Chapter 29

It'stwo 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.