The Last Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist Page 6

  She doesn’t reply. I don’t think she appreciated my fury. I need to fix that. She is my only way out of here, and I still have to persuade her to help me. The sooner the better. If this rising tide is real, I need to find my daughter fast.

  She looks like Major Red might have hurt her after all. “You’re bleeding, Ashlyn.”

  She wipes a thin line of blood trickling down to her cheek.

  “Let me help,” I say, but she steps back. “Listen, I’m really sorry. You said it yourself: I am under the influence of drugs, and I have been under a lot of pressure. But please, don’t stop me from making up for it.”

  The expression on her face changes to that of a sympathetic nurse again. God, she is so nice.

  “You know how to stitch a wound?” she asks. “I don’t want the other nurses to see this.”

  “I thought you were nursing me,” I tease her. “I’ll try my best.”

  28

  Ashlyn goes and gets supplies. She’s away for only a few minutes while I take another look at the names of medicines prescribed to me. None of them are recognizable to me. I only realize I’ve been injected too many times. My left arm hurts as I read the chart, so I put it down. I wonder what kind of injury is there underneath the bandages. It would be foolish if I remove them on my own. It could be a serious injury. It could be contaminated. The real issue isn’t the pain. It’s when I got the bandage. In Ward Four or earlier?

  “All done,” Ashlyn says. I haven’t noticed her entry, nor have I heard the door open. “I brought an anesthetic, but then it’s just a small cut. We can do without it. Here are the needle and thread.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. “Do you have any idea about my bandaged arm?”

  “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” she chews on the words, heading for the bathroom. “Come on. I’d better have you stitch in front of the mirror. I can guide you.”

  “Yeah, but my arm. What kind of injury is it?”

  “Um… I have to check. It doesn’t say in the charts. Probably cuts from the accident.”

  “Accident? You mean the crash?”

  “Yes. Come on.”

  I give up. My arm isn’t my biggest concern after all, as long as it doesn’t hurt.

  In the bathroom, both Ashlyn and I are astonished at my stitching skills—if that’s really a skill. She jokes that I may be a nurse in my forgotten life. I surely hope so. It wouldn’t explain the gun in my fanny pack, but I’d like to end up being a good person who helps others instead of hurting them.

  “Can I ask you a question, Ashlyn?”

  “I’ll answer if I’m allowed to.” Her neck is uncomfortably craned under my hands.

  “I am not asking much. I only want to know the location of a place.”

  “As long as it has nothing to do with the west side of the island.”

  “Of course not,” I say. “It’s a place called…the Crib?”

  “Is that here on the island?”

  Her answer is abrupt. She didn’t even give it a thought.

  “Yes. Please, Ashlyn, I need to get there.”

  “How did you hear about it?”

  “Um… I heard some soldiers talk about it?”

  “I am really sorry, I—”

  Ashlyn’s voice cuts off mid word. She starts to choke in pain. It takes me a while to realize it’s because of me. The inner me, the true essence of who I really am, is pulling on the needle tight enough to make her want to scream. I did it without realizing.

  29

  Ashlyn weeps in my arms like a baby. I loosen my hand on the needle and bounce back against the bathroom wall. It’s too late to apologize to her again. I slide down against the door. Ashlyn stands up.

  She turns the shower on and says, “I want to help you.” Her words surprise me, as I watch her bleeding from the stitch. “I really do. But you have to know how much I will risk doing this.”

  The shower is noisy, and I can’t hear well. But then I realize she has turned it on so no one hears us.

  “You don’t have to, Ashlyn.” I scan the bathroom, looking for surveillance cameras or microphones.

  “Listen to me.” She almost mouths the words, barely uttering them. “I am not angry with you. I know how much medication and stress you’re under.” She kneels and faces me. “I’m just a teenager from a small community in Long Island who accepted a mysterious job on this island for a lot of money. I need it to escape my stepfather’s hell and go live on my own somewhere.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that—” I wonder if she wants to elaborate on her stepfather.

  “Shut up.” Even when she’s angry, she is barely angry. “You were not meant to know any of this. My problems are my problems, not yours. I don’t want your sympathy.”

  “I respect that.” I lower my eyes.

  “Look at me.” She grits her teeth, eyes slightly darting upward. I follow her glance but can’t see a camera or microphone. “Like I said, I took the job for the money. One year on an island in the middle of the Atlantic. I wasn’t allowed to see where they were taking me in that chopper that flew me here. The deal was to take the training as a nurse, do my job, and never ask questions. There are a few other rules I have to abide by. One of them is to never leave the building.”

  “Is that why Major Red hit you?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’m only supposed to leave when I complete my training. This clinic isn’t the main business on this island. I hadn’t even left. I was just smoking a cigarette in the hall when it occurred to me to look outside, out of curiosity. I am not supposed to do that. Stay in the building until I leave with my check. I’m not supposed to tell you any of that.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  “Because I think this place stinks,” she says. “I can’t figure out why, but I’ve heard stories.”

  “Like what?”

  “A lot of scary stories. Do you want to know why I was tempted to look outside today?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I heard a baby’s cries, June,” she says. “Just like you reported when you first came to Ward Four.”

