Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Noah
I've changed into a set of scrubs that are too big for me, but they have an adjustable waist and, more importantly, pockets.
Lumpy and Bumpy may be the largest pups in the litter, but they are still tiny by usual standards.
The whole litter is small, weak, and time-consuming.
It's a good thing I can survive on very little sleep.
I scrub my hands in the sink as if my life depends on it.
It doesn't.
This isn't a proper operation, but I need the practice. It's also a chance to calm my nerves. Rhys is letting me stand opposite him while he does his thing with the guy he's currently strapping to a table.
“Noah, that's enough.”
I nod and dry my hands on the towel, the act undoing all my scrubbing efforts.
“Stand there,” Rhys directs. “Noah, meet Mr. Peter Whittle.”
I glance at the man, noticing his eyes are fixed on me. Groggy, but fixed.
“Hello,” I greet nervously.
“Mr. Whittle organizes illegal dog fighting,” Rhys explains, his tone perfectly pitched for my podcast.
“Oh. Then I am very pleased to meet you here.” What a horrible man. He deserves to die. I've never thought that about anyone before, not even Derek and Frank.
“Let's begin.” Rhys smiles. “Scalpel.”
I turn to the tray of instruments laid out beside me.
“Scalpel,” I repeat, handing him the instruments exactly as they do on Follow the Vet. Despite the heavy-duty painkillers he’s been given, Mr. Whittle screams as Rhys makes the first incision. A line down his abdomen, just like Honey's caesarean.
My stomach twists. Not enough to stop. Just enough to remind me this isn’t normal.
“Oh God, oh God!” Whittle wails.
“Got a bleed!” Rhys narrates.
“Thingamajigger,” I hand him the clamp thing he used when Honey was bleeding.
“Spencer Wells,” Rhys smirks, keeping his eyes on the body. “Okay, look at that and tell me what you see.”
I look into the abdominal cavity. Honey's had been full of uterus and pups, but this one looks exactly like I've seen in textbooks. It’s different from Honey. Yet too similar. The smell, the sounds. Especially the squelching.
“Intestines.” They’re obvious enough. “Is that the liver?”
“Yes,” Rhys nods, sounding a little proud. “What should we remove first?”
“His testicles?” I suggest trying to sound more torturous than I feel.
“From the abdominal cavity.”
“Oh. You want me to push the tentacles back inside?” That… would work, I think?
“No testicles. This is education.”
“Oh, right.” Silly me, I thought this was torture. “I’m interested in the bladder and kidneys. We're running a follow-up on Poppy, the ancient Yorkshire Terrier, on TV.”
I elaborate for Whittle's benefit. He's shaking with fear, lifting his head to look, then dropping it back on the table in disbelief, over and over. I guess the pain meds make it easy to forget what is happening when he can't see it.
“Perfect. First, we need to move the intestines out of the way.”
He makes me help him move the slippery bowels up onto Whittle's chest. They squelch in my hands as I drop them as quickly as possible. Whittle makes a shrieking sound.
“Can I ask, he isn't screaming as much as I probably would be. Frank and Derek, too. They didn't scream enough. I know about the pain killers, but even so, I think I'd be frantic.”
Seeing Honey so uncomfortable after her operation, even with painkillers, makes it hard to understand Whittle's behavior.
“I've given him powerful painkillers.” Rhys explains. “No pain means less shock on the body. Keeps them still. But it also makes it all feel disconnected. He knows what is happening to him, but his brain is refusing to accept it. Makes him more helpless, in a way.”
I nod slowly. That makes sense. The screams I heard weren't from pain. They were from the horror of seeing their own organs.
“Poppy had an operation to remove a mass from her urinary system, but I was too busy to watch.” I inform Whittle. “This will be very useful presenting the follow-up episode.”
“Surgery is used to remove what is wrong with the body. Organs are organs, regardless of the body. It doesn't matter if it's a human, cat, or horse; the organs are in the same place and they do the same thing. Once you realize that, you can treat any animal.”
“Cool.”
With the abdomen emptied, Rhys points his scalpel to the back of the body.
“Wow, I had no idea kidneys were so far back.” It's fascinating to see in real life without the distraction of other staff or responsibilities like monitoring the patient. “And that's the bladder?”
“Touch it if you want.”
I swallow my nerves and reach forward towards a balloon at the bottom of the abdomen. I give it a jab, knowing exactly what I'm doing. And that might be the worst part.
Moments later, a dark patch spreads across Whittle's pants.
“Sorry about that,” I lie.
“That's common,” Rhys doesn't react to the wet spreading down the legs. Even after I pull my finger away, it keeps flowing. “That's why we don't let animals drink the morning before surgery.”
“What do you normally do here when there is no one to talk to?”
“There is always someone to talk to,” Rhys frowns, glancing at Whittle. “But it's more fun talking to you.”
Yay. I'm his favorite murder buddy.
“I didn't think I'd actually enjoy this,” I confess. “But next time, I'll do it without puppies in my pockets.”
He steps back and stares at me. Unmoving, just taking in my frame struggling to fill his spare murder scrubs.
“What?” I ask finally.
“I'm trying to imagine you not having puppies in your pockets.”
“We'll run out of pregnant dogs one day.” I protest, turning to Whittle. “I used to run a twenty-four bitch puppy farm until he kidnapped me.”
Whittle just stares, wide-eyed between me, Rhys, and his own intestines.
“I don't think he cares about your puppy farm.”
“He cared about the money.” I correct.
“He cared about the arrangement. I expect the debt was cleared a long time ago, but the arrangement suited everyone.”
“Yeah, true. But I won't have puppies forever.”
“Meh,” Rhys shrugs. “Wait until fledgling season. Pigeons in your pockets.” He turns back to the anatomy lesson and carefully removes a kidney. “Sparrows in your scrubs. Bunnies in your boxers.”
“I was surprisingly excited by that idea, until you got to the bunnies, anyway.”
“You'll have me convert the stables into a wildlife hospital by the end of the year.” The second kidney comes out. “Follow the Nutty Nurse will overtake me in the rankings by the end of next year; everyone will be crazy for the cute nurse with baby animals in every pocket.”
“Only if you promise not to be jealous.”
“Never. I'll make a fortune off the film crew and added clients coming to see me… us.” He hands me a kidney and a scalpel. “Go ahead, see the inside.”
The lesson continues until my tired eyes blur and the puppies start stirring. My knowledge of the body has increased exponentially. There is nothing like holding the organs in your hands to help me learn.
And I am officially an accessory to murder.
That doesn't frighten me as much as I thought it would. As much as it should.
“Why don't you clean up and sort out your puppies while I clean up down here.” Rhys dismisses me, but it doesn't feel like a rejection. It feels generous.
Which is nice because I feel tired.