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

by Nick Twist

  I hear a few beeps, like someone is entering a code. The door vibrates. I crawl away, eyes on the door as I watch it open slowly. Someone walks in.

  It’s not a soldier. Not a nurse soldier. Not Major Red or Dr. Suffolk. It’s actually a girl. A young nurse with a welcoming smile.

  She greets me with a nod. She is beautiful. I feel safe seeing her.

  “Oh, are you feeling okay?” She kneels down to help me up. “Why have you left the bed? Sorry, it’s my fault. I should not have left. I wanted to go check on—”

  She stops talking when I pull her closer to me and hug her tightly.

  22

  The young woman doesn’t mind me hugging her. I am not sure why I am so emotional about meeting her. Maybe because she is the first woman I’ve seen anywhere on this base. I am not sure.

  “I’m Ashlyn,” she says with a laugh while I’m still wrapping my arms around her. “Ashlyn Ward.”

  “June Smith.” I pull back and stretch out a hand while I wipe tears from my cheek with the other. “Nice to meet you, Ashlyn.”

  “Call me Ash.”

  I let Ashlyn help me back to bed. She seems meticulous and caring. She wipes my sweat and tears with a towel, then makes sure I’m tucked in. She checks all kinds of charts and graphs around my bed. I notice a beeping machine in the corner of the room, but return to Ashlyn. She is super pale, with curly blonde hair. Skinnier than me, and almost the same height.

  “I heard you earlier,” she says. “You had a bad dream, I assume.”

  “I did.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s normal. All of Dr. Suffolk’s patients talk under the influence of pills.”

  “Dr. Suffolk?”

  “Of course. He sent you to us.” She keeps writing on a chart. “We’ll prepare you for the hypnosis session, so you can remember.”

  “Who is ‘us’?”

  “Ward Four,” she says. “We have all the details about your condition. You’re practically a hero, I must say. How’d you survive that plane crash?”

  “So I’m still on the island?”

  “You can’t leave in this weather,” She puts the chart aside and sighs.

  “I’ve been told…. I think… It seems I can’t focus on the things told to me.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Ashlyn says. “The sedative Dr. Suffolk gave you—and, of course, the trauma of the plane crash—can cause a few…hallucinations as a side effect. They might last for twenty-four hours or so.”

  I’m not sure what this has to do with my earlier question.

  “You’re a brave girl. Most sole survivors suffer worse. Did you know that there’s a new branch of medicine devoted to handling sole survivors of plane, train, and boat crashes?”

  “I didn’t,” I say, noticing she likes to talk.

  “I advise you to see a psychiatrist once you get home,” she continues. “Just in case you go cuckoo in the head.” She chuckles. “At least, they say that in the books—” She suddenly claps her hands on her mouth. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this. I’m sorry. Mom says I talk too much.”

  “It’s okay. Tell me, Ashlyn. How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “And you’re from…?” My investigative skills, if I have any, are churning.

  “Long Island.” She laces her hands together.

  “How exactly did you end up on this island?”

  Ashlyn unlaces her hands and swallows, her eyes darting sideways. “Let me show you your pills,” she says. “There’s quite a few, and you need to take them on time.”

  23

  Though she won’t give away any secrets, I have a feeling I will like her. It’s not reasonable to think so, but I do. Could it be because she is the only woman I’ve met?

  She reads to me all the medications I am on, a mix of hard-to-spell names with a few undesired side effects. I’m supposed to see Dr. Suffolk tomorrow, so it’s not a big deal. Ashlyn also calls me “big sister” at some point, which is sweet. I can’t imagine why a girl like her works under Major Red’s supervision. It is too soon to ask her about it though.

  It turns out that I am physically tough. Ashlyn shows me a few graphs I don’t quite understand. The short of it is that I am a bit stronger than most women. I am not sure if she is trying to cheer me up, but it’s helping anyway.

  “I like your name,” Ashlyn says. “Very unusual.”

  “I’d like to tell you a great story about my mother and father spending nights and days coming up with it, but I’d be lying to you if I said I could remember.”

  Ashlyn laughs, cupping her mouth, as if she is embarrassed to express herself. “You’re my favorite patient, by far,” she says, checking her watch. “I think you need to get some sleep.”

  She walks to the counter and comes back with a glass of water and two more pills. I take both and raise my head, my eyes meeting hers.

  “What’s wrong?” she says.

  “You’re not sedating me like Dr. Suffolk, are you?”

  “Did he not tell you before he did?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. That’s not like him. He’s such a nice person.”

  “I thought so, too,” I place the pill on my tongue and gulp then tell her something that puzzles me. “I trust you.”

  The smile on her face is a delight to watch. Her cheeks redden, even. She looks away as if embarrassed. Why do I like her so much?

  She takes the glass and helps me lie down. “Everything will be all right,” She kisses my forehead in such a sincere way. I don’t mind it, but I wonder if she is so friendly with all her patients.

  I close my eyes and listen to her typing a code, opening the door, and then leaving. Once the door closes, I hear more beeps. She is locking me in.

