by Dobi Cross
Contents
Title Page
Author's Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Other Books by Dobi Cross
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
Copyright Page
Lethal Dissection is the first book in the Zora Smyth Series. Sign up HERE to be notified when the next Dr. Zora Smyth Book comes out!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for choosing LETHAL DISSECTION. Zora Smyth was a character that I was fortunate to meet a couple of months ago as I brainstormed ideas for my first medical thriller story for an anthology.
Zora was already a surgeon in the initial story, but I always wondered what life would have been like for her as a medical student. That’s how LETHAL DISSECTION was born. Writing LETHAL DISSECTION has also been a great walk down memory lane for me as I relived my days as a medical student, though nothing as fascinating as this happened at the time!
It was important for me as I penned this series to have Zora Smyth not be some super hero or a person with extra ordinary abilities—she needed to be an every day person who just had unfortunate events happen to her. And who through the journey of the next few books comes to fully understand and appreciate who she truly is and is able to heal from the childhood baggage that she has carried all her life.
Please continue this journey with me in LETHAL INCISION, which was the initial story for the anthology and which has now been expanded into a novel. To order, please click HERE.
Would you also want to be notified when it releases? Sign up HERE.
Once again, thank you so much for purchasing LETHAL DISSECTION and for meeting Zora Smyth. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review HERE or recommending it to a friend.
Thank you again for your support!
Dobi Cross
CHAPTER ONE
She woke up, went to work, and died. Nobody told Martha Adams that she would go this way.
The evening was like any other. Martha exited her office building around eight-thirty p.m., clad in a light blue coat over a pinstripe grey A-line dress from her favorite clothing store. The early October air turned chilly, a gusty wind blowing her strawberry blonde hair in all directions. Martha brushed her hair away from her horsey face and pulled her coat closer around herself. She hated the cold.
Martha scurried along the cobbled sidewalk in her haste to get to the train station. The streets were deserted. The financial district—where she worked—basically shut down once the last throng of workers headed home around seven p.m.
She hadn’t planned to leave the office so late, but her boss had insisted on a work deadline that night without prior notice. She’d been pissed. And had missed her date with Tim in accounting.
Tim had finally asked her out after she’d had a crush on him for the past six months. She had thought he’d never notice her and had been shocked when he’d finally approached her. Martha had been looking forward to the date. She knew she shouldn’t be vexed with her boss; he’d always been nice to her and had approved her early promotion a year ago. But she had been hoping to score a kiss from Tim today. It’d been a while she had felt the arms of a man around her.
The click-clack sound of her heels on the sidewalk filled the air as she hurried down the street. The overhead lampposts flickered and then died, plunging the street into darkness.
Martha’s heart dropped and she shivered. This wasn’t a good omen. She wrapped her coat tighter around her frame and walked faster. Unlit streets gave her the creeps. She never liked to linger on them longer than necessary.
As she got nearer to the subway station, the lights from the station illuminated the jagged potholes on the road. Martha watched her step as she crossed to the other side. Thank goodness there are no moving cars on the street. She could have easily hurt her ankles if she had to hurry across the road. Now only a dark alley stood between her and the subway on the next block.
Martha exhaled a sigh of relief. Only about twenty minutes and she would be home with Mr. Snickers, her tabby and best friend in the world. If she knew him, he would be scratching at the door by now to be let out. She hoped he hadn’t peed on the floor.
Martha checked the time on her phone. She still had enough time to make the next train.
Someone bumped into her, causing Martha to lose her grip on her handbag.
She yelped and jumped back. She heard a muffled sorry and turned to look as a man in a hooded jacket hurried off. Her arm hurt where the man had brushed against her and she rubbed the area. She was tempted to mouth off at him but she checked herself. It was more important she got home safely.
Martha faced forward and headed to the station. But she noticed that her gait was slowing. It was as if she had been drugged. It became more difficult to put one foot in front of the other.
Martha’s heart quickened. What is happening to me? She had only drank water and coffee today, but she had been fine till a minute ago. She touched her arm. Had the man done something to her? Or was she having a stroke? She had heard that it could happen to young people too.
Her arms grew limp, and her legs became too heavy. Martha crumbled to the floor. It was no small miracle that her head did not hit the pavement. Her vision grew hazy, and she shook her head to clear the fog. She tried to speak, but her voice did not work. Someone help me!
A shadow fell over her.
Martha looked up, expecting a good Samaritan. Instead, a hooded face came into view. Cold soulless eyes locked onto hers like magnets. It was like staring at death.
Martha’s heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Her body trembled and she screamed. But only the distant sound of the subway train echoed in the air. She wanted to flee but she was locked down on the pavement. Trapped. Immobile. Helpless against what was about to happen to her.
