Dead Med, page 11
“We should make another appointment,” she tells me. “Soon.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “Great.”
She tries to rest a hand on my arm, but I shrug her off roughly. I don’t want her to touch me.
Kovak offers me the same phony smile that Patrice has pinned on her face. “Patrice and I have had an excellent discussion about the clinic, and I’ve answered all her questions. I don’t think she has any concerns anymore, do you, Patrice?”
“None at all,” she pipes up.
“In that case,” Kovak says, “I’ll let you go on your way, Patrice. Abe and I have a clinic to attend.”
I want to throw something.
I watch Patrice walk out of the clinic, my hands balled into fists. I am about five seconds away from punching a hole in the wall. How could she have lied to me that way? How could she have pretended she was on my side?
Kovak catches the look on my face and raises his eyebrows. “Easy there, Abe. Don’t do something idiotic.”
“It’s a little too late for that.”
He chuckles, and now I’m about five seconds away from punching a hole in his face. “You know what, Abe? You’ve been doing such a great job here lately. I don’t think I’m paying you enough. I think you deserve a raise.”
And then he quotes an hourly rate that is twice what I am getting right now.
“I don’t want it,” I hear myself saying, even though God knows, I could use the money. “I just want to stop working here. Please.”
He opens his mouth as if to answer, but then there’s a knock on the door to the waiting room. Our first patient is here.
“Come on,” he says. “We have work to do.”
29
It’s two in the morning, and a sound in my bedroom jars me out of my restless slumber. I sit bolt upright in bed and discover Mason in the middle of our room. He’s standing over me, his phone in his right hand. I squint into the darkness and rub my eyes.
“For Christ’s sake, it’s two in the morning, Mason,” I say. “Why are you awake?”
“Can’t sleep,” he mumbles.
“Okay…”
“I need help.”
I shake my head, not understanding. “What?”
He runs both hands through his hair, which is already sticking straight up. “I need you to give me something to help me sleep.”
Oh, great. This is the last thing I need. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because you’re a drug dealer.”
“What?”
Mason doesn’t blink. “You work for Kovak. I heard what goes on at that clinic.”
Shit. Shit. I struggle into a sitting position at the edge of the bed, realizing that neither of us is getting to sleep anytime soon. “Nothing goes on at that clinic. I’m not a drug dealer, okay?”
He starts pacing the room. “Abe, you’ve got to give me something. I haven’t slept in a week.”
“Maybe you should cut back on the coffee?”
He stops pacing and stands there again in the center of the room, taking shaky breaths. “Seriously, Abe. Just one or two pills to knock me out. I’m begging you.”
I grit my teeth. “I told you, I’m not a drug dealer!”
“Bullshit!” He practically spits the words at me. “Everyone knows what you’re doing. Just give me a couple of pills, you piece of shit!”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I rise to my feet, stunned by his accusations. “I’m not a drug dealer. You need to apologize to me right now.”
Mason isn’t a small guy by any means. He’s somewhat built, although I suspect he’s gotten softer in the last few months. But it doesn’t matter. I’m still a lot bigger than he is. You can’t underestimate the damage that a large mass can do.
Mason is quiet for a minute, and I wait. I’m almost hoping he’ll stick to his guns. I almost want him to say it one more time because I feel like I’m ready to explode. My right hand balls into a fist, ready to break his nose the second he says the word “no.” I can almost taste it.
But then Mason raises his eyes and says, “Sorry.”
He turns on his heel and scurries out the door, plunging our bedroom back into silence.
I flop back down in my bed and squeeze my eyes shut. It was hard enough to get to sleep, but now it’s impossible. I can’t stop thinking about that man I killed. All the blood.
And what the police might do when they find out.
I can’t sleep. I’ve got to get out of here.
The sun is down, and I’m the only person in the anatomy lab. I rip the plastic covering off of the dead body. Frank. That is what Mason started calling him, and the rest of us followed his lead. Frank is partially but not entirely dissected. His abdomen and pelvis as well as his face have been mostly ripped apart, but his arms and legs are intact, for the most part. Except for the left arm, which Rachel dissected the other day.
I pull a scalpel from the dissection kit. I look down at the tattoo on Frank’s arm: To serve and protect. Frank had probably been a cop. His job had been to protect the public.
I dig the scalpel into the center of the tattoo, slicing clear through the skin.
I haven’t been to the anatomy lab in a while because I’ve been avoiding Heather. At first, I try my best to stick to the instructions on the lab manual, but in the end, I’m taking out my anger and frustration on the dead body in front of me. I can’t punch Dr. Kovak in the nose, but at least I can slice this dead body to shit. Three hours later, I’ve done a truly terrible dissection of Frank’s remaining arms, both his legs. It looks like a mess. He looks more like a serial killer got at him than a skilled medical student.
But what does it matter? What does it matter if I learn the muscles and nerves of the arms and legs? I’ll be lucky if I make it through the year.
I continue working until I’m too tired to go on. I put back the dissection kit and cover up Frank’s body. I pull off my gloves then go straight to the bathroom and sit in a stall, staring at the wall for the better part of an hour.
