“Hey, could you come and help me, please?” The question came from Jurgen Heemstra, one of the younger specialists at the hospital. He caught her eye briefly before walking over to the other side of the room, where the patients were prepared for surgery.

The specialist didn’t look back. He blithely assumed that she would drop everything she was working on to run after him.

Helen turned back to her patient and continued checking her vital signs. She couldn’t see anything unusual, but that didn’t necessarily mean everything was OK.

“I think it’s getting better already,” said the woman after a short while. She covered one eye with her palm. “It seems like it’s only on one side . . .”

“That’s very possible, you know. It’s nothing to worry about; everything looks normal. Some people just need a little more time.” She tucked the woman in. “Are you comfortable? Warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you,” whispered the woman.

Somebody quietly cleared their throat behind Helen. She turned around: Heemstra.

“So . . . do you think you’d have time to help me now?” His head was slightly cocked.

She smiled inwardly, but took care not to show it on her face.

“Of course.”

She followed him through the glass swing doors that led to the operating rooms. From the corner of her eye, she saw a surgical assistant coming out of one of them. Her arms were wrapped around a rectangular container, the kind that was used throughout the hospital. Made of blue plastic, they had yellow lids and distinctive white stickers on the sides displaying a code and a warning sign. They came in different sizes. Some were specially designed for needles, some for blood and bandages. And some were for human remains.

This one probably held the dairy farmer’s leg. Helen stopped in her tracks. Watched the assistant walk past.

Somebody stopped and spoke to her, but she didn’t hear what they said.

She hurried over to a side door and peered down the hall, where the assistant was walking at the same brisk pace through the sliding doors and into another area. Helen focused on the container. It was as if everything around it blurred. Those things had a unique feature: once they were closed, it was impossible to remove the lid. That was for hygienic reasons. The containers were collected by a waste-processing company that put them straight into an incinerator, where they were destroyed. Unopened.

“Hello, are you in there?”

A whistling sound filled her ears.

“Earth to Helen?” Anouk moved into her field of view and placed a hand on her.

Helen blinked. “Sorry, Anouk, I didn’t see you there.”

“What’s up with you? Are you sick or something?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly. Her voice wavered, and her stomach contracted, as though somebody were squeezing it.

“Go and sit down for a little while.”