The Last Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist Page 4

  “Should I?” I stare at it.

  “It’s a Beretta.” He waves it in the air. “A relatively small gun, suitable for women. Some men use it because it’s light and easy to carry. Famous for having been James Bond’s first choice of weapon before they stopped him using it. A great weapon to smuggle on a plane.”

  I don’t have the logic to defend myself at the moment. I fold my arms in front of me and listen.

  “Did you read the scratched message on its side?” Major Red says.

  “Message?” I squint at the gun, pretending I know nothing about it.

  Major Red smirks. He makes no effort to angle the gun and show me the message. “Don’t pretend you don’t know, Miss June.”

  “Know what?” I straighten up.

  He almost whispers, “Maybe you shouldn’t speak in your dreams. It’s a bad habit.”

  I purse my lips. Of course the shy soldier told him. What a fucking stupid move, June. The Manfred Toot message that I flushed down the toilet made me so paranoid. Now I’m deep in shit.

  “Don’t worry,” Major Red says. “I didn’t expect you to tell the truth. You’ve been lying since you’ve arrived.”

  I am Pinocchio’s long and exposed nose. I have no truth to tell, and the lies I do tell are all the truth I have.

  “However, I’m not sure you knew about this sign on the gun.” This time, he angles the gun to show me.

  I look. First I don’t see it, but then I do. It’s too small. I’m not sure it’s intentional. It’s an inverted red cross.

  “I hadn’t noticed it,” I say. “What about it?”

  “It makes this gun one of only a hundred of the same type.”

  “It does?”

  “Manufactured in the eighties but by a secret society of soldiers.”

  My left cheek numbs. I wonder if it’s a nervous tic I have. It’s followed by a shot of pain in my bandaged left arm. “What kind of soldiers?”

  “The most evil in the world,” he evades my question. “They’ve never been caught. The guns disappeared, until fourteen years ago.”

  I blink. “Fourteen years?”

  “When they reappeared again in small American towns.”

  “So they are American?”

  “On passport, yes. It’s complicated. They were men who knew no mercy.”

  The numbing spreads to my other cheek. I have nothing to say—do I see a suppressed smirk on Major Red’s sealed lips?

  “It’s a disgraceful old story,” he says. “It being old is the only reason I don’t expect you to know the gun’s significance.”

  “That’s a start,” The numbing subsides slowly.

  “It doesn’t mean I believe you. Whoever gave it to you and persuaded you to infiltrate my island, didn’t tell you about it.”

  Back to square one. “Did they have a name?”

  “Not that I know of,” Major Red continues. “There were rumors they called themselves the SS or SSS.

  “Secret Society of Soldiers.” I speak my mind.

  “Could be. The sign on the gun is their mission statement.”

  “Mission statement?”

  “They hunted and killed certain individuals,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “What individuals?”

  Major Red takes a deep breath. A diagonal cut across his face wrinkles and deepens as he does. “The sect had their own beliefs. You could say they hated certain ethnicities.”

  “Racists?”

  “Worse.”

  I say nothing. It’s hard to imagine I have anything to do with this secret society. True, I have no memory, but I don’t see it. The gun isn’t evidence enough. I could have bought it from anywhere.

  “I’m curious, Miss June.” He drops the gun with a thud on the desk. “Either you’re some smart terrorist, playing games with me, or you’ve been dragged into a hell of a complicated story that I need to figure out.”

  “Believe me, I’m dying to know who I am.”

  “Believing is the act of speculating or assuming,” he says. “I only deal with facts. Which means that, so far, I don’t believe a word you’ve said. However, I will send you to one of our doctors to confirm your amnesia.” He glares at me again. “You’d better not be lying to me.”

  Actually, I have nothing against the idea of seeing a doctor. Now that I don’t have much to hide from Major Red—except for the Toot note from under the door—a doctor can help me remember. Whoever I turn out to be, I will have to deal with it.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting your doctor,” I say.

  Major Red summons a soldier to usher me out. A few seconds of mutual staring precedes the soldier’s arrival. It’s like we want to see each other’s soul. It disturbs me that I want to know about him as much as I want to know about myself. I turn around and follow the soldier.

  “Miss June,” Major Red calls after me. “You really don’t know what month it is?”

  I sigh and turn to face him again. “I told you, I don’t remember.”

  “It’s the fifteenth of June, Miss June.” Major Red hurls my necklace in the air. I am too stunned to play catch, and let it fall at my feet. That’s why he was laughing at me earlier.

  17

  “Could I be crazy?” I ask the young doctor with the cute face and longish blonde hair.

  The soldier left after showing me to the small clinic in Ward Six. I seem to have entered and lain on the couch, trying not to think about my conversation with Major Red. I’m not really sure how I came here. It’s as if there was a time lapse. I’m not sure if that is a symptom of amnesia.

  “I mean, maybe I am just imagining all of this?” I say.

  “First of all, call me Suffolk, Dr. Alan Suffolk.” He offers a tanned and firm hand.

  “Smith,” I mock myself, not taking his hand. “June Smith.”

  Dr. Suffolk smiles. He knows my last name isn’t Smith.