  I toss and turn in bed, waiting for sleep. I feel like I’m reading a thriller novel that’s all over the place. Should I be concerned about my past, or the mystery of the island I am trapped on? It’s all blurry in this maze of unexplainable events. Maybe I should seriously worry about my mental health.

  Slowly, I feel myself sink into the linens of my bed. I dream of nothing. Remember nothing. I only drown in the comfort of a temporary death, hoping for a better resolution when I am resurrected.

  Then my eyes flip open again.

  I sit up, not sure how much time has gone by. There are no clocks on the wall. My eyelids feel heavy, and I am not sure what awoke me. Then I remember: I think I sense someone else in the room with me.

  I walk to the door. It’s still locked. Could Ashlyn have come to check on me and then left? Turning around, I glimpse a trail of twilight outside my small window. I feel so disoriented. At least I am sure I am still in the same room in the clinic.

  Then an unusual smell attacks my nostrils. A familiar smell. The smell of that black oil.

  I immediately scan the floor. This can’t be happening again, but there it is. Someone left it by the door, though this isn’t the kind of door you can slip paper underneath.

  There is no envelope this time. Just a crumbled, oil-stained note. The smell of oil is so familiar, but I can’t place its origin. It’s like the oil used for big machines in a factory or something.

  I blink, wishing the note would disappear. Something tells me I can’t handle its contents. It doesn’t disappear.

  Carefully, I scoop it up from the floor, trickles of viscous oil seeping through my fingers. I flatten the note and read it:

  Manfred Toot is on the island. In the Crib. Kill him before he gets his hands on your daughter.

  24

  The early hours of morning show a lighter shade of grey, scored by an eerie melody of drizzling rain in the background. An occasional faint patch of orange sunlight battles its way through, but loses to the imprisoning mist outside my window. I’ve been staring at this gloomy painting for hours now. My arms are wrapped around my bent knees. My body arches forward, as if I’m trying to hug myself. I need to find my daughter, whom I don’t remember and know nothing
about.

  My soul is a surrealist painting of disturbingly confused emotions. It’s not quite love. Not quite regret. Not precisely anger. Only one word sticks out for me: protectiveness.

  I have a child I need to save, or my whole existence as a human being has no meaning. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know anything about her. It doesn’t matter who Toot is and why he wants to kill her. It doesn’t matter who I am. Fuck this island, and fuck my worries. I should have listened to my gut earlier. It told me I have to be somewhere to do something. I’ve wasted so much time not looking for my daughter.

  What if I am too late?

  I spent half the night rapping on and shouting at the door, but, of course, no one listened. Ashlyn must have thought I was asleep. She said she would check on me in the morning.

  How come there is no emergency call button?

  Later, I went to the bathroom, slapped my face with anger, and cursed at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Fuck you, June,” I said. “How could you let this happen?”

  “I couldn’t remember,” my reflection told me.

  “How the fuck can you forget your daughter?” I slammed my hand against the glass, trying to punish her—punish myself. “How can anyone forget their daughter?”

  Part of the night was spent on the bathroom floor, crying and praying. I felt like Jonah in the belly of the whale, imprisoned by regret and asking for forgiveness. How does one expect divine intervention on this godforsaken island? This must be hell, with soldiers in grey outfits belonging to no country in particular.

  Millions of thoughts swirl in my head, but none of the answers matter. This isn’t about figuring out who I am anymore. This is about saving a precious soul. This is about being a mother.

  It’s weird how I can relate to the feeling of motherhood when I can’t remember whose mother I am.

  “Goddammit.” I hit my head against my palms. “What’s my daughter’s name?”

  How does this work? Is it an instinct? How can I know I am a mother when I don’t remember I am a mother? I have no idea.

  I stand up again and ram my body against the door, knowing that it won’t open. I’m punishing myself for being bad. I am trying to kill my pain.

  It all explains my reluctance to answer Dr. Suffolk’s question. It explains my worry and need to be somewhere. It explains the imaginary baby cries—probably my daughter looking for me. It explains my dream. She called me “Mommy.” Does it explain the woman in the sinking seat telling me about “the girl”? It could.

  How old is she? What does she look like? What is she like?

  She is a stranger to me, a dearly departed stranger I would die for. I am not even sure how old she is. Was she on the plane with me? No, I don’t think so. I think she was here on the island. Someone has taken her from me, and I should be looking for her. If so, how could I have expected the plane to crash here? How would I know I’d survive it?

  Reasons and facts don’t matter at all now. I need to find her, or I will go insane. The guilt is eating me up. I have to find a place called the Crib.

  25

  The door to my room hums. Someone is coming. I’ve been waiting for this all night.

  It’s a nurse, not Ashlyn. She greets me with a nod and then sets a tray of breakfast on the table next to my bed.

  “Where is Ashlyn?”

  “She had to do something,” the nurse says. “But she’ll be with you in half an hour.”

  I watch the nurse leave. It occurs to me to escape this room and look for my daughter. It doesn’t seem like much of a plan, though. If I want to find my daughter, I need to be smart. The island is swarming with soldiers who will easily catch me. I need Ashlyn. She is the only one I feel I want to trust. I think she will understand.

  The door clicks to a close, and my whole system turns into survival mode. I start preparing for my mission.

