The Last Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist Page 16

  The nurses are outside. Adriana peeks behind me at the door then back to me. “You have to leave.”

  Though I’m exhausted, afraid, and trembling, I raise my hand and slap her back to the pillow.

  I slap her again, in case she decides to resist. I pull the emergency button from atop the bed then tell her, “If you don’t tell me, I’ll push the button. I don’t give a shit if the nurses come and punish both of us. I’m just an angry woman, looking for her child. But you. Look at you, Adriana. You’ll lose your baby.”

  “What kind of bitch are you?”

  “The bitch that won’t give up.”

  Adriana takes a deep breath. Her eyes are moist. “I am like you,” she says.

  “Like me?”

  “I have no memory of who I am or how I arrived.”

  “And the other women?”

  “The same,” Adriana says. “We don’t know how we got here.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “We were told we were the sole survivors of a plane crash.”

  I suppress a morbid shriek. “All of you?”

  She nods. “I had a few sessions with Dr. Suffolk. Tests. All in the name of helping regain my memories. He kept saying he’d hypnotize me, but it never happened.”

  “And?”

  “Like the other girls, I heard about the secret submarine by the shore, and how it was my only hope to escape this island,” she says. I remember Ashlyn telling me about it. “I failed. They caught me and brought me to the Crib.”

  “Did you see the Furnace?”

  “No, but I heard. Other girls saw it.”

  “Please continue.”

  “More tests. More drugs. Illusions.” She trembles. “Nightmares. Unspeakable nightmares.”

  “What kind of nightmares?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Please, Adriana.” I glance behind me. “We have no time.”

  “Nightmares about a man called Toot.”

  “And?” I fist my hands to keep calm.

  “Manfred Toot.” She begins to cry. “I don’t want to—”

  “Please, Adriana.” I sink to my knees and gently grab her hand.

  She pulls away. “A few days later, I wake up and the nurses tell me I’m pregnant.”

  “A few days?”

  “I’m not sure. Could be months. The hallucinations. The nightmares. Time slipped. I couldn’t tell what was real from what wasn’t.”

  “I totally understand.”

  “The nurses showed me the charts, if I remember correctly. It said I’ve been almost nine months on the island, but it felt like a few days.”

  “You’re sure you weren’t pregnant when you first arrived?”

  “I think so. It’s all so blurry.” She raises her crying eyes to meet mine. She even reaches for my hands now. She holds tightly to me. “I didn’t care about all of that. I wanted to know who the father of my child was.”

  I hold tighter to her, feeling stupid I didn’t ask.

  “The nurses told me it’s the same man who impregnated all the other women.”

  I’m speechless. I need a second to think it over. I can’t fathom what she has told me. How can I connect the dots? An uncharted Nazi island that somehow survived World War II without anyone knowing about it. The island is ruled by an American man, Major Red. The soldiers, doctors, and nurses are mostly American, too, but the pregnant patients are from all over the world. They impregnate women and take their babies. The mothers have to die, and it’s one man who impregnates them all. This is stranger than fiction.

  “Have you ever met this man, Adriana?” I say.

  “No, but I know his name.” Her pupils dilate with fear. Black fear, the color of the oil I keep smelling. “They call him Manfred Schmidt. Also known as Manfred Toot.”

  72

  Mercy Medical Center, New York

  “We found two passengers out of three,” Dixon informed Floyd on the phone.

  The old man held his wife’s favorite book in the other hand and said, “Alive?”

  “Of course not,” Dixon retorted. “Dead, Floyd. One of them without legs.”

  Two out of three narrowed it down to the possibility of one survivor. It wasn’t far-fetched. Statistically, most plane crashes killed everyone on board. Rarely did a few people survive. A sole survivor in a plane crash happened more than twenty percent of the time, though. The kind of strange fact that had always puzzled Floyd.

  “I have to tell you, Floyd,” Dixon continued, “in this weather, I’m going to give up on that last girl.”

  “Last girl?” Floyd squinted, staring at the book in his hand. It seemed like too many coincidences had happened around him recently. The fact that August’s book fell from the bag, and that its title was The Last Girl, which seemed similar to the current situation of the last passenger on the plane. He didn’t want to read much into this, as he’d never believed in such things.

  “The last three passengers were girls, remember?” Dixon said. “So we call her ‘the last girl’ around here.”

  “Appropriate name, Dixon. Find her!” Floyd hung up.

  He tapped the book in his hand and said to his wife, “Let’s pray the last girl is alive, August. I’m going to keep reading to you. Let’s see if a book can save a life.”

  He continued reading the book aloud. A few minutes in, he was shocked by how much he liked it.

  73

  I’m still holding Adriana’s cold hands. Mine are as cold now. Footsteps sound nearer outside the room. I have to get back on that ledge before the nurses arrive. I can’t stand against them alone. Besides, I still have no aim. No purpose. No solid conclusion to what’s going on. Too many questions, so little time.

  “Do you know anything else about Manfred Toot?”

  Adriana’s eyes widen. She looks away from me again, lowering her neck onto her chest. It’s as if she wants to crawl into a fetal position but can’t do it. Instead, she covers her stomach with both hands.