  “In the month of January, my name is January Smith. May Smith in May.”

  He has a great smile. White teeth. Nothing to hide. “You’re not crazy. You’re a sole survivor of a plane crash. It’s not an easy thing to get through. We’ll figure it out.”

  I lie back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

  “That’s better,” says the doctor. “Just relax.”

  “You’re not a soldier, are you?”

  “I’m not in a position to say.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “You must’ve heard that phrase a few times by now.”

  “‘I’m not in a position to say’ and ‘this is above my pay grade,’ yes, I have. The secretive island where you’re not supposed to look west.” I roll my eyes.

  I think the sight of Dr. Suffolk is a good prescription for a better mood. Maybe I am just too tired from all the confusion, and being inappropriately flirtatious.

  “We don’t usually accommodate strangers, but we’ll take care of you until you go home.” He pats my shoulder. “So tell me, are you famous?”

  I chuckle. The back of my neck hurts. “I can’t remember who I am, and you’re asking if I am famous?”

  “Humor me.”

  “Is this a trick question? You think I am lying too?”

  “Absolutely not. You look familiar.”

  “That’s a relief. I guess it means I am not invisible. Do you think you can wrack your brain and remember me? It’d be nice to know who I am.”

  “I can’t. It’s like Deja Vu. I have no idea how,” he sits down beside me, taking my hand in his warm palms.

  “Wow, you’re insane, just like me.” I chuckle.

  “Like I said, you’re not insane. Amnesia is a common consequence of surviving a plane crash.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. Think of it like a defense mechanism.”

  “What?”

  “Your brain could have forgotten on purpose.”

  “Can someone do that?”

  “Not you. Your brain. You and your brain aren’t the same thing, especially after
a traumatic experience.”

  “Why?”

  “You have any idea what you went through in the crash?” he asks. “The deaths you saw? The horror of the plane sinking? I was told you were strapped to your seat underwater. All of this is shocking, and you could easily end up with chronic PTSD.”

  He continues babbling, but I can’t hear him anymore. A thought blocks his voice from reaching my head. How did I escape the seat underwater? It seems impossible, unless there was divine intervention.

  “Breathe, June.” His words pull me back into reality. “Your brain might be trying to protect you by making you forget.”

  “Forget the events of the plane crash?”

  “And the events that led to the crash.”

  “If my brain forgets on purpose, it has to be something bigger than just death all around me,” I say. “Something on that plane. Something scarier that I wouldn’t be able to live with.”

  Dr. Suffolk takes his time to think, then says, “You have a wild imagination.”

  We both laugh. It’s the first time I’ve felt human on this godforsaken island. “So how long will I keep forgetting?” I say.

  “It shouldn’t be long. That’s what we’ll be trying to figure out. Now let me ask you a bit of a scary question. Are you ready?”

  “Not sure.”

  “This might trouble you. I am sorry, but I have to. It might help you remember.”

  “If you say so…”

  “Close your eyes, please.”

  I do, wondering why I feel safe with him. I would have never closed my eyes in Major Red’s presence.

  “Do you remember if you have a family, June?”

  18

  Dr. Suffolk’s question hits me like ice thrown from a bucket. It freezes the muscles in the back of my neck. My shoulders tense.

  Do I have a family? Don’t most people have one? “I have no idea.”

  “We’ll need to work on a better answer to this question,” Dr. Suffolk says.

  “Don’t you think it’s out of my hands?”

  “I can help you remember, but you have to open up to me.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Let’s try this another way.”

  “How?”

  “Can you go back and focus on the plane crash, please? The little nuggets of memories you still have.”

  My body twists and turns in place. My belly hurts again. Did the gun damage this area of my body? The pain in my bandaged arm intensifies. My breathing is shallow and the blaring of a horn sounds distantly in my ears.

  “I’m sorry to make you go through this,” Dr. Suffolk says. “But like I said, we have to.”

  “Okay.” I nod, ignoring the pain. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Are you remembering?”

  “A little.”

  “Don’t tell me the details, just focus on my words.”

  “Which are?”

  “Is your family on the plane with you?”

  For a moment, I think I’m going to bite my tongue. It’s a horrible thought. I can’t bring myself to imagine it.

  “Any of your family members?”

  “I—”

  “A husband?”

  “Not sure?”

  “A mother?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Father?”

  “No.”

  “Child?”

  For some reason, words don’t come out of my mouth.

  “It’s okay if you don’t remember,” he says. “We had to try.”

  “Why was that important?” I’m still not sure why I haven’t answered the last question.

  “If you had loved ones on the plane then you must have been worried about them when the crash occurred,” he says, almost whispering, hypnotizing, soothing. “Since you still remember a few things right after the crash, I was trying to ignite feelings you may have dismissed in your struggle for survival.”

  “I’ve never thought about this. In their darkest hour, do people save themselves or their loved ones first?”

  “That depends,” he says. “In general, a person has to save themselves first, so they can then help their loved ones. Survival is a deeply rooted instinct. Love for loved ones is a close second, unless it’s a situation where you have to sacrifice yourself to save the person you love.”

