She doesn’t say anything right away, so I prompt her: “What’s up?”
I realized I love you, Abe. I don’t care why you had blood all over your scrubs. Let’s never speak of it again.
“Listen, I’m sorry to bother you.” Her voice trembles slightly. “But I didn’t know who else to call…”
“Okay…”
“I’m worried about Mason.”
That’s the last thing I expected her to say. “Mason?”
“I came upstairs to find you,” she tells me. “And the door to your dorm room was unlocked. I went inside and… well, your room was a total mess—I’m sure you know that. But especially Mason’s desk.”
“Uh-huh…”
“And I know it was none of my business,” she continues, “but I thought it wasyourdesk at first, and you’ve been acting so strange. And then, by the time I realized it was Mason’s desk, I had already started looking through all the papers, and none of it had to do with our classes. It was all these weird articles about dead police officers. And there were random sentences highlighted, notes scribbled in the margins. I didn’t know what to make of it. It was really weird.”
“It’s kind of weird,” I agree.
“And then,” she says, “I found a bullet on his desk.”
Abullet?
My heart speeds up as I pull the phone away from my ear. I look down at the text message alert that I had missed while I was driving. I click on it, and sure enough, it’s from Mason:
If I don’t return tonight, make sure the police know that Dr. Matthew Conlon killed Frank.
Huh? What the hell does that mean? Frank, meaningour cadaver? What is Mason talking about?
It must be some kind of mistake or joke.
“Heather,” I say, “I don’t know what’s going on with Mason, but I’m sure—”
My reassurance gets cut off by a gunshot echoing through the hallway.
“Shit,” I say.
“What’s wrong?”
“Heather.” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “I need you to call 911 now and tell them that someone fired a gun at the hospital.”
“What?”
And now there’s a second gunshot, even louder than the first one. Closer. But I don’t mention that to Heather.
“Just do it,” I say. “Right now. I have to go.”
“Abe!” she cries. “What’s going on over there? If someone is shooting, you need to get out of there. Or… or hide.”
“Don’t worry.” My voice is dripping with false confidence. “Come on, I could take down anyone in our class no problem. Right?”
“Abe…”
“Please, Heather. Call the police right now. I… I’ll talk to you later.”
And then, before she can try to talk me out of what I’m going to do next, I end the call. Almost immediately, the phone starts ringing again. Heather’s name is flashing on the screen. I decline the call, put the phone on silent, and shove my phone back in my pocket.
The hallways are very deserted, given it’s the middle of the night—my rapid footsteps sound like thunder on the floor. Only half the overhead lights are lit, and several hallways aren’t lit at all. But on the plus side, I don’t hear any more gunshots.
