The Psyching: A Short Thriller, Page 3

  “Of course I wouldn’t eat in here,” Wendy snorts, even though it wouldn’t have been the most ridiculous thing she’s ever done in anatomy lab.

  I find it most bizarre that Wendy always applies a fresh coat of make-up just before starting lab. Although the uncomfortable heels Wendy wears to lab are a close second. I always wear sneakers and haven’t put on so much as lipstick in months.

  “I’m going to the vending machines,” Wendy says. “You want something?”

  “No,” I say. Take your time, I’m tempted to add.

  Wendy hops off her stool and clip-clops out of the lab. I hear the heavy metal door slam behind me and the room is plunged into complete silence. It’s heavenly. I let out a deep breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.

  Our final exam in anatomy is on Monday. 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. I’m not as competitive as some of my classmates, but I hope to land a position in a good neurology 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 Wendy is a bad person, but I’ve always considered myself a loner. I prefer solitary activities and I hate when solitary activities turn into group activities. I definitely consider studying 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.

  I hear a loud noise and look up sharply. The door to the anatomy lab is opening slowly. I glance at a clock up at the wall and see that only a few minutes have passed. How could Wendy be back so quickly? The nearest vending machine is all the way across the building and Wendy always takes forever to choose a snack.

  I squint through my thick lenses and see the unshaven face of one of my classmates. Wonderful. It’s bad enough that I have to share the lab with Wendy, but now there’s going to be yet another person here to distract me. Still, it’s pointless to get upset about it.

  “Come to study?” I ask him, forcing a smile.

  He’s dressed in filthy street clothing, which I find odd. Nobody wears anything but scrubs to lab. But he’s dressed in jeans and his hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his dark brown jacket. He walks towards me, his expression blank.

  “Is it raining out?” I ask him.

  I posed the question because his hair is so damp that it’s plastered to his skull. Then I reason that if it were raining, his jacket would be wet. His hair isn’t wet from rain—it’s sweat. As he approaches me from the other side of the lab table, I see a drop of saltwater trickle down the side of his face.

  “Mason, what—”

  Before I can complete my sentence, something dark obstructs my vision. I instinctively blink and take a step back. That’s when I realize that there’s a gun pointed at my face.

  I feel my knees go weak and my bladder trembles. I grab on to the edge of the table, trying to keep myself upright. I lower my eyes and see Agatha’s mutilated corpse, clearly unable to offer anything in the way of aid. The gun is inches from my forehead and I can feel the heat radiating from it. Why is the gun so hot? What does that mean?

  Oh God. I don’t want to die like this. Not here, not now. It can’t end this way. I know I’ve done some bad things in my life, but I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve this…

  All I can think about is how pathetic it would be to die in anatomy lab on a Saturday night. The janitor will probably discover my body tomorrow morning. Will he even notice that I’m a medical student and not one of the bodies?

  Wendy, where are you? Get your goddamn cheese doodles and come back here!

  Of course, maybe Wendy isn’t coming back. Maybe he ran into Wendy first and she’s already dead.

  “Please…” I whisper.

  His eyes are as black and impassive as the barrel of the gun. When he speaks, his voice is flat and toneless: “Do exactly as I say if you don’t want to die.”

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