—. . . That’s my wife . . . and my son. . . .
I don’t know what else I can do. My wife is staying strong. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look at me because she knows that would make it harder for me to lie. But Ramzi’s crying. He’s terrified. Maybe the man in charge will let Ramzi go if he knows he’s my son. Even if he doesn’t, I can’t do this to Ramzi anymore. He’s not old enough to understand. He’s scared out of his wits and all he really wants is for one of us to hold him, tell him everything is going to be okay. Now he has to watch me act as if I don’t even know him. I won’t do it. I won’t let him go through this without his father. I’m here, Ramzi. Look me in the eyes and you’ll know. Your father is here and he loves you.
—Forget what I said, Samaritan. You do have a sense of humour. A really sick one at that!
—Don’t make me do this.
—What? You mean this is for real? Jesus fucking Christ!
—I beg you, sir. Don’t hurt my family.
—Hahaha! This. Is. Nuts! I’ve seen some crazy things in my life, but this takes the biscuit.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. There has to be a way out of this, but I can’t see it. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.
—WOW! This is quite the pickle you’re in, Samaritan. I thought you had it easy before, me doing the killing and all, but now! Woooo! Sucks to be you!
I can convince him. He’ll listen.
—I’ve done . . . everything you asked, sir. Everything! All I—
—What in the world are you talking about, Samaritan? You haven’t done everything I asked. You haven’t done shit! You had one job to do, and you found a way to screw that up. I had to shoot two people in the head because you wouldn’t do your job. I’m telling you, there’s a Mrs. . . . Boring Accountant or Mrs. Cashmere Sweater Dude somewhere going through some serious grief because of you. OK, maybe not the cashmere guy, that guy had to be single. But you know what I mean, Samaritan. You got someone killed! Then you did your job once and now you think you’re entitled to . . . I don’t know what you think you’re entitled to. What is it that you want, actually?
—I told you. I . . .
—You don’t want me to make you choose between your wife and kid, is that it?
It’s working. I can save them.
—Please, sir. Please don’t.
—You want someone else to do it.
—NO!
It all comes tumbling down. My hope. My sanity. I will not choose one of them. I will not watch. I’m not strong enough. I want to transport myself, be . . . anywhere but here, feel anything but this. I want to feel nothing. I feel the will to live pouring out of me like sand.
—Good. You had me scared for a minute. That seemed a bit . . . cowardly. That’s not like you. I don’t think your wife would be very proud of you if you bailed on your responsibilities now. Would you? Ma’am? What would you think of your husband if he let someone else decide if you die? . . . No? . . . Is she always this quiet?
She is. She was quiet on that first day in the dentist chair and she never changed. She listens. If she opens her mouth it’s because she has something important to say, or because she knows I need to hear her voice, or the kids need to. There is a stillness, a strength to her that makes the people around her feel safe. I felt it the moment we met. She’s our coral reef, shielding all of us from waves and storms. We live in her world. We need her like we need air to breathe. She is everything. I’m . . .
—Me! I choose me. Kill me. Let them live.
—What are you saying, Samaritan?
—PLEASE! KILL ME! I’m asking you to kill me!
—Are you sure? That sounds like a terrible idea.
—YES! I want to die. Just me.
—. . . All right. Fine. . . .
This is how it ends.
—Thank you.
—That’s just weird, you thanking me for that. . . .
I am grateful. I feel the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. I can turn it all off, end the pain. I can save my family.
—Whatever, your call . . . I just— Are you really sure? I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding. What you’re asking, it’s kind of permanent, not the kind of thing that can be undone.
—I’m sure.
—You want me to kill you, then let someone else decide which one of your wife and son has to die. That’s just stupid if you ask me.
I . . . I don’t understand. I want to die. Me. I want it to end with me.
—N-no! You kill me and they live! That’s the deal. You let both of them live.
—What? Why would I do that?
—You said one person has to die. That person is me. I die. Me. There’s no reason to kill anyone else.
—There isn’t now! But what do I do fifteen minutes from now? You want me to pick two different people altogether?
—I— Yes. My wife and son live. You let them go.
—I see. That doesn’t seem really fair to all the other people, now does it? You’re saying that I can kill anyone, except your wife and kid, and for what reason again? Because these two . . . what? Because they know someone? Well, knew someone, you’d be dead. But still. You get the point. It doesn’t sound fair at all! I think it stinks of—what’s the word I’m looking for?—nepotism! That’s the word. Nepotism. You see, besides the money and all the things I asked for, we’re here for a reason. There is a purpose to all this. And that is to send a message, a message to the powers that be that we won’t stand for things like greed, corruption—we don’t like that one at all—and nepotism. Nepotism is in there. So if I let that happen in here, it would kinda ruin the message.
—It’s n—
—Stop! Stop! But I understand where you’re coming from, Samaritan. I do. I sympathize. I’m not . . . insensitive to your pain. If it were me . . . Yeah, if it were me, I’d try to get myself a bit of nepotism, too. It’s a natural response. Don’t worry about it. I’m not blaming you one bit. In fact, I’m going to do you another favour. That’s right. I’m going to start counting right now.
—No!
—Look! I know you’re hurting! And the longer this goes on, the more it’s going to hurt. I say let’s get through this as fast as we can, you and I. We’ll do it real quick, like ripping off a plaster—and then we can start the healing process. Here we go. One . . .
I can’t fight for them anymore. I don’t have the strength. I . . . I can hear what he’s saying, I can make out the words, but the meaning is gone. It’s just empty sound. Nothing makes sense. Nothing but one, two, and three. I know the world ends on three. I wish there were more to me than this, but there isn’t. I have expended it all. It feels like I’m abandoning my family, but I have nothing else to give. This is my legacy. Fifteen minutes. A chance.
—OK. I’ll do it.
—You’ll do what?
—Kill me now. You kill me and let them live for another fifteen minutes.
—You sure? You said yes before, but then you changed your mind. That’s not cool. People get false hopes, it’s—
—Yes! I’m sure! You kill me. Then someone else decides.
—You’re absolutely sure?
—Yes.
I am.
—Hmmmm . . . no.
—I’m sure!
—Yeah, but no.
—Why? You said yes before. I’ll do it. I want to do it.
—I know what I said, but I’ve changed my mind. I can’t kill you, Samaritan! You have a job to do! I think you can be great at it with a little more practice. Do you have employees? Yes? No? Well, if you do, you’ll understand. If you find someone good at their job, you don’t let that person go. You do everything in your power to keep that person because good employees are hard to come by. That’s kinda what you are, my employee. You’re like . . . my assistant! Is that good, assistant? Anyway, shut the fuck up and do your job.
This won’t end. It’ll never end. He’ll keep going and going until everyone’s dead. He won’t let me die.