He was announced as the most productive killer of all, who had ever been kept in our prison. I had been there for two years at that moment. And now, when I’m free I can say with certainty that it was the moment that changed my life.
I had been prisoned for a burglary for three years. You know, it was not the most horrible crime. I was careless and stupid in eighteen. Though, after two years I was not dumb enough not to care about the fact that they were going to keep me with the most horrible killer. But what could I do. I was waiting. I drew pictures of a savage unshaven face of my future neighbor in my head - someone with mad eyes and ugly grin, with long dirty hair and a lot of tattoos. All in all, it was not only my
fantasy. I had been prisoned for two years at that moment and I had seen few horrible killers. I did know how they looked like.
The day I first saw my neighbor I was a little bit disappointed. Oh, I better not lie, because I was
completely disappointed, completely.
- Greet Doc, Craig. He will be your friend for next year, - said the warder (I am Craig, if that)
For a second between this words and the moment I saw Doc all my life flashed before my eyes. That is why the next moment was completely shocking.
A man entered the cell. He was medium-high a bit plump elderling, completely bold with small smart eyes and that kind of kind and gentle smile that occurs only after you are more than fifty, that kind of wise and understanding smile. No tattoos, even no beard. He disappointed me completely, when he adjusted his narrow horn-rimmed glasses and said:
- Good morning, Craig. My name is Dr. Paul, but you can call me Doc. How are you?
I didn’t answer. I was fooled. “The most horrible and productive killer of all, ever kept in our prison? Are you kidding me?” He looked like pediatrician or psychologist. I was fooled and down.
For three hours I was watching my new neighbor. First of all, Doc washed his hands. Then he looked
around, assessed the situation. He made the bad, took of his shoes, took a book and went to read.
Watching him reading annoyed me, that is why I gained strength to ask him:
- What have you done that they call you the most productive killer, Doc?
- I killed people, Craig, - said Doc closing the book with that kind of calm and gentle smile I
described earlier.
- Doc, you don’t look like a killer, no offence. You look like … a doctor.
- It’s Ok, Craig. I am a doctor. I’ve been a doctor, - sadly uttered Doc.
- But Doc, I thought that doctors save lives.
- We do sometimes, Craig.
- And sometimes you take the life away?
Doc kept silent for few seconds, and then said:
- They asked me to, Craig.
I laughed:
- Something like “Doctor, I broke my lag. The pain is so strong that I want to die. “
- Not exactly, Craig. But…
- Maybe you didn’t have to understand it literally?
Doc smiled again and said:
- Oncologist. I was an oncologist.
I stared at him silently. He understood that I wanted him to continue.
- I worked with terminally ill and practiced euthanasia.
- How did you kill them?
- Arduan and ditilin in large doses.
I kept silent.
- Have you ever seen the face of a terminally ill? Have you ever heard the screaming of someone
who feels the pain that can’t even be expressed in words? Have they ever asked you to stop
that?
At that moment I saw something mad in Doc’s eyes, but not that kind of mad I expected to see in yes of
a horrible killer. It was something desperate, something you can see in eyes of a person who didn’t have
another way, who did the best but lost. He cried:
- I rescued them!
- How many have you rescued? – I asked whispering.
- Eighty seven.
- Eighty seven, - I repited.
We both cried.
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