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

by Nick Twist

  She took the jump. Jack had to follow, looking for the last girl.

  Higher in the sky, Karl Dixon watched them with his binoculars and muttered, “Stupid millennials. They think they can change the world.”

  84

  “Miss June!”

  I’m back in the real world. Someone is calling for me. The voice is coming from outside my bathroom door.

  I’m still standing, looking at my hand. This daydream, whatever it is, hasn’t change my mind in the least. Whatever story it suggests, I’m not sure I want to know.

  “Miss June.” The voice outside is a man’s.

  I stare at the glass’ sharp edge. It’s close enough to my wrist. I could just cut and forget about everything.

  “I have something to show you.”

  My hands are trembling.

  “It’s important.”

  I remind myself that I should trust no one on this island.

  “It’s Ryan. Sergeant Ryan, remember me?”

  My hands stop. Hang on, June. I’ll take care of you, he told me when I first arrived here. A false promise.

  “Please open the door.”

  I can ask him what he wants. What this is all about. Only if I can trust him. Where has he been all this time?

  “I’ve got your Kindle.”

  Yeah? There is no Kindle. I must have made it up. Another item I borrowed from my life and used in my fabricated story. It has to be. Maybe they offered me a Kindle here in my isolated room so I could pass the time reading. It’s not far-fetched to assume I love reading. I’m probably a hell of a fiction reader who read hundreds of fantasies and decided to create my own. A lonely addict girl in a hospital room for life. What can she do but imagine, make up stories, believe them?

  “We’ve figured out the password,” Ryan says. “Don’t you want to know what’s inside?”

  Here we go again. It’s all in my head. I’m not wasting time now. I’ve been like a pendulum rocking between reality and fiction. I have no strength to rock anymore.

  “June?” Ryan says. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  I wish he would go away. Killing myself is a private matter. I’m not comfortable doing it while he is behind the door.

  “Listen to me,” he says. “I have no time. I’m not supposed to contact you.”

  A question pops in my head: is Ryan even real, or is this the part of my brain that cares about my survival, trying to stop me from dying?

  “They were worried you kept secrets in the Kindle, but found none. I made up an excuse to pass it on to you. I wanted to see you.”

  Dammit. My cocaine head is a genius storyteller. Why is it doing this? Do I need another fix? I decide to oppose it. There is no Ryan.

  “Please let me in,” the fictional Ryan insists. “I can help you.”

  Breathe, June, just breathe, I tell myself. If I breathe, the voices in my head will leave me alone and I can just end this.

  “Open the door, June.” My fictional Ryan won’t leave me alone. “Whatever they told you, it’s not true.”

  Have I broken the mirror? I feel so dizzy, staring at a black future.

  “Your daughter is so close,” The fictional Ryan says. “Closer than you could even imagine.”

  My hand freezes. The noises in my head subside. A hollow silence fills my world. I can hear the droplets of blood from my forehead falling into the sink.

  I admit that I want to believe his words, the same Adriana said earlier. My fictional characters are giving me too much hope. It puzzles me how real it feels.

  “Open the door, June,” Ryan insists. “I’m real. You’re not crazy. You’re troubled, but I can help you. You’ve been through so much. I should’ve helped you from the beginning.”

  I glance sideways at the door. My eyes slide down to the bottom. I see someone’s shadow underneath.

  I turn sideways and reach for the doorknob. I twist slowly with both anticipation and fear.

  A fluorescent light pools in through the slightly ajar door, spanning wider as I pull it open.

  Sergeant Ryan—I don’t know his last name—stands in front of me. He is alone. No one else is in the room. A look of shock dawns on him when he sees me naked. I don’t feel naked. I feel fucked up. His stare stops at the shard of glass in my hand.

  Holding my Kindle in his hand, he sighs long and hard. “God help us,” he says. “I caught you in the last minute before you…”

  “What makes you think I won’t kill myself?” I say. “I only wanted to make sure you’re real, that you actually told me that my daughter is closer than I could imagine.”

  “She is.”

  “My daughter is dead. Abortion when I was a fourteen-year-old crackhead.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I’m not fully aware of your history, but I heard it happened.”

  “Then why are you fucking with my mind?”

  “I’m not. You have another daughter.”

  I try not to give in to another plot twist in my shattered reality.

  “Adriana was right. Your other daughter is closer to you than you think.”

  “Adriana isn’t real.”

  “She may not be true, but it doesn’t change the fact you have another daughter, here on the island.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Look.” He points at my wristband. “What does it say?”

  “Ready.”

  “Do you get it?”

  “I don’t.”

  Ryan reaches for my naked body with his hand. I should have known he was another pervert. I’m not sure why I let him, though. He reaches for my stomach and gently rests his palm upon it. His hands are warm. He slowly smiles, not with his mouth, but with his eyes. It’s a genuine smile. “Your daughter is closer to you than you could even imagine.”

