by Nick Twist
“There is still more?”
“Ashlyn got pregnant.”
“This story only gets darker.”
“Bear with me,” she said. “Major Red was going to send her to the Furnace.”
“Apparently, he didn’t.”
“That’s because a fourteen-year old girl had a plan.”
“What plan?”
“To tell the truth to the world, but she didn’t know how or when she could escape, so she had to wait.”
“How wasn’t she sent to the Furnace? Abortion?”
“Major Red didn’t abort girls he planned to send to the Furnace, but he granted Ashlyn an abortion, and kept her alive.” Dr. Hope. “Ashlyn played daddy’s girl, and became his favorite bitch."
103
I wake up in the fissure to the loud blare again. It’s not a dream anymore. I know because I just fell in. I think I’m starting to remember.
My legs have weakened so much I can’t move them. My back is in eternal pain. My left arm hurts and reminds me of my withdrawal symptoms. I can hardly move it. My right arm is squeezed under someone’s body and I can’t pull it from under them.
Water surrounds me everywhere at the bottom of the fissure. The smell of oil attacks me again.
Above, the opening of the fissure shows little light from the moonlight, and a few stars. In the distance, I can hear waves crashing onto the shore.
This is so real. I wonder if all my dreams were some kind of premonition. Did I see the future beforehand?
I’m about to cry for help when I remember Major Red is out there somewhere. I shut up.
One significant difference is that no one calls me mommy. Hell, I can’t reach for my stomach to feel my daughter. If I’ve been only a few days or so pregnant, how did Ryan know she was a girl?
When I crane my neck to look at my stomach, it sends fire down my back. All I see is a car’s tire leaning against the wall. A little to the right I see another tire. This one is still rolling out of a…
I’m in a car?
Half of my body is protruding out of some car. This is why I can’t quite see the fissures opening above. Most of the car’s body blocks the view. How did I fall into a car?
“Let’s make babies,” Major Red roars outside. “I’m coming for you.”
I’m stuck here, unable to move. Soon he’ll climb down this fissure or shoot me from above. I need to find a way out. A drop of water splashes on my face from high above. It smells like shit. It’s not water. It’s Major Red’s sweat.
104
Mercy Medical Center, New York
“Gosh.” Floyd said. “She was only fourteen.”
“She tolerated the addiction, the rape, and seduced Major Red to be his favorite girl, while planning her escape.”
“How did she tolerate the…”
“This is when we come to the crux of my believing in miracles and hope.”
“How so?”
“Soldiers used to honk the cars in the garage when Major Red had his fun. In a small forsaken town, they were celebrating in a ritualistic way.”
“I’m not following you here.”
“The honk sounded like a toot to her. That, and Major Red offering her toots of cocaine, she used the loud blare to block her memory every time she was raped. It’s as if he used the sound of the car’s honk as hypnosis.”
“That’s the strangest thing I have ever heard. She blocked her mind with the toot, and that helped her forget she’s been abused over and over again. This doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
“Not forget,” Dr. Hope said. “She used the sound, and the fact that she was high, to live in another fantasy and tell herself stories.”
Floyd said nothing.
“That’s what she wrote in her book,” Dr. Hope said. “Ashlyn wrote tons of stories in her mind to keep her occupied. It didn’t matter whether they were beautiful or dark stories. What mattered was that…”
“She kept her mind alert enough to survive,” Floyd nodded. “Just like Joan Murray and Juliane Koepcke did,” he sat down, watching August, and almost talking to himself. “Instead of feeling the darkness and hopelessness in her brain, she lied to it by making up stories.”
Dr. Hope didn’t expect him to understand. “I’ve once read that creativity only comes from pain,” she elaborated. “Some artist’s work is so touching because it’s a result of them escaping a trauma. Call it a defense mechanism. Call it whatever you want. It helped her survive three years before she finally escaped.”
“So she did escape.” Floyd smiled.
“Yes, though none of the authorities believed her since Manfred had left town and burned most of the evidence.”
“The fucker is still alive?” Floyd imagined catching him already.
“Who knows. Manfred Toot is a myth to the police. They’ve never caught him, and no one knew where he, or his men, went.”
“She ended up writing this book, using stories of survival of women she admired, plus her own hell of a story in the end,” Floyd said. “That’s why it’s called the last girl. The third story.”
“Or the last girl who made it out of the Furnace,” Dr. Hope said. “Like I said, no one believed the story, so much that the publishers preferred to keep it vague, whether it was true or fiction.”
Floyd held his wife’s hand closer. “I wonder what Ashlyn Ward told you, darling,” he told her. “What did you two talk about?”
“I wouldn’t address her as Ashlyn Ward when talking to August.” Dr. Hope said.
Floyd squinted. “What do you mean? I remember August telling me she met Ashlyn Ward, the author. I actually remember clearly now.”
“That’s because she must have not wanted to expose Ashlyn’s real name?”
“Ashlyn’s real name?”
