Dead Med, page 7
Dr. Patrice Winters’s office is directly above the anatomy labs. I saw her one time, as required, when school first started, but the session barely lasted half an hour because I didn’t feel like I had much to say back then. Today, I’ve got a lot more to talk about.
It’s a long shot that she’ll be around—I fully expect to have to make an appointment—but I figure it can’t hurt to drop by. Patrice is a therapist, so anything I tell her will be confidential, and that’s exactly what I’m looking for right now.
I’m surprised to see the door to her office is ajar. I walk over tentatively but stop when I hear a familiar voice from inside. I recognize it instantly as belonging to Dr. Conlon.
“Thank you so much, Patrice,” he’s saying. “You’re the best. Really.”
“Anything for you, Matt,” she replies.
I freeze. I may just be a med student, but I’m also a girl, and I recognize flirtation. Patrice’s words are just dripping with it. Is there something going on between the two of them? I wouldn’t be surprised. But if there were, wouldn’t they close the door all the way?
Before I can contemplate further, the door is yanked open in front of me, and I nearly fall into the office. Dr. Conlon’s blue eyes widen when he sees me. “Heather?”
I straighten up, trying to smile. Patrice looks decidedly annoyed, but her face changes when she hears Dr. Conlon say my name. Her features soften, and she holds out her hand to me.
“Heather McKinley,” she says. “Please come in.”
It’s like she’s been waiting for me. Creepy.
Dr. Conlon limps off and closes the door behind him. Patrice gestures at the sofa in front of her desk, which is light blue, and I sink into it so deeply that I’m worried I might not be able to get up. Patrice has mood lighting going on in here, although part of me wonders if that was for Dr. Conlon’s benefit.
“So, Heather,” Patrice says, sliding a pair of half-moon glasses up her narrow nose. “What brings you to see me?”
“It’s…” I want to tell her everything, but I can’t. This woman makes me uncomfortable. “It’s silly.”
“Nothing is silly, Heather,” she assures me.
I squeeze my fists together. Okay, I need to just say it. If I don’t talk to somebody about this, I’m going to burst. Even if that somebody is Patrice.
“It’s about my boyfriend,” I say. “He’s a student here. Abe Kaufman.”
Patrice nods.
“He’s acting weird,” I continue. “I mean, really weird.”
Patrice nods again.
“Not like he’s on drugs or anything,” I add quickly. “I don’t think so. I mean, definitely not. But…”
“Yes?”
I chew on my lower lip, not sure how much I can say. I don’t want to get Abe in trouble, but if this session is truly confidential, I should be able to tell her everything. “I found blood all over his scrubs. Like, soaking them.”
Patrice nods yet again. I wish she’d say something. I’m beginning to regret having come to her. This lady is the opposite of what I’d call “understanding.” But I’m already telling her, so I may as well go through with it. And anyway, there’s nothing to tell. Not yet.
“It was weird, that’s all,” I say. “And it was… scary.”
“So he was injured?”
“No, that’s the thing.” I think back to that night when I burst into the bathroom while he was showering. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t injured. I saw him in just a towel, and he wasn’t bleeding from anywhere. So where did all that blood come from?”
“What did he tell you?”
“He works part-time at a clinic.” I crinkle my nose. “He said he was doing some procedure, and it got messy.”
“That sounds like a reasonable explanation.”
“Except why was the blood on his hands too?”
“On his hands?”
“In his fingernails. I saw it.”
Patrice is quiet for a moment, as if turning over this revelation in her head. “So you believe he’s lying to you.”
“Yes.”
“And what is it that you think he’s done?”
Even though it was an obvious question to ask, it throws me off-balance. Because there is only one conclusion that can be drawn after seeing that much blood on my boyfriend’s clothing.
“I don’t know,” I finally reply. “Abe is a good guy. I don’t believe he’d… you know…”
“Perhaps it was less blood than you thought?” Patrice suggests.
“Maybe…”
Maybe she's right. Yes, it looked like a lot of blood. But I once had a simple nosebleed that completely soaked my shirt. Just because it was all over his clothes, that doesn’t mean it was some person’s lifeblood. Maybe it really was just a procedure he was assisting in, just like he told me.
But I can't shake the feeling that he was lying to me.
I’ve stopped studying at the library because I don’t want to run into Abe.
Instead, I have found a little empty classroom that is fairly quiet, and I can spread out my books and attempt to get some work done. It’s harder to study without Abe, but I can’t be around him right now.
I’ve managed to get through an hour of anatomy, although I’m not sure if any of it is sticking. I’ve got a little time left before the final exam, and I’ve got two passing grades under my belt. I can make it through this exam. I don't need Abe.
Although that’s not the reason I want to see him so badly right now.
I take a break from anatomy and head to the bathroom. After I relieve my bladder, I look at my reflection in the mirror while I’m washing my hands. I look exhausted. My hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and not the stylish kind. My face looks very pale, and I’ve got a blemish popping up on my chin. I splash some water on my face, and that brings a tiny bit of color into my cheeks, but it doesn’t really help much.