  85

  Mercy Medical Center, New York

  Dr. Hope had to answer a few questions from a nurse before she returned to Floyd. At first, he watched August breathe in her sleep. He wondered if she actually felt better. Or was this whole reading thing Dr. Hope’s way to calm him down. He knew some doctors used all kinds of psychological tricks to keep people from panicking. He did the same, lying to families of the deceased passengers to help them cope.

  He tapped the book in his hand and wondered if this was what fiction was all about. A legal way to blow off steam. To immerse oneself in the emotions we sought day after day. To escape reality and heal our wounded souls. To recharge our human batteries by hypnotizing ourselves into believing the unbelievable.

  He thought about stories of revenge, superheroes, and the impossible.

  In his line of work, he’d learned that the basis of human evolution was based on imagination, from paintings on the inner walls of caves to the quest of living on Mars. He’d also learned imagination had its dark side. Terrorists and extremists were as immersed in their imagination, only darker ones that permitted them to kill others based on differences, race, and hierarchies.

  “I’m back,” Dr. Hope said. “I have little time. They’ll need me somewhere else soon.”

  “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,” he said. “So how come this book isn’t fiction?”

  “Ah, that,” she said. “I suppose you didn’t read the back cover.”

  “I did—only now.”

  “Most people think it’s fiction at first. Somehow the publishers shied away from mentioning it’s a true story—stories.”

  “That’s odd. I can only imagine true stories sell more.”

  “Not if they’re borderline unbelievable. People didn’t think the survival stories in this book were. People tend to resist believing in miracles.”

  “So truth is stranger than fiction, after all.” He tapped the book.

  “Surprised? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Never give up hope.”

  Floyd smiled. Not so much in agreement, but hope. “So what happened to Juliane Koepcke?”

  “Lik
e you read. She became a mammologist, and she is still alive and kicking at sixty-something.”

  “Such a joy of a story. She must appreciate life like no one else.”

  “Just a German girl who survived LANSA Flight 508,” Dr. Hope announced proudly, as if Juliane were her best friend. “And it happened so many years ago, in 1945.”

  “Nineteen forty-five?”

  “Oh, wait.” She adjusted her glasses. “No, I meant 1971. I tend to mix up dates sometimes—too much work. It’s one of my favorite survival stories, though. I teach it in my lectures.”

  “I assume her survival is considered a one-of-a-kind miracle.”

  “Not just that. I teach it for the same purpose I want you to read to August.”

  “I see.” Floyd grimaced.

  “I know you’re still skeptical, but Juliane survived her desolation and fear by remembering stories—or making some up.”

  “To keep the mind alive.” Floyd chewed on the words.

  “The mind and heart and body are connected, Mr. Floyd.” Dr. Hope laughed at his stubbornness. “Did you read the second story in the book yet?”

  “No. Is it as heroic as the first?”

  “Not heroic. Miraculous.”

  “Another girl?”

  “Joan Murray,” she said.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Are you sure you want me to spoil it for you?”

  “I don’t mind. I intend to read the actual articles and facts later.”

  “If you say so. Joan Murray was on another plane. She was a seasoned parachutist.” Dr. Hope smiled. “Her parachute gave up on her and she free-fell to the ground at eighty-one miles per hour.”

  “That’s certain death.” He tilted his head.

  “She didn’t die.”

  Floyd scoffed. “That’s impossible.”

  “Impossible is not in the dictionary of miracles.”

  “I’m in the FBI, Dr. Hope. I’ve parachuted. My men parachute. I see brave men die all the time if their parachutes give up on them—the best they can hope for is a wheelchair and good insurance.”

  “It’s in the book, and you can do your research. Joan and Juliane are real.”

  Floyd sighed. “What can I say? I will definitely check the authenticity of these stories. How did Joan survive, then?”

  “Ants.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fire ants.”

  “I’d prefer if you explain.”

  “Joan landed on a mound of over three thousand fire ants that stung her repeatedly.”

  “So?” Floyd squinted.

  “You’re an experienced man. What happens if thousands of ants sting you?”

  “You die? Not to mention that she should have already been dead—”

  “That’s only one possibility,” Dr. Hope interrupted. “The other possibility is that the ants’ stings elevated Joan’s adrenalin levels, enough to generate unmatched strength and resilience in her body.”

  “Is that what happened?”

  Dr. Hope nodded. Proud again.

  “That’s unheard of, Dr. Hope. You’re a scientist. You know better.”

  “I should, but part of my core still believes in the impossible. I accept the fact that science does not necessarily always shape the world’s events when humans are involved.”

  “We’re not a special species, Dr. Hope.”

  “Really?” She glanced at the TV set. “Then why are two of your young divers risking their lives to save one girl?

  Floyd said nothing.

  “The fear and adrenalin kept Joan’s heart beating,” Dr. Hope continued.

  “Enough to keep her alive?”

  “Enough to survive certain death...”

  “How long was it before someone came to her rescue?”

  “Six hours.”

  “Not as long as Juliane.” He threw a glance at his silent mobile by the chair. Why hadn’t Dixon called yet?

  “Joan’s battle with the fire ants is only part of her story.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Her real battle came later.”

  “I assume she was badly injured.”

