Suicide Med (16 page)

Forty hours. That’s about how long it’s been since I’ve last slept.

I
would pay any amount of money just to get an hour of solid sleep. Not that I have any money, but I’d find a way. Hell, I’d take twenty minutes of sleep. But every time I close my eyes, my thoughts race. The suicides. Dr. Conlon. My exam. Frank…

I wish I could turn it off somehow.

I check my watch—it’s almost two in the morning. Abe is lying in his own bed, his breaths whistling between his lips. Even though he’s asleep, I can tell he’s not sleeping soundly—he tosses and turns, and occasionally cries out. Once he punched the wall in his sleep, hard enough to crack the plaster. It makes me nervous to be in the room with him.

I notice
that I’ve been absently scratching at my arms. I pull up my left sleeve and I see there’s a rash running all the way up the length of my forearm, covered in deep scratch marks from where I’ve been rubbing at it. The scratch marks are so bad that a few of them are oozing blood.

I lift up my other sleeve and see
there’s a similar rash on my right forearm. What the hell? Why am I breaking out in weird rashes?

I put my
up pants legs and lift up my shirt, but I don’t see anything similar there. It’s just on my arms. And it almost looks like a rash from being allergic to something. What have I been touching that would make me break out in a rash like this?

Shit. It must be
Frank.

I feel a shiver go through my body.
What has Frank’s corpse been contaminated with? What are we being exposed to?

I’m almost afraid to know the answer.

Finally, I struggle to my feet, grab my car keys, and head out the door. I’ve got to get a look at Frank, away from prying eyes. I stumble down the stairs and manage to make it towards my car.

I
’m driving like shit, which is no big surprise, considering how tired I am. I keep weaving in and out of my lane—I probably seem drunk. My only saving grace is that there are no other cars on the road and no cops lying in wait. If there were, I’d probably land myself in jail.

I
reach the school and park crookedly across two spaces. I hurry into the building, the sound of my sneakers slamming into the pavement, echoing in the silent hallways. I continue running until I find myself outside the anatomy lab. I stare down at the combination lock to allow me into the lab. I punch in the code shakily—I have to do it three times before I get it right.

The freezing cold air of the anatomy lab hit
s me like a slap in the face. My eyelids had been sagging before, but now they’re wide open. I look around the room, at the rows of dead bodies under thick plastic. The only sound is the whir of the air conditioner—it’s almost comforting.

I
’m breathing hard as I walk over to Table 13. Frank. Like every other cadaver in the room, Frank is covered in plastic. I pull the plastic off the body, not bothering to cover my hands in gloves.

Frank’s dead and I suspect foul play.
It’s obvious he hasn’t been shot and isn’t the victim of trauma. So that leads me to believe he’s been poisoned. Poisoned with something toxic enough to make me break out in a rash all over my arms. I just need to prove it.

Most of Frank’s blood is congealed, but it’s still there.
If I can get a sample of his blood, I can send it off to a lab to be analyzed. I’m hoping there’s some way they can check for poisons or other things that might be responsible for his death. And after I can prove Frank was murdered, I can go to the police and implicate Conlon.

I stare down at the cadaver.
We dissected Frank’s face weeks ago. It’s barely even recognizable as a face anymore, pulled apart by scalpels and forceps. I wish I’d gotten a good look at him before we did this. It makes it almost impossible to recognize him from photos in the obituaries.

I
look down at Frank’s arm, where the tattoo had been only a few days earlier.
To Serve and Protect.
I remember I came to the very the end of the last lab to see Rachel dissecting the other arm, but the arm with the tattoo was still intact. But somehow the tattoo is now ripped apart.

I
examine the arm further and my skin begins to crawl. This arm hasn’t just been dissected—it’s been
destroyed
. The muscles are ripped apart, the skin is sliced into pieces… and when I look down at Frank’s legs, I see that they’re in the same condition. Then I look inside his body and I gasp audibly.

Frank’s organs are all ripped to shreds.