Like I always do when I’m in here, I look down at the crack in the sink. There’s no memorial for Darcie Peterson—the girl who died here last year—and this is as close as it gets. It used to freak me out, but as the term has gone on, it has reminded me to be strong. Yes, med school is hard. But there are worse things.
I could be dead.
The door to the bathroom swings open, and one of my classmates, a stringy guy named Victor, enters the small space. Except this is a ladies’ room—not a coed bathroom. When he sees me standing there, he doesn’t leave.
"Hey, Heather," he says.
“Uh.” I glance pointedly at the row of stalls. “This is the girls’ bathroom, you know.”
“Oh!” His eyes widen like he didn’t realize it, although I don’t know how that’s possible. “Sorry!”
And yet he still doesn’t leave.
“Hey,” he says. “Are you studying with Abe right now?”
The question is almost as strange as the fact that Victor doesn’t seem to be making any motion to exit the ladies’ room. Why is he asking me about Abe? I don't think I’ve seen Victor exchange two words with him. “No…”
“Do you know where he is?”
I shake my head. “I'm not sure. Back at the dorms, maybe.”
“Sorry.” He rubs his hands together. “I thought you two were an item.”
“We are.” Sort of. “But he’s… He’s not here.”
“Okay…” Victor considers this new development. “Well, when you see him, can you tell him I’m looking for him? And it’s, like, important.”
I frown at Victor. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I can’t help but notice how painfully skinny he is. He’s shifting between his sneakers, squeezing his shaky hands together. He looks more anxious than he should, considering we don’t have any exams this week.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him.
“Just struggling a bit. You know.” He lets out an odd-sounding laugh. “Anyway, make sure you tell Abe I’m looking for him. Please?”
I am troubled by the note of desperation in Victor’s voice. “Okay,” I agree.
What is going on here? He sounds the same way that Gerald/Harold guy sounded in the parking lot when he wanted to talk to Abe. Abe seemed so baffled when that happened. But now, I wonder if that was all an act.
What is my boyfriend hiding from me?
15
Our final exam is tomorrow morning.
I’ve still got a few hours left in the evening until I’m too tired to think straight. The exam should be in the forefront of my brain right now, but all I can think about is Abe. I can’t stop wondering what he’s hiding from me and why he refuses to tell me the truth. Until I get an answer, I’m not going to be able to focus.
My only choice is to confront him.
I’m going up to Abe’s room, and I’m going to offer him an ultimatum: the truth or I walk. Simple as that. If Abe cares about me, he’ll make the right decision.
I hope.
I felt so sure of myself when I composed my plan to confront Abe, but as I walk up the stairs, it occurs to me that I’ve never successfully talked anybody into anything in my life. I’m a complete pushover. That’s why I always try to bring friends with me shopping, so the saleslady won’t talk me into buying half the store. How am I going to be strong enough to force Abe to tell me what is obviously a really big secret?
And then there’s the other side of the coin. If he does confess, maybe I won’t want to hear it. What if he really did kill someone? What then?
But no. It can’t be that. It can’t.
I knock on the door to Abe and Mason’s apartment and wait patiently for the sound of Abe’s heavy footsteps. They don’t come, nor does the sound of Mason’s comparatively lighter footsteps. The inside of the dorm room is completely silent.
It hadn’t even occurred to me that Abe wouldn’t be home. But of course, it’s the night before the big exam. Everyone is at the library.
I clench my fists in frustration. It’s Abe’s fault that I can’t focus, and now he’s not even home. What now?
On a whim, I rest my hand on the doorknob. I hadn’t really expected it to be unlocked, but then the knob turns under my palm. I apply some gentle pressure, and the door swings open.
“Hello?” I call out.
There’s no answer. Nobody is home. Abe and Mason both went out, leaving their dorm room unlocked.
It is, in fact, a golden opportunity.
But I can’t go into Abe’s room and start shuffling through his things without his permission. That would be a terrible thing to do. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, and moreover, if he found out, he would never forgive me.
Then again, Abe is never going to tell me the truth. If I don’t figure it out on my own, we are done.
Before I can stop myself, I enter the dorm room. As always, it’s a bit of a mess, but nothing unusual. I step around a pair of jeans that have been abandoned on the floor and also a pair of scrubs, although these scrubs, thankfully, are not stained with blood.
And then I’m in Abe and Mason’s bedroom.
I walk over to Abe’s desk, pushing away the surge of guilt in my chest. I’m doing this for us—so that our relationship has a chance. I can’t take his lies anymore, but maybe if I find out the truth on my own, it will be something I can live with.
Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, Heather.
Abe’s desk is a complete pigsty. It’s even worse than the rest of the apartment. There are papers stacked everywhere. And what’s even stranger is that it doesn’t look like the papers have anything to do with anatomy or even biochemistry. I sift through them, a sense of growing dread in the pit of my stomach.
What the hell is all this?
And then, while I’m holding a stack of papers, I spot something else lying on the desk. Something that terrifies me beyond words.
Oh no. This is so much worse than I ever could have imagined.