  30

  I need a minute to think about this. Though I haven’t yet told Ashlyn about my daughter, I remember that I only heard the baby’s cries once. In the forest. So I wasn’t imagining that.

  “Is that the first time you heard them?” I say.

  “No. I hear the cries all the time, ever since I first came here. The other nurses, too, but we’re all bound by the contract to mind our own business, or we don’t get paid.”

  “But you’re sure the cries don’t come from Ward Four itself?”

  “That’s unlikely. I think it’s coming from another place, probably the west side of the island,” she says.

  “Why unlikely?”

  “The part of the shore you arrived from is the closest to the western side, and you heard the cries nearby.”

  “Is that so?” I try to draw a mental map of the island but can’t. “What do you think is happening here, Ashlyn?”

  “I have no idea. It’s a military base, so it doesn’t make sense.”

  “And you said you’re a trainee?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the nurses who finish training are sent to another place on the island.”

  “True. I doubt Major Red will send me there after today. He is very unforgiving.”

  “Did any of the nurses return and tell you what their job was?”

  She shakes her head. “They never return. It’s said they go back home once their job is done.”

  “What is your training here?”

  “Just how to take care of women in need, medically, and psychologically.”

  “Only women?”

  “All women. Most of them are volunteers. You’re the first real patient on this floor.”

  I try not to feel overwhelmed with information. It scares me to try and interpret what’s going on. It scares me to think something bad is going to happen to my daughter. Even if my fi
rst impressions about Ashlyn allowed me to trust her, I have to rethink it for a moment. My heart says she is the kindest person I will meet here, but I have to ask her, “Ashlyn, why are you helping me?

  She swallows hard. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard about the Crib.”

  “Others mentioned it?”

  “I’ve heard stories about a nurse leaving in the middle of the night to trace the origin of the baby cries. She never came back. Rumors about a place called the Crib have been around since.”

  Babies cries. My daughter. And a place called the Crib. None of this sounds promising. It’s unnerving.

  “So what do you actually know about the Crib?” I ask.

  “Only rumors. I was going to ask you what you know about it.”

  I pull out the oily note and show it to her. As she takes it in her hands, I follow her eyes. Either she is a phenomenal actor or she hasn’t seen it before. As she reads, I begin to explain what’s been happening to me since I arrived.

  “I thought it could’ve been you for a moment,” I say.

  “Me? I didn’t send it. Why is it written in oil?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “It’s car oil,” she says. “My parents have a car in Long Island. It used to leak the same oil, so I recognize it.”

  “Does all car oil have the same smell?”

  “I don’t think so, but this one is the same as mine. It’s not that unusual. The point is, why not write in ink? It’s not like whoever sent this had no means to write it in a normal way.”

  “You have a point.” I take another look at the note. “Does this yellow note mean anything to you?”

  “No, why?”

  “Is it something you maybe use in the office outside?”

  Ashlyn scratches her arm. “I have to check. Do you think it’s one of the nurses who’s sending you the notes?”

  “Or one of the soldiers.”

  She peeks over my shoulder into the room. “You know how hard it is to get into this room?”

  “I can imagine. Who else has the code?”

  “Many of us. Nurses. Dr. Suffolk,” she says. “You think it’s him?”

  “Not after he sedated me.” I rub my chin. “The only other option is that someone is coming in through the window.”

  “It’s very dangerous to do that.”

  “I know. I almost fell earlier.”

  “The real question is why, June,” Ashlyn says. “Why help you? And why not confront you?” She hesitates. “Are you really a dangerous person?”

  “I don’t know.” I lower my eyes. “I mean you saw how I hurt you with the stitches. Maybe I am evil inside.”

  “No, you’re not,” she says. “I don’t believe that.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I mumble. “But even if you’re not, I don’t care. All I want is to find and protect my daughter.”

  Ashlyn holds my hands in hers, like Dr. Suffolk did earlier. “We need to get you to the Crib.”

  “How?”

  “I think I know someone who knows.”

  31

  The plan is risky, Ashlyn admits. I don’t care. I will do whatever it takes to find the Crib, even if it kills me. The storm will kill us all anyway.

  It’s Ashlyn I am worried about. Though she is determined to help me, I’m just not sure she is up to it.

  She leaves the room for a few minutes then returns with a nurse’s outfit and a pair of Crocs. The uniform is two sizes too big, but I put it and the Crocs on.

  “You have to get out alone, without me, just like a regular nurse,” Ashlyn says, standing by the door. “No one should doubt your identity. We’re a dime a dozen here, and none of us cares to know about the others. It’s all about the paycheck. When we see or hear something we don’t like, we look the other way and get the job done.”

  “But some of the nurses must have seen me coming in,” I say. “They’ll know I’m not a nurse.”

  “Only Dr. Suffolk and me saw you. I don’t know why, but those were the instructions. You’re kinda special, June.”

  I nod. I’d rather be ordinary and know who I am than a special snowflake with no memories.