  “Terribly. Fractured bones. It’s not like she survived this without a scratch, like in a superhero movie,” Dr. Hope said. “But that, too, wasn’t her real battle.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “Joan’s real battle was when she ended up in a coma.”

  Floyd looked into Dr. Hope’s eyes, almost as if investigating her, trying to asses if this was a joke.

  “Skeptical still?”

  “Did Joan Murray wake up from the coma?”

  “It took her three years, just like August.”

  “She actually woke up?”

  “And raised two beautiful daughters,” Dr. Hope said with hands in her pockets. Her eyes smiled at him.

  Silence saturated the room for a while. Floyd wanted to look back at his wife, but preferred to keep his eyes on Dr. Hope, wondering if she would flinch. If she was telling lies. He wondered if her last name was actually Hope, not a scheme she used to help with her profession.

  Dr. Hope didn’t flinch. She seemed like a normal citizen. She was telling the truth.

  Floyd swallowed hard. “Did someone read to Joan in her coma?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Hope’s smiled broadened. “Her husband did. A favorite book of hers.”

  86

  The shard of mirror drops to the ceramic floor and shatters into splinters, the same way lies scatter all over the place when the truth is revealed.

  “I’m pregnant?” I say to Ryan. “Really?”

  Instead of answering me, Ryan pushes me back into the bathroom and follows me inside.

  I don’t resist him, glimpsing two nurses entering the room as he closes the door behind him.

  “Miss June, are you ready?” one of the nurses calls.

  Ryan shushes me, whispering in my ear, “Tell her you need a minute.”

  I don’t question him. I’m in enough of a trance to submit to whatever he suggests. I’ve been looking for my daughter for so long, and she is inside me. How is that even possible?

  “Tell her,” he repeats.

  “I need a minute!” I shout back.

  “One minute,” the nurse says. “We’re waiting. It’s time.”

  I look at Ryan. “Time for what?”

  “Get dressed.” Ryan hands me my gown to put on. “Why is it so wet?”

  “That’s not it.” I point at the spare gown hanging on the wall. “That’s the one.”

  It’s strange how I don’t shy away from him seeing me naked. Stranger still is how I feel normal about it. I put on the gown. “You have to tell me more. How am I pregnant? Why do they want my baby?”

  “We’ve got no time,” Ryan says, glancing at the door. “Take this.” He shoves the Kindle into my hands.

  “Why is this important now?”

  “I’ll come to that,” he says. “There is so much I can’t explain. I don’t have all the answers. I can only help you and your daughter.”

  “How long have I been pregnant?” I demand. “Will they take my child and burn me in the Furnace?”

  “Shut up and listen to me,” he says, glancing at the door again. “Just think about saving yourself and your daughter now.”

  I also glance at the door. How much of a minute has passed already? “How?”

  “You have to get to the submarine by the shore.”

  “The submarine? It’s real? Ashlyn is real?”

  “You’ve been near it before, so you should find your way. I can’t help you with that.” He catches his breath. “There is fissure. A big fissure in the ground. It’s next to the main road where the Jeeps drive.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s big. Be careful not to fall in. The fissure is a landmark for the exact location of the submarine. You walk around it and head to the shore. Someone will be waiting for you. They will help you escape this island.”

  “In this
weather?”

  “That’s why it’s a submarine. Get to the dock. Save yourself and your daughter.”

  The nurse calls from outside, “June. It’s time.”

  “How am I going to leave with the nurses outside?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Ryan points at the broken mirror.

  I try not to shriek or wonder or question the possibility of what I’m looking at. I wonder how I didn’t see it earlier. There is an open groove inside the wall behind the mirror, big enough to crawl through.

  “All I needed was to break the mirror earlier?” I mumble.

  “It’s not a long crawl,” Ryan says. “It gets you straight to the road leading to the forest by the shore. Good luck.”

  I head to it without thinking, pulling out the pieces of the mirror left hanging to the frame. “What about you, Ryan?”

  “I’ll keep them busy for a while. It will buy you time.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Ryan hesitates. “Because…”

  The nurses begin rapping on the door.

  “Because of?” I don’t think I can leave without knowing.

  Ryan looks downward and taps his foot like a shy kid. “I like you,” he says softly.

  “You…” I don’t know what to say or feel. “…do?”

  “I know you don’t remember, but I always did,” he says.

  “June!” The nurse’s tone changes. “Don’t force us to break this door. What are you doing?”

  In an awkward position, I hurriedly climb over the sink and look into the opening, trying to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Whatever Ryan just said will take too long to explain. Neither of us has the time. The light I’m looking for is absent in the tunnel, but the scene brings back memories of me underwater, looking at the orange light beyond the surface. It also reminds me of the gap atop the place I’m trapped inside my dreams. It puzzles me how all of this is connected.

  “Here.” Ryan shoves the Kindle in my hand. “Use it as a flashlight. It’s not much, but it can help. I’ve disabled password protection, so it’s good to go.”

  I take it and throw one last glance at Ryan. “Thank you.”