The Scalpel and the Spade

 

The Unforgiving Frost

It was a brutal winter that year, a winter no one had ever experienced. The ground was frozen hard by the cold; even the grass grew stiff. Everyone could be seen wearing triple layers of clothes, gloves, and nose masks, because breathing the cold air would make your lungs freeze. It was the kind of winter that made many people wish they lived in a warmer country.

A Shiver in the Cell

Pascal was in his cell trying to get warm. He nearly cried when he saw his breath misting. He huddled in his bunk and tried to use the thin blanket to cover his body, but it was no use. He kept rubbing his hands together to create warmth, but for all his effort, he knew it was useless as he kept shivering.

"This is beyond ordinary," he thought. He tried to flash back on his life, but the cold was too much for him to even think. He was brought back to reality when the guard banged on his cell door.

"Time to get up," the guard said as he opened the door.

"What for?" Pascal asked the guard as he tried to stand.

"How would I know? I was asked to get your sorry ass over to the yard."

"What! It is cold out there," he protested.

"Do I care? No. Just doing my job, now move it."

"But that weather would kill me," Pascal said, trying to put on a coat.

"The coat is not needed," the guard said. "Just your shirt and pants. No gloves, but wear boots."

"What! Are you trying to kill me?" Pascal asked him.

The Weight of Memory

"You're on death row and you're afraid to die, eh? Move it now."

Pascal froze as the memory rushed back to him. He had been trying to remember after spending ten years in prison, but it had been like a blur in his mind as he tried to recall the day he was sentenced and what had led him to prison in the first place.

A Surgeon’s Pride

He had been a surgeon, one of the best. He had been a proud man back then, appearing on the front pages of top magazines and newspapers for his prowess in the operating theater.

He remembered performing an operation on a pregnant woman who had twins in her womb. It was a very complicated procedure, and he had been proud when he emerged successful. The woman had been six months pregnant when one of the twins died inside her. He had performed surgery by bringing both twins out, removing the dead one, and putting the living one back in. If his memory was correct, that child would be twenty this year.

He was jostled out of his memory by the guard, who shouted in his face, "Move it! Or are your balls frozen, too?"

The Yard

Pascal was taken to the prison yard, which acted as a playground of sorts with recreation facilities and a basketball court at the far end. All the way there, he was harassed and mocked by the guard.

"Think you’re better than me?" Tim asked. "Just because you were a big shot back then doesn't mean I’m not a big shot now."

"I never said I’m better than you or anyone," Pascal said.

"So, because you’re educated, you think I’m beneath you?" the guard asked with a scowl.

"No. But if it pleases you, just know we are both in prison."

The guard snarled. "I’m not a prisoner, and I can go home whenever I want."

"Yeah, and that is just twice a week," Pascal replied. For that, he earned a slap to the back of his head.

"Shut it, murderer."

"I’m not a murderer."

"The court says so."

"I was framed."

"Yeah, and you were sent here to die."

The Task at Hand

They arrived at the yard to see three other prisoners and the warden waiting. "Took your time, eh, Tim?" the warden said to the guard.

"Sorry, boss. This one here caused the delay."

"No matter, he’s here now," the warden said, looking at them all. "Now that we are all here under this freezing weather—to be honest, I’d prefer to be home drinking hot coffee with a brunette by my side. Not too far, just a little perky."

The guard, Tim, laughed, but the four prisoners stayed silent. "You guys are no fun," the warden said as he handed a spade to each of them. "Clear the yard and dig a hole for a dais to be raised."

"What! Under this cold weather with no protection?" Pascal protested.

"Well, what do you think the spade is for?" the warden asked him. Pascal said nothing, only shrugging his shoulders. "That, my condemned friend, is your tool to keep you warm as you work."

Tim couldn’t hold back his laughter, slapping his knee with tears in his eyes.

"Boss, the ground is frozen. It’ll be difficult to break through with just a spade," one of the prisoners said.

"Ha! Too bad. I hope you’ll find a way."

"This is not right," another said as he struck the ground with the spade and watched it bounce.

"What isn't right? 'Silent Foot'—yeah, that was your moniker as you went about murdering people. Was that right?"

"Get on with your task, boys, and don't get frostbite while you’re at it," Tim said, chuckling.

Cruel Irony

The four condemned men watched the warden and Tim go. They looked at each other, no one saying a word, as they started the work.

It was hard and brutal labor. The ground was solid, and no matter how hard they struck with the spades, it was useless. They struggled to remove even a few inches of soil. It was a task none of them had ever performed, and soon their unprotected hands were bleeding. Silent Foot could feel the cold numbing his feet; he swore part of his lungs had already frozen.

Pascal couldn't penetrate even an inch of soil. No matter how he tried, the ground remained like solid rock—frozen and unyielding.

"Why are they making us do this?" one of the prisoners asked as he wept. It was bad enough being frozen, but adding blistered and bloody hands was a death sentence on its own.

"Don't you know?" Silent Foot asked the man, using all his willpower just to stay standing.

"Know what?" Pascal asked, breathing hard as he struggled to stay conscious.

"Why we were asked to build a dais."

"No idea."

"I overheard them saying it was for spectators," Silent Foot said with a grimace. "So they can watch from the platform as they finally carry out our sentences."

"Wait... are you saying we are building a dais for people to watch us get killed?" one of the prisoners asked, horrified.

"What an irony," Pascal said, as he...

The Weight of the Past

Pascal slumped to the floor, weeping.

A Surgeon’s Miracle

After he had saved that woman’s baby and the news had broken out, he had been on constant call. There was no day he didn’t perform a complicated surgery, and he had never failed.

He remembered a day he performed an operation on a woman who was seven months pregnant and suffering from fibroids. She claimed she had visited many clinics, but all had said they couldn’t do it; they were afraid and told her neither she nor the baby would survive. She had come to him as her last hope.

He had performed the operation by removing the child from her womb and placing it in an incubator. He then removed the fibroids, and once he was sure all the growths were gone, he put the baby back into her womb. Two months later, she delivered a healthy baby boy.

It was a painful memory. As he lay on the frozen ground weeping, he remembered the night it all crashed down on him.

How It Started

He had been working constantly and never had time for a social life. One day, he was coaxed by his friends to take a break and have some fun. They visited a club, but he couldn't remember the details because he had been so high.

He was woken up by the police in his own bed. Lying next to him was the body of the prostitute he had brought home that night—cold, dead, and with several of her vital organs missing. He was arrested and charged as an organ dealer. The police claimed they had received a distress call about screaming and shouting coming from his apartment; the caller insisted they could hear a female voice pleading for her life. All the evidence had been perfectly planted. His defense team tried their best, but he was fighting powerful beings.

The Offer

Before the tragedy, he had received a letter from an unknown group claiming he belonged to them. They claimed no one could be successful without their blessing, and those who defied them would regret it with their lives. The letter read:

Pascal,

Your exploits in the medical profession have been a great source of pride to us, The Bloody Raven. We are a secret society founded thousands of years ago, and we recruit people of your caliber into our ranks. Denying us comes with hard consequences. We reward those who are loyal; come join us by taking the blood covenant and see what true prosperity is like.

It had been signed with a single raven’s footprint at the bottom. He had simply laughed and torn the letter up. That was how his trouble had started.

To be continued..