  “I’m keeping the door unlocked,” Ashlyn says. “When you leave, close the door behind you. It’s unlikely other nurses will check on you before three hours.”

  “Why?”

  “Injection time.”

  “What injection is this? Some kind of sedative?”

  “Doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that no one will notice your absence for a while. Once you get to the corridor, walk casually to your right until you see the elevator. Take it up to the sixth floor.” She hands me the chart from my bed. “Take this. It should complete the picture.”

  “Okay.”

  “If anyone asks you about your destination, you say, ‘It’s my turn to check on Meredith.’”

  “Meredith?”

  “The woman we’re going to see.”

  “The one who knows about the Crib.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ashlyn says. “Every single story about it, trust me.”

  “Thank you, Ashlyn.”

  “Ash.”

  “Sorry. Thank you, Ash.”

  “That’s it.” She smiles. “Ah, I almost forgot. Take this.” She pins a nametag on my outfit. “I stole it from her locker.”

  “Brooklyn?”

  “A newcomer. She was supposed to arrive yesterday but didn’t. Don’t worry, I just faked her signature as ‘arrived.’ It will take some time before someone notices.”

  “This Brooklyn is almost six feet tall.” I point at my oversized outfit.

  “Complaining much?” Ashlyn grins childishly. She is excited about the coming adventure. “I’ll leave now. Wait five minutes and do as I told you. See you on the sixth floor.”

  I watch her leave.

  Five minutes later, I open the door and step out. This is a much different place than the other parts of the island I’ve seen. The corridor has a modern look to it, with white ceramic walls and black and white tiles. The light is fluorescent white and reflects annoyingly off the floor. But it’s all good, since I can’t see anyone walking by.

  I walk briskly at first, then remember to make it look like I’m just strolling by doing a boring job. My Crocs squeak against the floor, though. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. I’d prefer to make no sound, so I walk even slower.

  The rooms on both sides are sealed shut. I can see a code pad on each of the metallic doors. There is nothing hanging on the walls. No charts, ads, or bulletin boards. Plain white walls. The place is too neat and clean, and smells of lavender, I guess.

  I reach the elevator and press the button. While waiting, I resist the urge to tap my foot or bite my nails.

  The elevator chugs to a stop, but the door doesn’t open right away. I feel like I’m missing my gun. Taking a cautious step back, I watch the doors open. No one’s inside.

  I get in and push the button for the sixth floor. It’s the highest. The door takes too long to close. I push the close button again. It’s not working. I tap my foot and push the button again. A sudden smell of cigarette smoke attacks me as the door finally starts to slides to a close. Do they smoke in here?

  Then I realize what it is. A rugged hand stops the elevator doors from closing.

  32

  A soldier stands before me. With my back to the wall, I am not sure what I should do. He greets me with a dismissive nod and steps inside, taking up space, so much so that I am obliged to move a little to the left.

  He stares at the set of buttons but doesn’t press any. The door closes. The elevator takes off.

  He stands with his back to the opposite wall, checking me out from top to bottom. I look away, wondering if he recognizes I’m not Brooklyn.

  “Meredith again?” he says.

  I nod, not looking up.

  “I wish that old whore would die.” He taps his foot on the floor.

  I shrug.

  “I bet you heard all
her delusional stories a million times by now, eh?”

  I nod again, briefly meeting his eyes. I feel I should talk. It’s not natural if I don’t reply, but my tongue is tied.

  “All this fiction that comes out of her mouth,” he says. “I once heard Dr. Suffolk say she only talks to stay alive.”

  “She does?” I try to sound loose, imaging I’m a flirty nurse, loudly chewing a piece of bubble gum. I’m under the impression it’s what he expects from me, and I don’t want to be exposed.

  “He said some gibberish about old people feeding on their old memories to stay alive. So much that most of their memories aren’t real but weirdly mixed with fiction.”

  I’m getting my information from a delusional woman? “How would making up stories help her stay alive?”

  “You asking me?” He scoffed. “Ask Dr. Suffolk. I think he mentioned it stirs up the mind and prevents it from withering away while we age. Fuck it, I hate Ward Four” He sighs, looking up. “Everyone in this building is insane.”

  “Tell me about it.” I roll my eyes, playing with my hair.

  “What would you like me to tell you?” His voice changes, as if purring like a cat. He scans my body from top to bottom like Major Red. I guess my flirtatious vibe is a mistake. Why did I even do it? “We got us a blondie here.” He rests both hands on his thick belt, licking his lips.

  “I’m not blonde—”

  “Rarely do I see such a beautiful nurse in this building of lunatics.”

  “Thanks.” I plaster a fake smile on my lips. I could ask him questions, but that would interfere with Ashlyn’s plan.

  “I bet you’d like to get out of here too,” he continues.

  Damn this elevator. Why is it taking so long?

  “I could help you leave Ward Four and get to the other facilities, Brooklyn.” He grins, staring at my name tag, and probably my chest. “Pays better.”

  You have got my attention, soldier. Sorry, Ashlyn, but I have to ask him. “Other facilities?”

  “Uh-huh.” He shoots me another head-to-toe look. “All you need is a soldier boyfriend.”