Why? Is all I could say. Fear coursing through my veins and sweat dotting my brow. I leaned forward on the couch and asked again, Why? Physician, heal thyself. He lifted the bag off of the ground and patted it as if that itself were an explanation. Your debt is clear, Mr. Byers. Enjoy the rest of your life. Why me? I was stepping around the couch now, the body and its mangled state finally coming into full view. He had taken so much. I don't really want to remember how it looked. My bravado faded as I turned away in revulsion and guilt. I saved your life. I told you there would be a price and you agreed. What are you? My final question, the one I really wanted to ask, the one that might help explain what the hell was going on, how he saved me, who the debt collection agency was, none of it made any sense. Do you really want to know what's behind this mask? What's piloting this vessel through your rotten world? Saving the lives of some, only to have them steal the lives of others? Something that sustains its own existence off the pieces of those murdered men? He took three steps toward me so I could smell the miasma wafting from him. He smelled like spice and flowers attempting to cover up the stench of death. This is insane. I shriveled away from those glowing red orb eyes. I could feel something so broken and empty staring from behind the glass. He raised one of his metallic hands to his face, and I could hear the gears creaking as he gripped the front of the mask and began to pull it away. Thin, black, and spindly appendages like spider legs forced their way out from the new open seams and flailed wildly beneath the wide-brimmed hat. I could feel a rush of cold air, and a stench of rot grew stronger. I felt like I had pushed myself off the edge of a cliff, and I was about to hit the ground hard. I closed my eyes tightly, unwilling to observe the shadow beyond the mask. Go home, Jonathan. Your role is over. The tin voice had softened a bit, yet it seemed disgusted with me. You have no business playing in things you don't understand. This will be cleaned up, and no one will ever know it was you. You have my word. I opened my eyes to see the mask back in its place and the physician walking away from me. He depressed a booted foot on the dead man's mangled face and pressed down so more blood leaked from his wounds onto the carpet. Magnificent. He spoke the word in a hushed whisper that somehow seemed to echo in my ears. I moved toward the sliding glass door and felt the rush of night air as I opened it. Outside looked like a wonderful dream, but I stopped long enough to look over my shoulder back at the nightmare. The physician was still studying the effects of pressing his boot on different wounds. If you can't harm anyone directly, then my family was never in danger, were they? It dawned on me as I was about to leave. This thing seemed to be bound by rules. I wouldn't have been able to take from them what I needed until they were dead. And yes, I could not kill them myself. He didn't even bother to look at me. The collection agency would have handled that part for me though. and believe me, you should be very happy you didn't allow it to come to that. I looked nervously at the physician as he turned those orbs toward me once more. Those guys are monsters. And that was First Do No Harm by Michael Marks. A good reminder that the bill always comes due. They got you coming in, they got you going out. A little about the author. Michael Marks is a renowned no-sleep scribbler and author of the collection Spiral and Down, available now from VALOX Books. Check out the link in the show notes or just head to VALOX Books.com where you can find Michael and plenty of other excellent authors you've heard here on this show. If you're more of a listener, Spiraling Down is available on audible.com as well. It's an excellent book narrated by my old pal Jeff who would truly love it if you went ahead and bought a copy. Remember, it's love your pet day. Help him out, folks. He's going through a pretty tough stretch right now. And by that I mean he stretched out on a lounge chair down on Clearwater Beach. Still, do it for Michael Marks. And do old Drew Blood a favor, would you? Subscribe to his podcast wherever you do your listening and leave him a five-star review and a kind word, even if you're listening on YouTube. He needs soldiers on all fronts to win this battle, and he appreciates it. 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If selected, you'll get the full treatment, 10 bananas. Well, I guess this is where we part ways, at least till next week. So grab a drink for the road, would you? I'm sure you've got your own ungrateful pets at home waiting for your attention. So grab a pie on the way home, maybe. And with that, y'all, may the wind be at your back, and may the road rise up to meet you. So until next time, friends, head home, get some rest, pet the cat, and go fuck yourself. Nacho.