Chapter 74

I driveto the hospital 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 from the parking garage. 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 I busted into his office.

The building is 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. My heart is racing. Hell, I can hear my heart thumping in my chest.

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

When I reach Dr. Conlon's office, however, I'm shocked. There's a light on under the door. It's almost midnight on a Sunday 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 Magnum. 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, the lock turns, and Dr. Conlon is standing before me. 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. 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 and limps around the side of his desk, where he collapses into his seat. "I had some work to catch up on."

"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 are 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.

Dr. Conlon slowly raises his hands into the air. "Mason, I swear to you. I have no idea what you're talking about."

He's lying. He's so obviously lying.

"I swear 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 Magnum 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 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 back slightly. I haven't fired a gun in a long time, and I'd forgotten to compensate for the backward 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 my throat.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God…" 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.

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 leave Dr. Conlon's office for the last time.

But as I'm shutting the door to the office, I realize I'm not alone in the hallway. Dr. Patrice Winters is coming around the corner, wearing a dress suit that seems so bizarre since it's practically midnight. She is absolutely the last person I want to see right now.

Her symmetric features are filled with alarm as she hurries toward me. "Mason," she says, "what was that sound?"

Then her gaze drops to the gun in my hand. She freezes in her tracks as her lips form a little surprised "O." She has put two and two together, and now her fate is sealed.

Patrice opens her mouth as if to say something, but I don't want to hear it. I raise the gun, and for the second time tonight, I pull the trigger.

It's easier the second time.

Much like Dr. Conlon, Patrice drops instantly. I shot Dr. Conlon in the head, but I hit her square in the chest, possibly right through her heart, judging by the amount of blood pooling beneath her body. She dies almost instantly, right before my eyes.

The Magnum holds six rounds, and I've used two, which means I have four more bullets left in the chamber. And I'm not leaving here until every single potential witness is dead.