30
Our final exam in anatomy is tomorrow.
Like half of our class, I am in the library, trying to study. I wish I could study with Heather, but she’s still mad at me, and she’s studying somewhere else. At home, I guess.
I still can’t believe I screwed that up so badly. If only she hadn’t walked in on me in the shower.
Anyway, I’ve got my anatomy textbook, my anatomy atlas, and pages of crumpled notes. I’ve got five different colors of highlighters. Even if my life has turned to shit, at least I can pass my anatomy final.
I brought a metal water bottle with me that was a present from my mother when I started medical school. I guess she thought I’d be drinking a lot of water, although it’s mainly been coffee. I’m already too jittery, though, and I’d like to try to get some sleep tonight, so I’m off caffeine for now.
I grab my water bottle and leave the library to fill it up at the drinking fountain outside. As the water level rises in the container, I remember learning in chemistry class about how water is the only molecule where the solid form has a lower density than the liquid form. That’s why ice floats on water. I always found that fascinating.
Maybe I should’ve been a chemist. Then all this crap wouldn’t be happening to me.
“Hey, Abe.”
I swivel my head at the voice from behind me. It’s one of my classmates—Victor. He’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs, like he’s been in the lab studying or maybe planning to go. (I hope it’s the latter since I hate to think he hasn’t changed since being elbow deep in a cadaver.) He is shifting between his feet and tugging at his scrub shirt.
“Hey,” I say.
I don’t know Victor very well, but I saw him at Kovak’s clinic that day with a “cough that won’t go away,” and the memory makes me cringe.
“Hey, listen,” Victor says, “I’m kind of screwed for this exam tomorrow.”
“I know what you mean.”
“No, that’s not…” Victor picks at the cuticle of his fingernail, and I wince. I hate it when people do that. “I can’t focus, and I have so much to study before the exam tomorrow morning.”
“Right… okay…”
“So,” he says.
“So.”
Victor groans. “Please, Abe. I’m never going to pass the anatomy final without some help. And I need a good grade on this one, or else I’m screwed. Conlon’s gonna fail me—he’s not messing around. I’m desperate. You gotta hook me up.”
Hook him up? Is that what this is about? He wants me to sell him drugs in the middle of the hospital? I shake my head in disgust. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“Oh, come on,” he grunts. “I know you work at Kovak’s clinic. Everyone knows. Give me a break.”
Everyone knows. Everyone in the school thinks I’m a freaking drug dealer. That’s my situation right now.
Suddenly, the test tomorrow doesn’t seem nearly as important as my reputation.
“Listen to me, asshole,” I hiss at Victor. “I am not a drug dealer. You need to pull yourself together and get some help. But you’re not getting anything from me. Not one damn pill.”
“But—”
I take a step toward Victor, and he flinches. I’m not much taller than him, but I’m a lot bigger. I could destroy him if I wanted, and he knows it. I am done messing around. “Not one damn pill,” I repeat in a firm voice. “You understand?”
Victor looks like he’s going to protest again but thinks better of it. He nods and then scurries away. I watch him disappear down the hallway.
That’s when I make an important decision. I am done with Kovak and all his bullshit. Done. And he needs to understand that.
So I leave all my books behind in the library, get in my car, and drive to Kovak’s clinic.
31
Kovak is working tonight.
Of course he is. It’s the night before the biggest exam of the year. Why would he give up the opportunity to make a few bucks off some desperate medical students like Victor?
But the clinic is quiet when I come in. He’s got somebody in the examining room with him, but the waiting room is empty. It’s perfect.
I check under that potted plant, and sure enough, the key to his desk drawer is still there. I remove it and fit it into the bottom drawer. The drawer slides open, revealing the gun that is still inside. I pick it up, feeling comforted by its weight. I don’t know for sure that it’s loaded, but I’m willing to bet that it is. I drop it into my coat pocket.
And then I wait.
After about five minutes, Kovak emerges from the examining room with his patient. The patient looks like a student, although even younger looking than the ones in my class. Maybe he’s from the college. I push away a surge of disgust.
Kovak looks surprised by my presence. Surprised, but not particularly concerned, especially since I had the wherewithal to change into a pair of scrubs. “I didn’t think you were working tonight, Abe,” he says as the student dashes out the door to the waiting room, leaving us alone.
“I wasn’t.”
“Ah,” Kovak says, although he looks confused. Still not that concerned.
Then I pull the gun out of my pocket and point it at him.
Now he looks concerned.
“Abe,” he gasps. “What are you doing?”
“Hands up in the air.”
Kovak obliges, lifting both hands in the air.
“I want the video footage that you have of me,” I say. “I want it deleted, and then I’m never coming back here again.”
“Abe…” He starts to lower his hands. “Come on. Threatening me with a gun? This isn’t you.”
“Hands up,” I say so sharply that his hands shoot way up in the air. “I swear to God, I will kill you if you don’t give me that video. I’ve already done it once before.”
