Page 42 of Toxic Salvation
“Two days ago!”
“What about?”
“He sent me a new—ah!—a new list.”
I increase the pressure on his fragile little bones. “I want details, Jeremy. For every unsatisfactory answer you give me, I’ll have to ruin a finger.”
He gulps hard. “Every month, he gives me a list of organs that he needs. It’s my job to handpick p-patients for… h-harvesting.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. This bastard deserves death just as much as Ihor. Maybe more. At least Ihor doesn’t pretend to be saving lives while he destroys them. But as much as I want to reduce him to a pile of broken bones and bleeding flesh, I still need him. For now.
“Show me this list.”
When I let go, he drops to his knee. He fumbles with the bottom drawer of his desk, his hands trembling. After a moment, he produces a single piece of paper.
I snatch it from him. Three items mark the top of the page, written in Ihor’s neat handwriting:Spleen.Kidney.Heart.
I stare at the list, reading those three simple words while hatred spreads through my chest. A person can survive without their spleen. A person can live with one healthy kidney.
But…
“A heart?” I look up at Jeremy. “He needs a fuckingheart?”
Jeremy shuffles away as far as he can go, trying to put distance between us without being obvious about it. “Y-yes...”
“I didn’t go to medical school, so educate me, Doctor.” I fold the paper in half, then in half again. “Is it possible for a person to survive without a heart?”
“T-there are temporary measures that can be taken—artificial hearts can support a person— Er, rather, theywillsupport a person?—”
“Do I have to take a finger from you, Jeremy?”
Dark circles form around his eyes. “For long periods of time, or outside of a hospital, no. It is not possible to survive without a functioning heart.”
“So you’re not just stealing organs from your patients’ bodies. You’re actively murdering them.”
Jeremy stares at a spot behind me, refusing to meet my gaze. “The prognosis for the patient I picked is not good. He has ALS. He’s going to die anyway. It was a noble?—”
I take a step forward and he shrinks back, sealing his lips.
“So he’s dead now, yes?”
He nods mutely.
“How old?”
“H-huh?”
“How old is this man you just killed, you dense fuck?”
“F-forty-one.”
“Married?”
He looks at me briefly. “Y-yes.”
“Kids?”
“Why are you asking me these questions?” Desperation creeps into his tone, his eyes bulging, sweat pouring unchecked down his temples.