Her head fell back as her world dimmed, and then turned black.
Martha Adams opened her eyes to see a big cleaver knife hanging over her head.
She screamed, but couldn’t hear herself. Her cry was choked back by the piece of cloth stuffed into her mouth and held in place by wide strips of gray duck tape. Her strawberry blonde hair lay tangled behind her head and rubbed against her neck.
She shivered and looked down. She was completely naked. She tried to move her body. There was no give. Her hands and feet were shackled by metallic cuffs to the steel table beneath her.
Her heart beat loudly against her chest. She couldn’t help but take quick harsh breaths. Her body trembled, and she broke out in a cold sweat. Her skin crawled. She tried to fold into herself, but the restraints held her back.
Martha squeezed
her eyes shut in the hope that she would wake up from the nightmare. But when she opened her eyes a few moments later, she was still in the same room. A dark room that appeared to have been abandoned for some time.
Old metallic equipment lay in awkward angles along the left wall. The right side featured a large metal door that seemed so secured that even an ant couldn’t get through. There was a scent in the air that reminded her of the morgue when Great-Aunt Debra died. The gray walls threatened to close in on her.
Panic rose in her throat, and she struggled against her restraints. She didn’t care if they left marks on her body from the effort. Her being here probably had something to do with the hooded man she had seen before she passed out. She didn’t know who he was, but even if she did, it probably made no difference. It was more important to make it out of here alive, away from what he had planned for her. She needed to escape, but she didn’t know how. It didn’t help that the big cleaver knife hung too close to her face and looked like it might swing down at any time.
Martha heard the distant sounds of heavy footfalls heading towards her. The footsteps got louder and louder, and then stopped in front of the steel door.
Martha’s pulse raced. She struggled again to free herself, but the effort was futile. She looked around for a weapon but she found none. Not that she would have been able to reach for it anyway. Bile welled up in her throat, and she felt like vomiting.
Her stomach twisted when she heard a key inserted into the door. A squeezing pain seared through her chest, and her breath came out in short gasps as the key turned in the lock. Martha felt liquid dribbling down her legs and pooling between the folds of her buttocks resting flat on the table. She had wet herself. She turned her head away in shame.
The metal door creaked open, and a beam of light shone through the doorway. She shut her eyes as if willing it away. The door shut with a loud bang, and the light disappeared. The room was once more plunged into darkness.
Martha heard the footsteps moving towards her. Her pulse ratcheted up with each advance. She shut her eyes tighter and balled her fists.
A thought pierced through her frantic mind. She would pretend that she was unconscious. She could buy more time that way. And maybe it would give her a chance to escape. She tried to even her breathing.
The footsteps stopped beside her. The person said nothing. Martha could hear his heavy breathing.
The hair on her skin stood as the person leaned closer, his foul breath assaulting her senses. Martha tried to keep still as much as possible.
She felt a rough hand grab her forearm. A second later, a needle pushed into her arm. The painful jab made her yelp.
“Goodbye, Martha Adams. This is for Anna,” she heard a gravelly voice say. She jerked open her eyes to see a man in a black mask and hooded jacket. It was the devil again.
Martha screamed. Terror raced through her bloodstream as she thrashed against her restraints. Her mind scrambled to unravel the mystery of who Anna was. She couldn’t remember.
Her pulse accelerated. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. Her breathing grew rapid, and her lungs felt crushed under a weight as she jerked against the table.
Regret at what she was about to lose flashed through her. Mr. Snickers, all alone. Tim. A missed chance at love. As her limbs grew weaker and weaker, a tendril of her mind finally wrapped itself around a memory—Anna. But it was too late.
Her body lost its battle as Martha took her last breath.
CHAPTER TWO
Zora Smyth arrived early in the morning at the Gross Anatomy lab of Lexinbridge School of Medicine. The lab was housed on the first floor of a colonial style red brick building that must have been built in the early seventies, but which had been renovated in recent times to accommodate the modern facility. Zora had explored the building the day before and had noted an adjacent technology-enabled classroom for medical instruction, dedicated changing areas, and locker rooms on the same floor. The upper floor of the building had been converted into offices for the professors and instructors, while the basement included the main equipment supplies room and a janitor’s closet. Each floor had its own set of restrooms.
Zora pushed open the double doors of the white-walled lab. The faint pungent smell of formaldehyde mixed with a mossy earthen odor overpowered her nose and threatened to make her retch.
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked thrice to clear them. She stopped for a moment and riffled through her scrubs pocket. Where was it? Zora was pretty sure she had stuffed it in there.