He must see in my eyes that I am serious. I am not messing around. I am a good person, damn it, but I will kill this asshole if he makes me.
“Fine… fine,” he stammers. “I’ll get it for you.”
I follow him into the examining room, where he digs around in the back of the cabinet. I keep the gun pointed at him the whole time. It’s amazing how easy it would be to pull the trigger and just end it all. I don’t want to kill anyone tonight, but it almost seems like it would be a service to the world to do it. After all, he’s responsible for so many bad things.
Finally, Kovak retrieves a flash drive from the cabinet. I hold out my hand, and he drops the flash drive into my palm.
“This is your only copy?”
He nods. “You think I want a bunch of copies of that lying around?”
I close my fingers around the flash drive. “If I find out there are any other copies, I will come back here and kill you.”
He frowns. “I just don’t see you doing that, Abe. You’re too nice.”
“Fine,” I say. “Then I’ll just beat the shit out of you.” I pause meaningfully. “It wouldn’t even be hard.”
He presses his lips together, but he doesn’t contradict me. He knows I’m right.
I stuff the flash drive into my coat pocket and hurry out of the office. I’ll destroy the drive as soon as I get home. But before I get home, I have one more stop to make.
Patrice sent an email to the entire class, informing us that she would be hanging around her office the day before the exam, just in case one of us is in crisis. If I go back to the school, she will be in her office. And since most of the students will be focusing on studying, she will likely be all alone.
I reach into my pocket and feel the handle of the gun that is still nestled inside. I have a feeling that when there’s a gun pointed at her face, I might finally get the truth out of Patrice.
I’m looking forward to it.
PART III
RACHEL
32
THE FIRST DAY
“Look to your left and look to your right.”
I roll my eyes as I look to my left. Just as I thought—Heather is doing it. Heather McKinley: my new roommate. Ugh.
Heather wants to be my best friend. She keeps suggesting we go out for drinks and asking me questions about my life. But the truth is, I can’t stand her. She’s nice, I suppose. But she’s so painfully annoying.
First off, she brought so much stuff with her, you’d think she was moving into a mansion. Like five suitcases. And what’s the deal with all that lotion? I’ve never seen so much lotion in my entire life, except maybe in the lotion aisle of a drugstore. And all her shampoos smell like fruit, which means Heather always smells like fruit. Usually peaches. I hate peaches.
Plus all she wants to talk about is her stupid boyfriend, Landon. He is just so wonderful, by the way. Did you know his favorite food is fried chicken and his favorite band is the Glass Animals? I know it. And the worst thing is that now, I can’t unknow it, as much as I wish I could.
Oh, and did I mention she sings? Oh yes. She’s constantly singing or humming a song by Beyoncé or Christina. And she’s really, really off-key. I want to stuff tissues in my ears.
I’m using like a fifth of our shared closet, yet Heather had the nerve to look uncomfortable when I hung a few posters on the wall. She started mumbling something about how we were forbidden to use thumbtacks in the dorms. By the time I shoved the last thumbtack into the wall, she’d started to get it through her thick blond skull that the two of us will never be friends.
I can see it all laid out for Heather. She’ll marry some guy in the next four years, if not her current loser boyfriend, then some other loser in our class. She’ll work as a physician for a few years and then probably quit to become a stay-at-home mom after popping out a few rugrats. Heather is not exactly a high-powered career woman.
Before I left for DeWitt, my mom said to me, “Rachel, please try to make some friends this time.” Or something patronizing like that. She sent me to a shrink in high school because I had no friends. Which wasn’t my fault at all—trust me. Is it my fault that most people get on my nerves? And anyway, you don’t go to med school to make friends. You go to become a doctor.
I just wish I were better at studying.
The truth is, there’s a lot in anatomy that doesn’t interest me all that much. Well, most of it, to be perfectly honest. There are just too many nerves, too many arteries… way too much to memorize.
So I fail a few quizzes. Big deal.
Dr. Conlon thinks it’s a big deal, though. After I fail three quizzes in a row, he starts paying a lot of attention to me in the lab. He seems concerned.
“You realize you just cut through the phrenic nerve,” he observes as he watches me.
Mason, who is working on the other side of the cadaver, says, “Rachel cuts through everything. She thinks it’s all fascia.”
Speaking of people I hate. I nearly reach out and strangle Mason for making me look bad in front of Dr. Conlon. He’s the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met. I sent out an email to the class about how disrespectful it is to name your cadaver and asked him if he’d seen it. He told me he had, and it was “hilarious.”
Dr. Conlon ignores Mason’s comment and limps closer to me, squinting at my T-shirt through his spectacles.
“‘I am the doctor my mother wanted me to marry’,” he reads off the shirt. He smiles. “I like that.”
“Yeah,” I mumble.
Dr. Conlon’s eyes meet mine, “It’s pretty amazing that women now make up the majority of med school classes these days. It wasn’t that way thirty years ago.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Too bad most women do peds, primary care, and ob-gyn.”
“What field are you interested in, Dr. Bingham?” he asks.
“Surgery,” I reply without hesitation.
