PROLOGUE
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ANATOMY FINAL EXAM
DANIELLE
“I wishI had become an astronaut instead.”
I use the back of my forearm to swipe at strands of dark hair that have come loose from the tight bun at the back of my head. The attempt fails, and the escaped locks fall back into my field of vision. This is getting annoying—I wish I could use my hands to clear my hair from my face. Unfortunately, my hands are clad in two pairs of latex gloves that are covered in preserved bits of Agatha’s insides.
Agatha is dead.
“Or maybe a boxer…”
I try to tune out the ramblings of my lab partner, Victor Pereira. Victor’s jittery voice has been a soundtrack to every dissection I have ever done. It might have been more tolerable if Victor offered to help. Instead, he sits perched on a stool, intently watching my handiwork. I’m tempted to rub my dirty gloves on his face.
“Anything but a doctor,” Victor concludes.
You’re not a doctor yet,I nearly point out, but I hold my tongue. I need to focus right now, and the last thing I want to do is get drawn into an argument.
It’s close to midnight on a Sunday night, and Victor and I are the only two medical students in the first-year cadaver lab. I specifically chose this time because I knew the lab would be quiet and free from any distractions. I was right—all I can see are rows and rows of dead bodies covered in a layer of clear, thick plastic to prevent desiccation; all I can hear is the whir of the fans working above my head. This would have been the perfect studying atmosphere if Victor hadn’t insisted on coming along.
“I’ll miss Agatha,” Victor says. “I mean, when the class is over.”
During the first week of anatomy class, we named our cadaver Agatha. I hadn’t wanted to name her—after all, this had once been a real person who had a real name of her own. But I felt silly voicing my objections, so I stayed quiet as the other members of my lab group tossed around name suggestions. It had eventually come down to Agatha or Medusa. I was relieved when the group settled on Agatha.
Agatha does seem like an appropriate name, somehow. “Agatha” is a frail old woman who has metal rings around her sternum and blood vessels grafted onto her heart. Of course, it’s impossible to know for sure, but I can make an educated guess that Agatha died of heart problems.
I try to imagine what sort of woman would make the decision to dedicate her body to a medical school. After everything I’ve seen this year, that’s one thing I myself wouldneverdo. The last thing I want is a bunch of snotty twenty-two-year-olds making fun of all my subcutaneous fat.
I hold up the musculocutaneous nerve between my forceps. The nerve is thick and yellow.
“I’m hungry,” Victor announces. “Are you hungry?”
“You’re joking.”
When I’m in the anatomy lab, food is the last thing on my mind. The smell of formaldehyde combined with the image of lacerated flesh is enough to kill any appetite I might have had. A few times, I’ve seen one of my classmates popping candy in their mouth, and I’m always in awe.
“Of course I wouldn’t eat in here.” Victor snorts, even though it wouldn’t have been the most ridiculous thing he’s ever done in the anatomy lab. For example, he once wore a hoodie in the lab and thenwore it home, despite it being stained with cadaver juice.
“I’m going to the vending machines,” Victor says. “You want something?”
“No, thanks.”
Take your time,I’m tempted to add.
Victor hops off the stool and sprints out of the lab. That guy never does anything at less than ninety miles per hour. The heavy metal door slams behind me, and the room is plunged into complete silence.
It’s heavenly.
Our final exam in anatomy is tomorrow. It’s the biggest exam we’ve taken so far in the short course of our medical school career, and I want to do well because I hope to land a position in a good dermatology program when I graduate. As part of our exam, we have to go around this very lab, identifying labeled structures on different cadavers. I have to know every identifiable structure back and forth if I want to do well.
It’s not that Victor is a bad person or anything, but I’ve always considered myself a loner. I prefer solitary activities, and I hate when solitary activities turn into group activities. Studying is a solitary activity.
“Now it’s just you and me, Agatha,” I whisper. I add apologetically, “Although I know that’s not your real name.”
I dig my fingers into Agatha’s forearm, attempting to separate the muscles. When I tug on the muscle I’m holding, Agatha’s fingers curl into a partial fist. I shiver slightly.
And that’s when I hear the sound.