Whoever did this dissection wasn’t interested in learning. They were trying to destroy evidence—the very evidence I’d been looking for. And they were extremely thorough.

I
’m not imagining this—it’s real. This is concrete evidence that something is going on. Someone has mutilated Frank’s body in order to protect himself.

“You’re close,
Mason,” a gruff voice speaks up. “Don’t give up.”

I
jump, startled. It’s the same voice I’ve been hearing all along, but louder and clearer. I look around the room, trying to figure out where the voice came from. But there’s no one else in the room. It’s just me. Just me and Frank. Frank.

The dead body is talking to me.

Oh Christ. Oh shit.

Without bothering to cover Frank up again,
I run out of the anatomy lab. Even the sound of the door to the lab slamming closed behind me offers no comfort. I need to talk to someone, someone who I know for sure is real. But who the hell can I talk to at two in the morning? What other soul would still be awake at this hour?

Ginny.

I head in the direction of the library. I notice that the student working at the desk gives me a funny look when I first come in, but I flash my student ID and she nods at me. I hurry to the far corner of the library, where Ginny always studies. I see the back of her head, and feel my chest flood with relief.

“Ginny,”
I say breathlessly as I reach her side.

She looks
up at me and I know that the horror on her face is a reflection on my own appearance.

“Oh my G
od, Mason,” she murmurs. “What happened?”

“Ginny, please,”
I whisper. I fall to my knees in front of her, holding both her hands in mine. “I think… I think I might be losing it…”

“It’s
the stress,” Ginny acknowledges. “I feel the same way sometimes.”

“No, it’s more than that…”
I lower my head. I feel tears rising in my eyes. I haven’t cried since I was six years old when my cat died. And even then, I tried to hide it because I didn’t want my father to think I was weak. “There’s something wrong with me. I know it.”

“Every medical student turns into a hypochondriac,” Ginny says in a soothing voice.
“You’ve just got to take it easy. Anyway, people who are going crazy usually have no idea they’re going crazy. So I think you’re safe.”

“Is that a rule?”

Ginny smiles and touches my cheek, “You just need to get some sleep, Mason.”

I
close my eyes and shake my head to clear it. Maybe she’s right. Anyone would be hearing things if they had so little sleep. I look up at her dark brown hair and remember how I’d been surprised, the first time I touched it, by how soft it was. I haven’t touched Ginny’s hair in a long time. I wonder how I let myself screw things up with her. If only I hadn’t brought her home with me that night… maybe we’d be something more than friends right now.

“Ginny, do you… do you want to go to the locker rooms with me?”
I ask half-heartedly.

She shakes
her head, “You
know
we have our final exam coming up. I’ve got to study…”

“What if I promise to shower first?” I
say, flashing my most charming smile.

Ginny laughs and kisses
the top of my head. “Go get some sleep, Mason.”

And just like that,
I feel better. I feel like maybe I could go home and get some sleep that night. I walk back out to my car, my eyelids growing heavier by the second. For the first time in days, my heart is beating at a normal pace. Ginny is right. I’m just putting too much stress on myself.

Or maybe…

I
unlock the door to my car, trying to push away the thoughts intruding on my brain. I have to get home. I have to get to sleep. I have to study.

Or maybe
she’s in on it too.

I didn’t even realize I had dozed off until I hear the phone ringing. I open my eyes and take in the darkness of the room. Was it dark when I first went to sleep? I can’t even remember anymore.

I
glance over at the computer, trying to remember what it is I had been reading when I drifted off. The phone is still ringing and the sound is like nails on a chalkboard. I gingerly take the phone off the hook and hold it close to my ear, listening.

“
Mason?”

It’
s my mother’s voice. I try to answer, but my throat feels really dry and no sound comes out of my mouth.

“
Mason?”

“Hello,”
I finally manage.

“Oh, thank G
od,” she says. “Are you all right? I haven’t heard from you in weeks!”

“Yes,” I
say.

“How is school?
How are your classes?”

“Fine.”