  I sigh. “So, I had no family members on the plane, I suppose.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t answer about not having a child on board.”

  I can’t remember. I am scared. I feel like I am going to vomit. I don’t like this. Maybe I should be obedient to the wishes of my forgetting mind.

  What if those I love died next to me on the plane? What if I shouldn’t have swam away? What if it was my responsibility to stay and save them? Was I selfish?

  Goddamn it! Why didn’t I ask myself this question earlier?

  Who the hell am I?

  Tears fall, sticky and hot. I feel like they’re burning my cheeks.

  19

  Dr. Suffolk hands me a glass of water, and I prop myself up on the couch to drink it.

  “We’ll try this again later,” he says. “Don’t worry about the memory now. Not remembering a child doesn’t prove you had one on the plane.”

  “Why didn’t I answer, then?”

  “The mind works in mysterious ways. Maybe your brain could not handle the mere possibility of having a child on the plane, so it just froze.”

  “You keep saying brain,” I say. “It’s as if you don’t think we have a choice in our lives, driven by a brain that’s almost a stranger to us.”

  “It sounds weird, but trust me, science shows we’re not much in control of what we think.”

  The idea doesn’t help much. I sip the water, taking in the view of the room. A window behind Dr. Suffolk catches my eye. I can’t see much outside from where I sit. “What is this place?” I ask.

  Dr. Suffolk smiles, as if I am a little girl trying to be clever. I smile back. He doesn’t reply. But then his smile fades.

  “I guess I have to hypnotize you after all,” he says with a long sigh.

  “Hypnotize me?”

  He nods. “I tried to avoid it with the other techniques I used. But the only way to make sure you have amnesia and are not lying to me is by hypnotizing you.”

  “I am not lying. I thought you believed me.”

  “I do, from a personal point of view,” he says. “But I have a job to do.” He points at the door, probably hinting at Major Red’s anger if he doesn’t prove I am an amnesiac. “It should work. Don’t you want to know, June?”

  “How does it work?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not painful,” he says. “In any case, I can’t risk doing it while you’re in this condition. I will need to run a few other tests first. I’d also prefer if you eat and then sleep for a few more hours.”

  At the mention of sleep, I feel my heavy eyelids. My head falls back on the pillow and I feel numb. Then I stare at the glass of water. “You’re sedating me?”

  He nods and helps me lay my head to rest. “It’s for your own good.”

  20

  My eyes flip open…

  I am on my back. I can’t move. My limbs are frozen with fear. It’s dark. Too dark to see anything but silhouettes of moving things. I could be imagining them. I don’t know. My body is in too much pain. I wouldn’t mind going numb now. The smell of blood is everywhere. Some of it runs from my forehead into my eyes. If I could only move a hand and wipe it away…

  Outside I can hear ocean waves, angry and loud, thudding against walls. I try to concentrate; in case I can hear anything else. There is a faint sound, but I can’t quite figure it out. It’s an infrequent sound, like short squeals. I realize I can’t hear it because the loud blare overwhelms all other sounds, even my attempted screams.

  I try to move my back, but it cracks with a surging ache, so I stop, biting my lower lip and tasting the blood in my mouth
.

  I think I see a light in the ceiling. Far away. Either it’s just a small light or I am deep in some kind of a hole. But I am not crazy. The opening in the ceiling exists. I can feel a cold breeze coming from it.

  “Help!” I scream, not minding the blood in my throat.

  My voice is too weak to reach the opening. It comes out hollow, with an unusual echo. Where am I?

  The silhouettes looming over me block the opening. Whatever they are, they don’t speak, but their smell is foul and sweaty. That’s when I realize I can make out the other squealing sound. It’s a girl’s voice. A young girl. My heart stops when I hear her talking to me. None of my pain matters. None of the blood. Not even the silhouettes looming above me.

  The girl says one word: “Mommy!”

  21

  I snap up straight, glad I’ve awakened from such a horrible dream.

  Or was it?

  The bed I’m sitting on feels different. I’ve never seen it before.

  Sweating, I scan the rest of the room. I definitely haven’t been in here before. When I try to stand up, my legs give in and I drop to the floor. The tiles are cold underneath me. They’re much cleaner than the previous room. This feels too real to be a dream. I crane my neck up, and realize I’m in a hospital. A proper one with a normal door and bed. I prop myself up on all fours.

  Where am I? Why have I left Dr. Suffolk’s clinic? Ah, he sedated me. Like everyone else, he played me. Could this room be an extension of his clinic?

  I’m wearing a cleaner hospital gown now. Same lime-green color. I limp toward the door. It has a square window in the middle, but I can’t find a handle to open it.

  What the hell is this?

  Am I some kind of mental patient? Did I imagine all of this, the plane crash and the island?

  I knock on the door. It’s metallic. I call for someone. I ask if anyone can hear me. I doubt it. The room looks like it’s in a normal hospital, but it has too much security to it.

  I rest my ear on the door, hoping I can hear outside. All I get back is a low hum of machinery, as if there’s a loud laundry nearby. This is insane. I turn my back to the door and let my body slide down to the floor.