  “You said you haven’t met him. I know.” I lean forward. “But do you know anything about him? Did any of the other women tell you something? Do you have any idea why he impregnates women?”

  She tenses, refusing to look at me. I’m not sure she is breathing anymore.

  “Adriana, I’ve been looking for this man for some time. I don’t know why, but I have reason to believe I should kill him. I need to know who he is. At least tell me where I can find him.”

  “You can’t kill him.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. Where can I find him?”

  “Nor can you find him.” She drools on the pillow now, as if she is having a seizure. “Toot finds you. Once to impregnate you. Later to kill you.”

  “Why?” I try to shake the stiffened skeleton of a woman. “Tell me why, Adriana.” Behind me, I hear the nurses getting closer. “Please.” I kiss her forehead. “I need to save my daughter.”

  Adriana cries painful hiccups, still drooling onto the pillow.

  “Adriana, you’ll be a mother soon. You know how it feels,” I say softly. “I’m a mother myself—at least, I think I am. I need to save my daughter. This Toot man will hurt her. You’re my last chance to save her. Do you hear me? Think of my child as if it were yours. You’re a mother, Adriana. You know how it feels.”

  “What does your daughter look like?” she says.

  “I have no idea. I don’t remember anything. Just like you.”

  “What kind of mother doesn’t remember her daughter?”

  “I—” I wish I could answer that question.

  “Do you know what they do with the babies here?”

  I swallow hard, not sure I want to know, but then I realize this could lead me to my daughter’s whereabouts. “Tell me.”

  “You’ll never find her,” Adriana says. She stops crying. It’s as if her body froze all of a sudden, but she can still speak.

  “Don’t say that,” I say. “I know I’ve been cruel to you, but please don’t te
ll me I’m not going to find her.”

  Outside, the nurses are loud enough to be only steps away from the door. I have no choice but to abandon Adriana. I stand up and reluctantly hurry for the window. It’ll be a temporary escape. I’ll have to come back and find out more.

  “Remember to breathe,” Adriana says into her pillow. I can’t tell if she is talking to me. “Just breathe.”

  Though the door is going to burst open any second, I’m hesitant to leave, hoping for a payoff. “Is there is anything else you can tell me, Adriana?”

  I’m surprised that she answers right away. “Try to find the submarine. It’s your only way out.”

  “I’m not leaving without my daughter.” I grip the edge of the window to start my escape.

  Adriana spits one last thing before the door opens: “Your daughter is so close,” she says. “Closer than you could even imagine.”

  74

  Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

  “We’ve found no one so far,” the diver shouted on the radio.

  Dixon couldn’t see clearly from his position in the helicopter. No way in hell he’d get down near the wreckage himself. Up here, he had the advantage of escaping in case the weather went full-on berserk.

  “We can always dive deeper,” the diver continued. “It’ll be a tad suicidal, but my men are brave.”

  “Brave enough to die?” Dixon said.

  “It’s their job. They know what they have to do.”

  “All that for a fucking last girl,” Dixon mumbled. “Damn you, Floyd.”

  “If I may ask,” the diver said, “since when do we let the FBI tell us what to do?”

  “Since we fucked up on the TWA flight.” Dixon squinted, trying to get a better look with his binoculars.

  “Ah, of course,” the diver said. “That was a fuckup. No wonder it remains unexplained what really happened.”

  “More than twenty years ago. Can you wait a sec, please?” Dixon said, staring at his phone. He’d received a report from his men and read it. “Listen,” he said to the diver. “Did you find a seat 37A?”

  “Let me check,” the diver said. “Yeah. A single seat. It somehow broke off the row and sank deep below.”

  “Was it empty?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Any signs of its passenger having survived?”

  “Could be. The strap was cut violently. I suppose someone was panicked and couldn’t unbuckle.”

  “My team speculates it’s the last girl’s seat.”

  “Shit,” the diver said. “So we actually have to dive deeper.”

  “You don’t have to,” Dixon said. “Just tell me it’s impossible in this shitstorm and I will report it.”

  The diver was silent for a long while. Dixon wondered why people wanted to be heroes. It was just a last dead girl. Who cared?

  “Gimme a minute,” the diver said.

  Dixon could faintly hear him talk with his men.

  Thirty seconds later, the diver returned to the speaker. “We should scan the ocean in a ten-mile radius, in case she is hanging on to something the waves swept away.”

  “You mean use the trawlers.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Just get this done with so we can go home,” Dixon said. “Does this mean your men can’t take the dive?”

  The diver hesitated. “Frankly, none of them wants to risk it.”

  Dixon grinned. “Wise call.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just not worth it. One girl. Who’s she gonna be in the end?”

  “No one special, really.” Dixon glanced at the girl’s name. “Trust me, she’s not even average in the human hierarchy.”

  “This stays between us, right?” the diver said.

  “Of course,” Dixon said, taking a deep breath, happy he’d be back home with his wife and kids soon. “Just send me some technical issues that’d prevent your men from taking the dip, and I’ll report right away—”

  “Wait a second, please.”

  Dixon waited impatiently. What could have happened?