Aha! Found it! She held up the lemon-tinged handkerchief like a long lost treasure. With no time to waste, she pressed it against her nose and took quick deep breaths to cleanse her lungs.
The desire to empty her stomach contents eased off. Too bad she couldn’t hold the handkerchief all the time to her nose so she took one final deep breath and tucked it back into her pocket. It was enough to keep her for a few minutes before needing another inhale. She would have to get used to the smell. But that wouldn’t happen today.
Fifteen stainless steel dissection tables stretched out before her in rows on either side of the room, with body-shaped mounds covered with aqua-colored sheets resting on each one. Every table boasted its own computer screen and a ceiling-mounted surgical lamp that allowed each team to view images and text clearly.
The computers were all connected to a central terminal which the instructor could manipulate to show the same image or release to allow each team to work at their own pace. Large orange bio-hazard containers could be seen under each table and would collect the body parts that were eventually separated from the cadavers. A second smaller hazardous waste container was available to collect disposables such as gloves.
A separate facility accessible through a door on the far left was used to store anatomical materials and equipment used frequently in the lab. As she walked towards the back of the room, Zora could hear the low humming sound of the ventilation system that exchanged stagnant air for cool breeze.
She pulled out a set each of nitrile and latex gloves from her other scrub pocket as she reached her assigned table. She donned the nitrile gloves first to keep the smell of the cadaver off her hands, followed by the latex gloves that provided a better fit for the dexterity needed to dissect the body.
Each medical student had been assigned a body with two teammates. For today’s class, the professors had switched the lab to take place first from eight a.m. to ten a.m., followed by lectures in the adjacent classroom from ten a.m. to twelve noon. Zora had agreed with her teammates that she would make the initial cuts on the cadaver before they joined her at eight. It was seven-thirty a.m. now.
Her lab partners were squeamish at the thought of cutting into a human body. That would change later, but for now, Zora chose to honor their request. She didn’t mind doing it for them; after all it had been just as hard for her when she had seen her first dead body. She had helped a friend—whose parents owned a local funeral home—for a few days while at college, and let’s just say she had become close friends with the toilet bowl during that time. Her previous experience didn’t take away the queasiness she felt now, but her chances of retching in the lab at the sight of a dead body were now lessened—though not gone completely, from what she had just discovered.
Being good at dissection was important for Zora in achieving her dream—to become a surgeon. She couldn’t afford to miss any step in the process. And she might never get the chance again. Cadavers could not be found on the streets. Not that she was hunting for them. Each body had been donated as a precious contribution to science. And Zora didn’t treat this gift lightly.
The professors had spent yesterday preparing them for their next nine months at the lab, showing them proper dissection techniques, and sharing the rules & regulations. Zora was both excited and nervous to start.
She pulled back the aqua sheet. A body lay prone on the table, and its contours indicated it was female.
She heaved a sigh of relief. She had been afra
id that she would have had to turn the cadaver if it was not in the right position. The thought of doing it alone with dead arms draped around her as she manipulated the body almost made her want to retch again.
She took small deep breaths to calm her stomach. Zora then clasped her hands together in front of her as though she were praying and bent her head as she observed a moment of silence for the cadaver. Once she was done, she was keen to start the dissection process.
She walked around the body, observing it from all sides. There was something different about the body but she couldn’t place what it was. The burning smell of formaldehyde assaulted her nose, and her eyes watered again. The smell seemed ten times stronger on the body. Maybe that’s how it usually is. She pulled out the lemon-infused handkerchief for another inhale.
The cadaver’s skin had a grayish tinge, but there were no obvious scars. The body looked young; there was no wrinkling of the skin or age spots. This was a skin that had been well taken care of while alive.
But Zora noted that the body appeared a little bloated. She dismissed it as probably leftover gas from the gut bacteria’s breakdown of the body tissues, which typically occurred after death. The cadaver’s long blonde hair was swept to one side away from her back. It looked shiny unlike what she expected from a cadaver. The luster should have been all gone by now.
She grabbed her mini notebook from her lab coat and made a note of all her findings. She would ask one of the professors later about it.
She dropped the notebook back into her coat and picked up a scalpel from the instruments tray at the body’s feet. Zora drew a deep breath and made a horizontal cut from shoulder to shoulder. She followed it quickly with a vertical cut along the spine and another horizontal cut above the tailbone.
It soon became obvious that something was wrong. Blood oozed out from the cuts and flowed over the body and down into the recessed surface. Shouldn’t it be formalin?
The scalpel clattered from Zora’s hand onto the table. Blood such as this was only found in a body that was either alive or had died recently. Not cadavers.