“Sweetheart, you sound really tired,” she says. “I know your dad puts a lot of pressure on you, but you need to take care of yourself. Are you sleeping enough?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be coming home for Christmas?” she asks me.

“I don’t know.”

“But, Mason—”

“I have to go.”

I’m twenty-two years old and an adult now. She knows she can’t intrude on my life if I don’t let her.

“Okay, honey,” she says.
“But… let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I will.”

The truth is that I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to class or to lab. It somehow all faded into the background. I’m trying to save my reputation. My reputation and my life. And put a murderer behind bars, where he belongs.

But nothing I do seems to bring me closer to that goal.
As it is now, I have nothing. No evidence of wrongdoing. Conlon’s just going to get away with this.

Unless…

The idea, once in my head, suddenly seems so obvious. I check the date and time on my computer and am surprised to see that it’s Saturday. Saturday night. Nobody will be around the hospital, except for a few janitors. I’ll have the place to myself… all the time in the world to bust into Dr. Conlon’s office and search for dirt on him.

I
pull a pair of dirty jeans on over my boxer shorts. I haven’t changed shirts in over a week, at least, but it’s not like I need to look presentable. I shove my bare feet into my sneakers and pull on my dark brown jacket. I grab my car keys off my dresser and as I drop them into my pocket, I felt the cold metal against my fingers. My father’s gun.

I
hesitate, my fingers still on the gun. Something deep inside me is telling me to take the gun out of my pocket and leave it in my room. There isn’t going to be anyone at the hospital this late. And if there is… well, maybe it’s better if I don’t have a gun.

And then I hear that horrible voice again in my ear
.

T
ake the gun, Mason.

I
slowly remove my hand from my pocket, leaving the gun inside.

Not so fast.
You still have to load it.

_____

I
drive to the school at a steady pace, keeping my eyes pinned on the road. I’m completely focused on the task at hand, like a secret agent infiltrating enemy headquarters. I keep my lights off though. I’m not sure, but it seems like there is a good chance someone might be following me. Well, it’s not impossible.

I
flash my identification at the security guard by the entrance. The guard barely looks at me. That’s good… better if nobody can identify me later. If I find evidence to incriminate Dr. Conlon, everyone will understand—but if I don’t, well, this might look really bad. And I’m certain that Dr. Conlon will do everything in his power to destroy me when he discovers that I busted into his office.

The building
is completely empty and the sound of my sneakers hitting the tiled floor sounds like claps of thunder. I try to walk quietly, but urgency gets the better of me. I feel my heart racing. Hell, I can
hear
my heart thumping in my chest.

I
pass by the anatomy lab and see that the lights are on and there’s movement inside the room. Two girls from my class. Leave it to med students to be spending their Saturday night in a lab with a bunch of dead bodies. I’m irritated because it means that I’ll have to really make an effort to be quiet.

When
I reached Dr. Conlon’s office, however, I’m shocked. There’s a light on under the door. It’s almost midnight on a Saturday night—how could Conlon still be in his office? Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

Of course, maybe this is a good thing.
Maybe I can persuade Conlon to tell me the truth.

I
shove my hands deep into my jacket pockets and feel the reassuring cold metal of my father’s gun. It’s true—nobody says no to a gun in their face. At least, certainly not an anatomy professor.

I
take a deep breath and knock on the door.

There’
s loud shuffling on the other side of the door. I hear Dr. Conlon’s voice: “Who’s there?”

“It’s
Mason Howard.”

More shuffling.
This is far longer than he ought to be taking to unlock the door. What the hell is going on in there anyway? Is he hiding evidence? I wait, my hands still in my pockets. Finally, I hear the door unlock and Dr. Conlon is staring at me. I notice that the professor’s black hair is tousled and his glasses are somewhat askew.

“
Mason… what are you doing here?”

I
slip through the opening in the door. I notice that Dr. Conlon gasps slightly when he sees me in the light.

“I could ask the same question of you,” I
reply.

Dr. Conlon rubs his
eyes, “I had some work to catch up on.” He limps around the side of his desk and collapses into his seat.