“Last year Ashlyn confessed her true identity on a TV show,” Dr. Hope said. “She explained the reason why she used a pen name as an author. It’s also called a pseudonym. Many authors do it.”
Floyd picked up the book again. He looked at Ashlyn’s face on the back cover. “That’s not her, then?”
“It is her,” Dr. Hope. “Though she now dyes her hair black and wears piercings and has a lot of tattoos that are not showing in the picture.”
“I’m a bit confused here. Why did she use Ashlyn as a pen name then? Was she afraid Major Red would find her?”
“Major Red disappeared years ago, remember?”
“Then why use the name Ashlyn Ward.”
“Because Ashlyn Ward is her sister,” she said.
“What happened to her sister?”
“Major Red burned her in the Furnace. That’s why she used her sister’s name as her author name. An epitaph, if you like. Out of respect and love, and to immortalize her sister’s short-lived life. She was,” Dr. Hope swallowed hard. “Four years old.”
“Fuck me,” Floyd said. “Then what is the author’s real name?”
“Brooklyn,” Dr. Hope said. “She is known as Brooklyn Ward. Mostly known as Brook Ward”
105
“Brooklyn!” Major Red calls from outside. This time I know why he uses the name. My real name. I am Brooklyn Ward.
Tears roll down my eyes, remembering my dead sister. Remembering my dark past, and what happened in my little town. Flashes of memories attack me one after the other. How I wish I’d never remembered.
“What are you trying to do, Brooklyn?” Major Red stands by the edge of the fissure. “You will never make it.”
“I will not give you what you want.” I say.
“I’ve had it once. I will have it again.” He is climbing down.
All my effort to free myself is in vain. My left arm and legs aren’t helping. I have one last hope. To free my other arm from under the corpse next to me. Who the hell is it?
I force my neck to twist. I think it cracks. I feel like choking, but I have to. The corpse is partially inside the car. I realize half of my body is outside because the door is broken. I must have had som
e kind of accident. I can’t remember this part. It puzzles me how this is related to the plane crash.
Pulling my arm only increases the pain. I think I have to push instead of pull the corpse. If it only rolls over a bit, I can free myself.
Since I’ve twisted my neck, I want to see who it is next to me.
“Don’t look west, darling,” Major Red mocks me on his way down.
I crane my neck a little more. Intolerable pain almost puts me back to sleep. My body is in internal flames. I feel like I’m going to combust from inside out. But I manage to see the person next to me.
“Are you sure you want to look west?”
Then I see who is next me. A man. He is dead. The sight of him forces me into a loud cry.
I can’t believe I’m looking at Ryan.
Pray for me.
I remember now. Ryan is my husband. Sergeant Ryan. The love of my life. What is his last name? Of course…
His name is Ryan West.
106
Somewhere on the island
“Irene!” Jack called for his future wife, as he reached the shores of the island.
He took off his mask and the oxygen tank. He coughed a few times while resting on all fours. The island was too dark. He couldn’t locate Irene anywhere. All he could hear was a loud siren-like sound in the distance.
He should have accompanied her earlier, but he was also glad he didn’t, because he’d discovered something, diving before he arrived.
“Irene,” he called out to the night. “There is no girl on the island.”
Irene didn’t respond.
“Trust me. I know.”
Jack saw Irene’s oxygen tank at the bottom of a hill leading deeper into the island. He wondered if she’d be near the faint sound in the distance.
“Irene,” he called once more. “Please come back.”
Irene still didn’t reply. He worried something happened to her. This place oozed with creepiness.
“Listen,” he said. “She’s not there.” Jack began walking. “I’ve found her. I found her corpse on my dive minutes ago. The last girl is dead. No one made it out alive.”
107
Mercy Medical Center, New York
Floyd patted his wife while Dr. Hope checked her watch again.
“The person you wanted to meet. They’ve not arrived?” He said.
“Actually I’m waiting for Brooklyn Ward.” Dr. Hope said.
“Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“How so?”
“You will understand once she arrives,” Dr. Hope smiled. “It’s the optimistic part of the story you’ve been asking about.”
“Is she coming to see August?”
“I wish, but she doesn’t know August is here.”
“So she’s here to meet you?”
A nurse burst into the room suddenly, “Dr, Hope,” she panted. “There’s been an accident.”
“What accident?”
The nurse caught her breath and said, “You have to come to Ward Nine.”
108
“Get away from me!” I spit out words mixed with mucus and blood.
Major Red is still climbing down. His big frame blocking the light from above. A swarm of memories attack me. My childhood. My town. My sister. The rapes. Over and over again.
I remember the escape. I remember the price I paid for three years to make it out of this town. Damaged with PTSD and insomnia. I could not be with a man for years after. I had jobs like nursing and caring for dying people in hospices. I waited tables when jobs weren’t available. I lived and ate alone. I couldn’t even get a pet, fearing I’d disappoint it like I disappointed my sister. The worst part was my addiction. I stopped many times. Returned more times than I stopped.
