From Chapter 9: Tied to the rails
Page 96…
Bell finished calmly, with grievance and sadness in his voice for the bitter truth. His voice carried the weight of an entire society. A tragic image of a people that has lost hope.
“When you’re not killing our children in accidents, in precarious and dangerous jobs, with fumes from coal to keep warm, you’re simply pushing them away. Those who stay behind learn to applaud you for crumbs. They learn to see their funerals as an unavoidable cost.”
Bell’s voice was heard for the last time from the speakers, calm, almost detached, as if sealing a deal.
“By now, George, you must have understood which mistakes brought you here. The next time we speak, I will have no more time for chatter. I want answers. With facts. With proof. I’m no longer interested in your words. My people know what they have to do until then. Think carefully about how you want to leave this world, not just physically. Spiritually, George. That’s the death that counts.”
The sound from the speakers cut off abruptly. A heavy silence blanketed the cellar. Monroe raised his head slowly, his face pale, sweaty, his gaze blurred with pain and fear. The bonds tightened around his hands, holding him to accept his fingers being reduced further still.
And yet, he tried, perhaps out of instinct, perhaps out of desperation, to play the only card he knew. His voice came out like a pleading whisper.
“Listen to me… You two… You’re not like him. Think. What did he promise you? Whatever he gave you, I’ll double it. No, I’ll triple it. I’ll get you out of this difficult position; no one will ever touch you. I can save you…”
The large man standing opposite him looked at him without moving. He lowered his eyes to his own palms, hands thick, fingers strong and stiff. Then, he raised his eyebrows and his gaze to Monroe, without a trace of sympathy.
“I don’t need saving, Mr. Monroe. Whatever money I need, I’ve already taken, and after this job is over, I’ll get as much again. I don’t have bosses anymore. You are my job now. And the more you scream… the better paid I become.”
“You…” he addressed the doctor with a trembling voice, “you are an educated man… you can’t approve of what’s happening.”
The doctor approached him with calm steps. He cleaned his hands mechanically, wiped his glasses, almost as if preparing for a routine examination. He stopped beside him, his voice was calm, but it concealed a silent rage.
“Money isn’t what defines me, Mr. Minister. He paid me well, yes, but I came to see your fall up close, to carve it into my memory. I am a doctor in a public hospital. I have seen firsthand what your system leaves behind. Burned bodies, dismembered bodies, people blinded by tear gas, maimed by police brutality, dead from months-long postponements of surgeries. There is no pain I have not witnessed.”
He bent down a little, until his face almost touched Monroe’s. He looked him in the eye, coldly, penetratingly.
“No medicine can cure the cancer of your nightmarish system. We must amputate it. Perhaps… it’s the only way to put an end to it.”
The silent heavy glanced at his watch. He nodded to the doctor.
“It’s time.”
Monroe began to tremble, and a shiver of horror ran down his spine.
“No… not yet… wait…” They didn’t answer. The henchman approached, picking up the electric pruner from the table. Its small motor hummed as he tested it, and the metallic snick-snick sounded as it opened and closed in the air…
