The car drove up the hill steadily; it was a massive beast of a vehicle, and in the whisper of exhaust fumes it seemed to brag that it ate mountains like this for breakfast. More of a boat than a car, thought Abel. 

There was a layer of fog on the mountain, and it was hard to see anything in front of them as they drove. Abel glanced at the driver, but nothing more was revealed to him. He was still a lithe figure, swathed in white, a doctors mask covering his nose, mouth, and chin. Funny how it took things like that to identify a person. With only eyes and a forehead to go off of, Abel thought he could have been anyone.

They finally reached the top of the mountain, and even through the mist he could see the were not alone. The man stopped the car abruptly, slamming it into park and pulling the emergency break so that it wouldn't roll. Abel pulled at his restrains, exaggerating the movement so the man would understand. 

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Hold on." Pulling a knife from the is pocket, the man slashed the rope that was keeping Abel tied to his seat. He jumped out of the car and gestered for Abel to do the same.

Abel slid from his seat carefully, and walked toward the group clammoring at the edge of the cliff. They were also wearing doctor's coats and masks. The driver had already joined their half-circle. 

Abel realized that they were standing in the shape of that night's moon. A crescent. Then he realized that this was the last moon he would ever see. 

Once again, he cursed himself for having gone into the clinic that day. He could have survived the flu without any persrcribed antibiotics, he thought with tears in his eyes. He shouldn't have gone in that day. 

It was ironic, too, because only that morning he had read the article in the paper. A New Gang of Serial Killers in Colorado, it said. The Doctors. And the clever phrase they left printed on their victims: Doctor-assisted suicide. 

The driver called out to him. "Come on," he said, his voice not unkind. "It won't take long."

Another voice, a female one, added, "Leave your coat, please."

Abel slid his arms out of his sleeves, and left the coat on the ground behind his as he walked towards the cliff. 

He waited as they first doctor approached him with a permanent marker, to write on his arm. After his body had been floating for a few days, the words would be barely visible. Just enough for the police to know who.

Abel suddenly didn't fell like waiting anymore. He had read that the other victims had likely been pushed, but he didn't care. Abel jumped.