At some point I could not pay the rent, and was offered a job as a prostitute. I’m not going to lie. I did it for a week. To my shame, I didn’t stop because I hated it. Sex meant nothing to me anymore. I left the job because I couldn’t let other men have me while I was playing fantasies in my mind anymore. Not because I’d lost the talent to escape the harsh reality into a made-up story in my mind. I couldn’t do it because there was no toot. I couldn’t do it without the honk of the car. My psychiatrist called it an anchor. The sound or word or circumstance associated with a certain act to recall a memory or a feeling.
“June,” Major Red drools on his way down. “Come to daddy.”
A few years later, I met Ryan. He was younger than me. He’d been molested as a child and had a calm demeanor about him. He didn’t want sex. He wanted to be loved. More even, he wanted someone he could love and take care of. I fell in love with him.
Ryan helped me turn my crackhead stories into books. I uploaded them online. Dark books that people resonated with. I never told them about my past, but it showed through in my writing. Finally, I made a living, not by selling books, but by sharing my pain with thousands of people in pain.
“Here I come, little bitch,” Major Red is so close. I can see his face. The diagonal cut I’d given him once when I was fourteen. That was before I became his little bitch.
Ryan was deployed most of the time. That was a bonus. As much as I loved him, as much as I needed him, I was hard to live with. The time spent away helped me. I needed my space, though that was usually when I sank into the cocaine world again. That’s when Ryan had to help me pick up the ashes all over again.
He’d been with me since I was twenty-one. Had I not made money from my pain I sold online, I’d have not survived financially.
Ryan wanted a child. He always did. We still didn’t have sex. I couldn’t do it. Guilt of having aborted a child in my youth haunted me. How could I have a child? What kind of mother was I going to be? What was I going to tell my child about my past?
That’s when I started dying my hair, wearing piercings, and getting more tattoos. I was under the impression that Brooklyn Ward had to die. And to resurrect her, I adopted the identity of my lovely sister. I wrote under the Pen name Ashlyn Ward, the girl who’d never been, and could have been so much.
Major Red’s heavy boots splash onto the ground. He is standing right before me. “I’ll get what I want now,” he smirked.
I can’t move, chained in every way possible. I stare at him, wanting to beg him to not hurt my child. Especially now that I remember it’s not his. It’s Ryan’s. At some point, I finally had the guts to do it and bring a child into the world.
Only we seem to have had an accident.
Major Red kneels down to touch me, and I spit out all the curses I know at him. I’m hysterical. Going mad. I just remembered the rest. Ryan was driving. He insisted he would, as I was not in a position to do so. I remember where we were going.
109
Somewhere on the island
Jack heard Irene call for him. She seemed to have been calling for a while, but he couldn’t hear her because of the loud siren.
“I’m here!” She called. “Come here. You have to see this.”
Jack climbed up the hill. “Did you hear what I just told you. I found the last girl underwater. She is dead.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Irene shouted back. “Just come over.”
Jack saw her stand a few feet up, staring downward. He climbed further and she reached out for him.
“I think you didn’t hear me,” he said. “There is no last girl.”
“Really?” She wasn’t looking at him, but downward.
“I’m sorry, baby. She didn’t make it. I saw her underwater. You were right about her drifting that far.”
“That’s okay!” She knelt down, looking at something.
“There is no one to save, baby.” He stepped up and saw she stood at the edge of a huge fissure in the ground. He could not believe what he was looking at, though he now realized the source of the loud blare.
“Can you see it?” She said.
“What the—” he shouted. “Yes, I can.”
“She needs help.”
“Of course,” Jack said. “Let’s climb down.”
110
Mercy Medical Center, New York
“Ward Nine?” Dr. Hope asked the nurse. “That’s not my ward. That’s the emergency room.”
“We’ll be needing you. I was told to get all the help I can.”
“What’s going on?”
“Brooklyn Ward,” the nurse said.
Floyd almost flinched, holding August’s hand. Did she just spasm a little? He didn’t want to think what August just did was real, and continued listening to the conversation.
“What about her?” Dr. Hope said. “Did she arrive? Wait. What does she have to do with the emergency room?”
“She hasn’t arrived, but we’re preparing for her arrival,” the nurse said. “She had an accident.”
Floyd could not dismiss the twitching in August’s hand now. What was going on?
“Accident?” Dr. Hope tensed.
“She and her husband were driving to the hospital when their car’s axel broke.”
“And?” Dr. Hope held her hands up.
“They fell into a fissure,” the nurse said. “Right by the road leading out of Suffolk County.”
“Suffolk County?” Floyd said, gripping his wife’s hand as hard as he could. “That’s right here.”
“She was coming to check in,” Dr. Hope explained.
“Check in?” Floyd said. “In Ward Four? Neurology?”
“No,” the nurse answered him. “Ward Six. Gynecology. We call it the Crib.”
Suddenly, August’s twitches turned into spasms.
“Baby,” Floyd shrieked. “What’s wrong?”
“Let me see,” Dr. Hope rushed to the bed.