I’m not going to pull your chain around and try to pretty up my day job- I harvest organs.
Yup. You heard me right the first time. I find people, relieve them of that kidney or maybe a lung, and I sell it for thousands and thousands of dollars. You’d be surprised how lucrative this business is. I’ve already paid off my daughter’s college and she’s only three. Anywhere she wants to go, she’s going to get. I’m just that good of a mother.
Of course my husband doesn’t know. He thinks I’m a doctor, and if we’re technically honest, I am. It’s why I’m so good at what I do. It’s how I can access medical records to find the perfect donors. You can’t have bad product after all. My customers get what they paid for.
And today it’s the heart of a twenty two year old marathon runner.
I’m in really good shape for a woman. It’s probably what makes my job easier. I try to avoid drugs if I can. It could damage the product. This kid, let’s call him Paul so we can keep this all anonymous, didn’t seem to suspect me when I pulled up beside him in my car and asked for directions. I play up the part of the lost ditz, and Paul’s a good kid. He looks away just for a moment and that’s when I club him over the head.
I drag him into the backseat, duct tape his mouth shut, and cover him with my kid’s blankets and toys before I get back into the front and drive off to my workshop.
How did I get started in this career? My mentor in college. He let me in on it when he realized how precise my cuts were. I called him sick and threatened to turn him in until he reminded me how many of his clients were policemen, lawyers, even judges. I’d backed off after that. Besides. I had medical school to pay off. That ain’t cheap. Soon I not only got used to my new job, I relished it.
My workshop’s far enough from the house and any other neighbors that I’m not concerned about being caught. I dragged Paul back there and strapped him to the table, making sure the leather straps are on good- one time I got sloppy and I got punched in the face by this thirty one year old whose liver I was planning on taking. I did, and to explain the bruise when I got home I made up a sob story about getting mugged. My husband doted on me for weeks, it was really kinda cute.
Paul’s starting to come to by this point, moaning and squirming around. I don’t waste my time in killing him before I do the deed, I’m late to meet up with the client as is. So I rip off the kid’s shirt and turn on the saw.
I hear him scream once before it makes contact with his chest.
It’s so much easier to rip open the ribs when you’re not so concerned about keeping the patient alive. It’s therapeutic as they crack. Paul’s heart still twitches as I take a scalpel to the arteries. Blood spatters against my goggles and brow but I continue on with my work.
Paul’s eyes were a dark green. I couldn’t help but admire them as I scooped them out. I carved up his body as much as I could, taking care with the hands. It’ll make it trickier with no fingerprints and a face with no flesh.
I put the prize in the cooler and after disposing of Paul’s body in a drum I roll it into the corner. I’ll dump it later, or pay one of my previous clients to do so. I know some pretty fucked up people.
After I clean up, I drive into town to the meet up spot.
I walk into the kitchen and set down the cooler before taking the heart out. Paul’s heart was in amazing condition- he would’ve lived till his eighties, probably.
I set it down on the cutting board and carefully slice it in half before putting it in the oven to bake it. The eyeballs and some greenery would make a garnish, and from a nineteen year old vegetarian’s ribs I’d made a broth the week previous I turned into a soup as an appetizer.
My client this week is my mentor. He’s with a few friends as I deliver out the platter, and the cloud of steam as I lift off the lid from the soup makes all the men ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhh’.
My mentor shakes his head as he takes a sip. “I must say, you were always better at this part than I was… and the heart?”
“It’ll be done shortly. For the rest of you, I’m making steaks, medium rare.” I look around the room and my eyes land on a new face. “You’re new here.”
The man’s a bit nervous. He nods.
I laugh. “It’s okay. It’s not my thing, but we’ve all considered what it’s like to eat human. Do you like your steaks medium rare though? I don’t want you to leave hungry.”
That made him smile. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. Thanks, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old.”
I heard the oven ding.
Ah, the heart was ready.