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I can handle bad smells. Dead bodies, dirty diapers, my mother's cooking, I've done it all. But this, this is by far the worst scent I've had to deal with. Formaldehyde: Preserver of the dead.

"Don't touch that, Mr. Castle!" the professor snaps at me.

I put down the 15 blade in my hand back on the dissection table and hold my hands up in mock defeat, "Sorry, habit."

Professor Miles is an old, balding man in green scrubs. I haven't been in too many cadaver labs, but something tells me it's too late for a doctor to help the guys on these tables.

There is a row of pale, swollen cadavers lined up on shiny metal tables. They're all positioned the same. Their heads are back against the metal with their arms pressed tightly against their sides. Blue blankets cover the bodies up to their bare shoulders. The light from the window shines against their blank faces.

Talk about a killer class.

Beckett turns back to Miles, "What time did you find the body?"

"Specifically, the body that wasn't supposed to be here." I chime in.

I thought that was important to mention, judging by Beckett's glare back at me, she didn't.

"I came in early to setup the practical we have for the medical students this afternoon. Probably around seven this morning." Miles says.

"Did you notice any doors open or anything where it shouldn't be?" Beckett says.

"Yes, the storage closet usually remains locked over night." The man leads us to a large steel door and swipes his ID card. We hear the lock snap back into place and he holds the door open for us.

"Sorry it's so dark," he says. He pulls a cord from the ceiling and a light bulb illuminates shelves filled with skulls. All at once the empty eye sockets seem to be staring back at me.

"So this is where you put the students that fail?" I say.

Professor Miles is not amused. He picks up one of the skulls from the table, "They're plastic, Mr. Castle. They're for educational purposes only."

"Really?" I say. I pick up the skull next to my hand and move the jaw up and down as I speak for him, "They look so real."

"That one is real, Mr. Castle?"

My jaw and the skull's jaw drop simultaneously, "What?"

"Yes, that was my grandfather's skull."

I drop the skull back on the shelf, "His what?"

"His skull. He used it to study anatomy while he was in school. When I started medical school he gave it to me to use."

"Oh so it's not really your grandfather's skull, it's your grandfather's skull."

There really is no easy way to word that. Is there?

"Precisely," the old man says.

I whisper to Beckett, "This guy literally has skeletons in his closet."

"All students need to swipe both in and out of our lab," Miles continues, "According to our system, nobody has been inside the room since last night during our review session."

"And you're sure everyone left the lab last night?" Beckett says.

"Quite sure," he continues, "I locked it up myself."

"Would you mind if we took a quick look around?" Beckett says.

"Not at all," Miles says, "I'll be in my office."

Miles moves back into the lab. We hear him swipe his card to get out into the hallway and the door close behind him.

"So a 24-year-old med student is found dead in a cadaver lab early in the morning. There's no evidence of a break-in and zero witnesses."

I gesture to the row of dead bodies, "Unless you count these guys. But something tells me it's gonna be tough getting them to talk."

"Maybe there's a code or something for the janitors to get into the lab at night. Or someone had a janitor's key."

"Or maybe we should consider the obvious?"

"And what's that?"

"It was the ghost of one of the cadavers coming back to get revenge against the students who dissected him.

"I don't think so."

"Or perhaps we are looking at a classic case of peer pressure. It can't be easy being the only live body in the room. Kids want to be like every Body else."

Beckett continues examining the shelves, "Was that supposed to be a play on the word, body?"

"It was."

Beckett kneels down beside a blood stain on the tile floor, "I think we're looking at a classic case of murder."

"A little less realistic, but I'll consider it."

A small creaking noise grabs our attention. We turn to each other, then to the door, the source of the sound.

"I thought Miles left?" she says.

"He did." I say.

Her eyes grow wide, "Stay here," I say.

But before I can get to the door a loud slam rings through my ears. I reach for knob but every time I try to turn it, it remains locked in place. I try again, this time slamming my body up against the cold metal door but nothing moves.

We're stuck.