Names. Time of death. Suturing methods. How much blood a subject lost before they went beyond the point ofsaving. How they reacted to new medications on the market. CPR times.
Because I don’t just kill abusers. I run trials on them. I track what works, what doesn’t, and where I can do better for my patients.
Dammit.
Taking it with me to work, where it stayed within reach, seemed like the right decision for years.
It doesn’t anymore. Not when my freedom is at risk.
My heart jackhammers against my ribs. Cold sweat beads on my forehead.
“Fuck,” I hiss, yanking my backpack out of the locker.
My change of clothes drops in a heap on the floor.
Don’t care.
My notebook is all I give a fuck about.
“Hey, you okay?” Abe takes a step toward me.
Before he gets any closer, I turn my back to him while rummaging past the black hoodie that usually covers my notebook.
“I’m fine,” I say, letting out a relieved breath once the worn leather cover peeks out. “Everything’s fine.”
And it’ll stay that way once I lock my notebook in my storage unit, a place that’s nearly impossible to break into.
I’d rather have it out of sight, next to my test subjects, than here, where anyone could pick the lock of my locker and grab it.
Jesus, I still can’t get over what an idiot I am.
“All right. Didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You didn’t.”
“Sure about that?”
“Listen, Abe.” I shove my bag first, then my clothes into my locker, and turn to him, offering what I hope is anI’m not a pissed serial killerlook. “We’re good. I thought someone stole my wallet. No one did. That’s all there is to it.”
“Okay.” Changed into his scrubs, he’s farther away now. Almost at the door, a smile on his face. Like every other person I know, my composed facade reassures him. “See you, then.”
“See you.”
Ten minutes later, I’m out of the locker room and walking down the hall in a clean pair of jeans, a long T-shirt, and my hoodie.
Before I leave for the barber, though, I’m going to stop by the cafeteria for coffee, because fuck the filth in the doctors’ lounge or waiting until I get home. I need my fix now.
Forgetting whether I had used my last pair of boxers was bad. Shit like that only happens when I’m exhausted.
Exhaustion leads to mistakes, and I can’t afford to make even one. Even when I’m doing something as simple as getting my hair cut, I need to have my shit together.
As if on cue, a lock of hair falls over my forehead.
I push it back and pick up my pace.
A couple of minutes later, the cafeteria comes into view. It’s mostly empty, with only a handful of what must be patients, family members, and staff scattered around…
Andher.