  Yesterday I didn’t care for food, but today I need the energy to begin my search for the Crib. I finish every bit of it and end up licking the sauce on the plate. I gulp the orange juice and half a liter of water, and I feel the glucose rush into my brain. The food tastes bitter, but it’s just a means to an end.

  I pull a chair close to the window, so I can stick my head out as far as I can. I need to have a bird’s-eye view of the island. I need to find the Crib.

  The cold outside bites at my face as I set one foot on the windowsill. I grip the window frame with my hand for balance and stick my head out. There is still nothing I can see through the mist. I only glimpse Ward Four from outside. Such an ugly, Gothic-looking old building.

  I turn and squint harder. I see the bushy expanse of grey silhouettes. I wait for my eyes to adjust to the murkiness, then see the forest in the distance. The camps are in the middle. Some Jeeps and soldiers are scattered all around. Narrow concrete pathways lead to Ward Four.

  Still, there is no way to see the other side of the island from here. The west side? Something tells me the Crib is part of that region. If I’m here to kill a man named Manfred Toot—for whatever reason—and Major Red thinks I am a spy, I don’t think it’s far-fetched to assume Toot works in the Crib.

  But if so, why did they let me live?

  Every interpretation will sound far-fetched at the moment. There is no point in trying to connect the dots. It is still a good idea to try to figure out the sender of the notes. Is it a prisoner on this island? An infiltrator? One of the soldiers? Could it be Ashlyn? She strikes me as too naive to be so sneaky.

  As I am about to pull my head inside, a terrible laugh sounds below by the building’s entrance. It’s Major Red.

  26

  I see him get out of the Jeep on the pathway leading to Ward Four. It’s not hard to spot him, with his immense figure. His heavy feet hit hard on the muddy ground. He is shouting at someone in his gruff voice, as if he has a perpetual cold.

  Whoever he is shouting at, I can’t see them from this angle. I risk my mortality by leaning further out of the window. The window’s ledge is slippery. I might slip and fall if I am not careful. I grip the window’s edges until I gain balance—some balance. It’s like hanging to an airplane’s door while up in the sky.

  My eyes are still fixed on Major Red. Strange how I haven’t lost sight of him with all these acrobatics I’m performing. I’m dizzy from looking down for so long. I blink my lightheadedness away, unreasonably curious about who Major Red is shouting at. Maybe not that unreasonable, since any clue might help in finding my daughter.

  I almost slip when I see who he is shouting at. A nurse.

  Major Red violently twists her arm as the sky cracks with thunder. He taunts her with words full of spit. I can’t make out the words. Neither can I see her face.

  Then he slaps her hard.

  What the fuck?

  The poor girl sways to the left, unable to hold on to something, then spirals down to the ground. She is pretty light. Small. That doesn’t stop him from yelling over her. He is so pissed off.

  Did I see him just kick her and spit on her?

  I am not sure. They’re both now a mesh of silhouettes in the heavy rain. She pleads for forgiveness. I still can’t make out the words. But I can tell.

  I’m dizzying more. I have to get back in or I’m going to fall. I pull myself back in and fall on the bed.

  27

  I wait by the door for half an hour. Partially afraid for Ashlyn’s safety, but mostly worried she won’t come and I will not get help leaving this room.

  Minutes later, Ashlyn enters without saying a word. She only nods with a slight sniff, trying her best to fake a smile. Her face is still wet, but she has changed her outfit. Her pale face is slightly red from the slap and she needs a stitch on the side of her brow too.

  “I saw what happened,” I say.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I saw Major Red hitting you.” I point at the window.

  Ashlyn takes a moment to assess how I climbed out. She knows it’s not an easy task. “You shouldn’t
have done that, June. You could have fallen and died.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I tell her. “Why did he hit you?"

  “He didn’t hit me.” Her naive eyes avoid mine. “You misunderstood what you saw.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I take a step closer to her, acting like a big sister. “But you’re going to tell me.”

  Ashlyn’s eyes widen. She scans my forehead, temples, chin, and then back to my eyes. I feel like she recognizes me from somewhere. Am I famous, like Dr. Suffolk said? Does she know who I am and isn’t telling me?

  “Ashlyn!” I grip her by the shoulders. I realize how fragile she is. Passive, too. She easily swings in my grip.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she says.

  I intensify my gaze, trying to see through her bullshit.

  “Okay.” She sighs. “Major Red was overreacting to the fact that Dr. Suffolk couldn’t confirm whether you’re faking your amnesia.”

  “Yeah? That doesn’t give him the right to hit you. And what do you mean when you say he overreacted?”

  “Everyone’s going to be overreacting today.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the weather.”

  “What’s new about this shitty weather? We’re all trapped here, and I am the most annoyed about it.”

  “It’s getting worse.” Ashlyn tries to shake her shoulders free, but she is too soft, or shy, to do it. “They say the ocean’s levels are rising.”

  I let go of her, not sure I understand what she said. “Rising?”

  Ashlyn’s eyes moisten. “They say there is a possibility of a hurricane. We might die today.”

  I let go of Ashlyn, feeling sorry for being so hard on her. “I’m sorry,” I say, adjusting her collar.