“Oh really?”
I say. “Is that the excuse you’re using?”

Dr.
Conlon’s face darkens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?”

“What did you come here for?” Dr. Conlon demands. “To blackmail me? Is that what this is about?”

“No, I came here for the truth!”
I punctuate my statement by slamming my fist onto the desk. The professor jumps in his chair and stares up at me.

“Look, Mason
…” Dr. Conlon is getting nervous now—it’s painfully obvious. Good. “If you need help, I’ll help you. There’s still a few days left before the exam. Whatever the problem is…”

“I want answers,” I
say. My fist closes around the handle of the gun.

“I can’t tell you the answers,” Dr. Conlon says, shaking
his head.

“Maybe I can convince you then,” I
say.

I
pull my father’s Magnum from my pocket and point it at Dr. Conlon’s face.

All of the color drains
from the professor’s face. He stares at the gun in disbelief, his fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turn white.

He looks
up at me, “Mason, don’t do this. It’s not worth it.”

“Tell me the truth then,” I
say, shaking the gun. “Tell me how Frank died.”

Dr. Conlon’s dark brows knit
together. “Frank?”

“The body lying on
Table 13!” I nearly scream the words. “Tell me how you killed him.”

“Oh, Christ,” Dr. Conlon mutters, shaking his head.
“Listen to me, Mason. I didn’t kill anyone. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You need to calm down.”

“Don’t try to trick me!” I
snap. I press the muzzle of the Magnum into Dr. Conlon’s forehead. “Who has the gun, huh?”

“You do,” Dr. Conlon says through
his teeth.

“Tell me how you killed him
,” I say. “And how you killed Brett. And Mary. And Jared. And…”

Dr. Conlon slowly raises
his hands into the air, “Mason, I swear to you: I have no idea what you’re talking about. Those kids… they… they killed themselves. It’s horrible, but…”

He
’s lying. He’s so obviously lying.

“I sw
ear to you,” Dr. Conlon repeats. His light blue eyes are calm.

“There isn’t time for
this bullshit,” I say. “I need to know the truth!”

“I swear to you,
Mason,” he says again.

I
cock the gun. I want to see Conlon squirm, but he’s not doing it. He’s just slumped down in his seat, staring down the chamber of the pistol with resignation in his eyes.

Enough of this bullshit.
Time to show him I’m serious.

“I’m going to give you one more chance,” I
say, the gun now pointed directly at my professor’s forehead. “Tell me how you killed Frank.”

I
pray that Conlon will come clean with me. Because I know I don’t have a choice anymore.

Dr. Conlon shakes his head.
He speaks the next sentence slowly and clearly, “I’m really sorry.”

He’s sorry.
It’s as good as a confession, as far as I’m concerned.

So
I squeeze the trigger, just like my father taught me to do when I was a kid.

The
force of the gun firing travels up the length of my arm and knocks me backwards slightly. I haven’t fired a gun in a long time and I’d forgotten to compensate for the backwards momentum. When I lower the pistol, I feel a sharp ache in my shoulder.

Dr. Conlon’s head
is slumped forward. There are little pieces of skull and brain splattered all over the wall behind him. It looks so… real. Unlike the cadaver, which never looked quite like a real human being. I let the gun slip from my fingers and fall onto the floor. I stare at my anatomy professor’s dead body as the bile rises up in my throat.

“Oh God, oh God, oh G
od…” I whisper the words over and over again as I fall to my knees on the floor.

He
deserved this. You did what you had to do.

“Shut-up!”
I scream. I bury my face in my hands and rock back and forth. I’ve done something too horrible for words. And what’s more, I know it’s far from over.

I
still have five bullets left in the gun.

And there are witnesses.

The two girls in the anatomy lab. Surely they heard the gun go off. I’ve got to get rid of them. If I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison.

There’
s no taking back what I’ve just done. My hand rests on the gun on the floor. I pick it up and place it back in my jacket pocket. I struggle to my feet and head in the direction of the anatomy lab.