  “Shit!” the diver said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Two of my men are going to take the dip.”

  “What?”

  “They volunteered. I can’t stop them, or they’ll report it. Honestly, the dip is dangerous, but doable if you’re good.”

  “They’ll fucking die.”

  “Don’t blame me. It’s their call. Besides, dying is our middle name in this business.”

  “What the fuck?” Dixon couldn’t believe it. Some people were morons. Who’d want to risk their lives for one girl that didn’t mean anything?

  “Put them on,” Dixon roared.

  “Excuse me?”

  “At least tell me their names. I’ll talk to them.”

  “Jack and Irene.”

  “Jack Irene?” Dixon was about to type the name into his phone. “And the other?”

  “No, you misunderstood. Their names are Jack and Irene.”

  “Irene? The other diver is a girl?”

  “Yes. She’s badass.”

  “I can’t understand why this Jack and Irene want to risk their lives.”

  “It’s their job,” the diver said. “I’m proud of them, I have to say. They’re also engaged.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “Their wedding is next week, sir.”

  Dixon was going to vomit. “Next week? Do they understand there might be no wedding after this call?”

  “They do, sir. Some people just love to save lives.”

  75

  Out on the ledge, I try to move in the opposite direction to my room. Unfortunately, a thick brick wall blocks the way. I have no choice but go back to my room for now. It’s a tough call, but climbing around the brick wall is a huge risk. I’m not suicidal. Far from it, now that Adriana confirmed I have a daughter.

  Your daughter is closer than you could even imagine. What did she mean? Why so cryptic?

  Though I’ve climbed outside before, it’s much harder this time. My mind is on a rampage. Adriana. The women in the other rooms. The Crib. Manfred Toot impregnating these women. The plane crash. Either I’m naive and stupid or a big portion of this story doesn’t make sense.

  Step after step, my only concern is my daughter’s location. Adriana said I should take the submarine Ashlyn mentioned. Once I find my daughter, I’ll take her to the submarine. I know the way. It’s a naively optimistic plan, but it’s all I’ve got. I have to hang on to something.

  My right foot slips.

  I grab a pipe and my left foot plays acrobat to help me hang on to the edge of the ledge.

  Wake up, June. You can’t fuck up, now that you’re sure your daughter exists.

  Hanging, I close my eyes to calm down. My weight is tearing my muscles apart. The rain makes it harder for my left foot to hang on any longer. I need to gather my strength and pull my right leg up again.

  The pain is too strong. I grit my teeth and try not to scream or call for help. An image forms behind my eyelids. A movie plays before me.

  A memory.

  A red flicker forms at the end of my tunnel vision. A man. He isn’t dressed in red, though. He is covered in blood. He is coming for me. I’m going to pee in my pants. I’ve never been scared of anyone the way I fear him. I loathe him. I can’t see his face, as it’s covered in blood. He is laughing. Getting closer. Nearby, someone is crying. A girl. “Mommy! Mommy!”

  I’m trying to locate the girl but realize I’m alone in here. Where is here? Shit. I know where here is. Not quite, but it’s a room. I’ve seen it before.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

  The man is getting closer. He wears…

  I can’t breathe. I need to learn how to breathe.

  The man smirks at me and says, “Are you ready to deliver?”

  Breathe, just breathe. It’s going to be over soon. Where is that little girl calling for her mother? And why the heck is he wearing a Nazi uniform?

&nb
sp; My eyes flip open. What the hell was that? I think it’s my first real memory. My first true clue about who I am. I can’t recall who this man is, but I think I have a clue about the girl’s identity.

  As I’m about to take a deep breath to pull myself back on the ledge, I realize I’ve already done that. Both my feet are fixed on the ledge. I’m only a few inches away from my room.

  Almost automatically, I find my way inside. My room isn’t empty, though. Dr. Suffolk and several nurses are waiting for me.

  76

  Mercy Medical Center, New York

  For an hour straight, Floyd couldn’t stop reading. Time flew by, and he felt immersed in the story, so much that he sometimes forgot to read out loud for August. He felt like he knew every character by now, sympathized with them, cried and laughed with them. It was as if he’d been sucked in through a looking glass made of paper and ink. He enjoyed it so much that he contemplated taking the day off—which was impossible, of course.

  Floyd found the author’s voice enticing. He appreciated her not being a wordsmith, or he’d not have eased into the story. Every twist or surprise or cliffhanger challenged a new emotion. In short, he could not believe a work of fiction could make him feel alive.

  Though he was curious to read her biography, he decided to do it later, in case it would spoil anything about the book. He’d glimpsed her photo though. A blonde woman with thick glasses. A perfect nerd, he thought.

  One thing that surprised him the most was that the protagonist wasn’t even a man. Not that Floyd was a sexist—he’d seen women kick ass in the field; a young diver named Irene came to mind—but he just didn’t expect it.

  The Last Girl’s protagonist was a girl in her teens. Lord in heaven, Floyd thought, the horrible things that have been done to her. The book was mind-bending, and presented as real-world survival story, even though Floyd knew it was mostly fiction. How would anyone survive an accident like this woman did?