PART II
ABE
16
THE FIRST DAY
“Look to your left and look to your right. In four years, both of these people will be doctors.”
Following the instructions of the dean of the medical school, I look to my left, coming face-to-face with a maroon-painted wall. I blink a few times then turn to my right, where there is an empty seat. And next to that empty seat is my roommate, Mason, who looks like he has completely lost respect for me now that I’m playing along with the dean.
I can’t blame him.
I’m about to redirect my attention back to the dean when something catches my eye. Or should I say, someone. Her.
The girl I’m going to marry.
Okay, you’re rolling your eyes right now. I don’t blame you. I get it—I sound like a tool saying that. My friends from college would kick my ass. But when you know, you know. And right now, I know.
I’m not what you’d call a ladies’ man. I’m not a romantic either. But right now, I can practically hear harps playing in the background. I’d do anything for her. I’d do anything to get her.
For most of the rest of the morning, I can’t quit staring at her. I try not to be too obvious about it, but sheesh. I’ve got it bad.
And then at lunch, I manage to step on her toes with my big clumsy foot. And I find out her name is Heather. And she has a boyfriend.
But who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky.
Stranger things have happened.
I need a job.
Some of the other students here are loaded. Mason, for example. I'm not loaded. My parents both work blue-collar jobs, and I took out so much money in loans that if I start to think about it too much, I want to throw up.
That’s why during my first week of classes, I start searching for a part-time job. Something with pretty flexible hours and hopefully decent pay. When I see an ad on the bulletin board outside the anatomy lab for part-time work at a medical clinic, it seems perfect.
Until I get there.
First of all, it’s in a terrible part of town. If I wasn’t me, I’d be scared to walk around this neighborhood. And Dr. Stanley Kovak’s clinic is a dive. That’s really the only word for it—well, the nicest word I can think of, anyway. His waiting room is a tiny area, barely bigger than a closet, with three folding chairs pushed up against a wall, peeling white paint, and one dim light bulb that dangles precariously from the ceiling. The entire place smells like a urinal.
But the pay? It’s really good. Way better than McDonald’s. So I stick around for the interview.
There’s no receptionist to be seen, so I take a seat on one of the folding chairs, which creaks ominously under my weight. I had been “buzzed” in, so I assume that Dr. Kovak knows I’m here. There are no magazines to read in the waiting room, but it seems like the people who come to a clinic like this aren’t that excited to be thumbing through a copy of Good Housekeeping.
After several minutes, the door to the back opens, and a man sticks his head out. “Abraham Kaufman?”
“Abe,” I say, rising to my feet.
His eyes widen slightly at my size, which isn’t an entirely unusual reaction.
“Come on in,” the man says. “I’m Stan Kovak.”
Dr. Kovak is at least half a foot shorter than me with very close-cropped gray hair on his head, fine lines on his tanned skin, and two days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He’s wearing rumpled blue scrubs that look like he slept in them. He herds me down a short, poorly lit hallway to a room with what appears to be a long stretcher in it. There’s a sheet on the stretcher, which is covered in brown stains. Thankfully, he doesn’t tell me to sit on it.
“So you’re applying for the job?” he asks me.
“That’s right,” I say. I hand him a folder, containing references from former jobs I’ve held: working as a cashier at a grocery store, taking tickets at the movie theater, and working as a lifeguard for three summers.
Kovak takes the folder but simply lays it down on the counter without even flipping through it. “I desperately need help.” He rubs the stubble on his chin. “It can get very busy here, and my assistant just quit. You said you’re a medical student?”
“Yeah.”
“What year?”
“First.”
He nods in approval. “I get a lot of students from the school at the clinic. It’s a long wait for the student health center, so they like to come here instead. I need help checking them in, getting vital signs, scheduling appointments. It’ll be a good experience for you.”
“I’m sure it will be,” I say confidently, although something about this examining room makes me uneasy. What are those brown stains on the sheet? “I’d be thrilled to work here.”
“Great.” He folds his arms across his chest. “When can you start?”
“That’s it? I got the job?”
He cracks a smile. “You’re the only one to apply.”
Something about this revelation sets off a red flag in the back of my head. How could I be the only one to apply for such a lucrative job? It pays more than twice as much as what I made at the supermarket. Then again, if he wants a medical student, most of the kids in the class are too busy to work on top of everything. And I was really quick to apply. What’s that thing they say about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?
“I can start tomorrow,” I tell him.
17
I’ve never had a serious girlfriend before.
I’ve dated. But between being premed and working, on top of school, there was never time to squeeze in a relationship. You can only cancel on a girl so many times because you need to pick up an extra shift at the supermarket before she stops returning your messages.
And now I’m as busy as I’ve ever been. Anatomy and biochemistry and three nights a week at Dr. Kovak’s clinic doesn’t leave much time for a girlfriend. I need to keep my head down and focus on getting through the next four years.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Heather is ridiculously out of my league. The more I get to know her and we become friends, the more painfully obvious that is. I’m kidding myself by holding out even the tiniest hope I’ll end up with her.
