“Matt.” Her voice had a bit of a hysterical edge to it. “Please think about what you’re doing. Can’t we talk about this? Please?”
“No, Patrice. My mind is made up.”
And then I hung up. I fully expected her to confront me about this in person, but then, the knock at my door turned out to be Rachel. And the things she told me changed everything.
Do I believe Rachel when she says she was blackmailed and that’s the only reason she took the exam? Maybe. I suppose I do. Nobody’s that great an actress. It’s easier to believe Rachel because I love her. Even when I hated her, I still loved her.
And because I love her so much, I refuse to let her die today.
96
Now,we come full circle, back to that damned gun pointed at my face.
Mason is much more frightening as a shooter than Kurt was. Part of it is how disheveled he looks, his face covered in a half beard, his dark hair greasy and uncombed, his clothes wrinkled and stained. Yet his hand holding the revolver is unwavering and steady, whereas Kurt was shaking like a leaf. Mason looks like a guy who knows how to handle a gun and knows exactly what he’s doing. And he seems soangry.
He’s demanding answers about the cadaver he’s been dissecting this year, but I don’t know what he expects me to tell him. For privacy reasons, I can’t divulge any information about the cadavers. I do know that the man on Table 13 is a former police officer who died at age seventy-three from a pulmonary embolism—a blood clot in his lungs. I could tell Mason this information, but from the look on his face, I doubt he’d believe me.
No matter what I do, he’s going to fire that gun.
Most people who get shot in the head don’t survive. In that sense, I really am lucky. Surviving two gunshot wounds to thehead doesn’t seem within the realm of possibility. I am done here. And this time, there’s only one thought running through my head:
I can’t let him kill Rachel too.
“I’m really sorry,” I hear myself say out loud.
I’m not saying it to Mason. I’m saying it to Rachel, partially for having taken advantage of her when she was my student. And partially for getting myself killed when I know she loves me.
Rachel keeps tugging on the leg of my pants, and I can tell she’s worried. She wants to come out. That would be an incredibly bad idea, but it’s very hard to transmit that sentiment to her without giving away to Mason that someone is hiding under my desk. It’s a very delicate situation. I keep pointing to the ground, signaling to her to stay hidden until this maniac is gone.
I’ve got to save Rachel if it’s the last thing I do. And it most likely will be.
Rachel, stay down!
PART VII
ABE
97
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ANATOMY FINAL EXAM
The gun isin my coat pocket as I march into the hospital.
Nobody searches me. Of course they don't. I’ve got an ID badge, and I come in through the garage from the student parking lot, which requires ID access. Despite my size, I am utterly unsuspicious. There’s a guard by the entrance from the parking lot, but he barely glances up at me.
He certainly doesn’t know about the gun in the pocket of my coat.
I don’t know what my intentions are—I haven’t decided yet. But when I think about Patrice, my chest burns with anger. And I feel a little better when I wrap my fingers around that gun.
She said she’d be around Sunday night because we’ve got our final exam tomorrow. She said she wants to “be there” for us. Which I assume means she’s hoping to score some drug sales. Anyway, she said she’d be physically here.
I’m counting on it.
I take the elevator up two stories, and when I get out, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I consider ignoring it, but then I pull it out. There’s an unread text that I missed while I was driving,and Heather’s name is flashing on the screen. That is a call I’m definitely taking.
“Hey!” I say, trying unsuccessfully to hide my eagerness.
“Hey, Abe.”
