Girl Eight: A Mercy Harbor Thriller

by Melinda Woodhall

  Girl Eight

  A Mercy Harbor Thriller: Book Two

  Melinda Woodhall

  Girl Eight Copyright © 2019 by Melinda Woodhall. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Michael Rehder

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Melinda Woodhall

  Visit my website at www.melindawoodhall.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: March 2019

  Creative Magnolia

  For Melissa Jean and Melanie Dee

  Chapter One

  Ace stepped into the bright blue September morning and smiled; it was a perfect day to take the girl out to the farm. He strode across the brown lawn, the grass still dry and brittle after one of the hottest summers in Florida’s history, and unbolted the garage door.

  Stale, silent air greeted him. He paused, listening for any sound from above. Although he knew the room was securely locked and completely soundproof, he always took time to assess the situation before climbing the steep wooden stairs and unbolting the steel door. He liked to think his past reconnaissance training still came in handy after all these years.

  Fiona Walsh was huddled on the bed in the corner as usual, her once-glossy red hair hanging in limp, dull strands around her shoulders. She didn’t look up as Ace walked in and turned on the light. The girl’s pale blue eyes were numb, lifeless. She kept them trained on the ground as he considered her thin form.

  Yes, definitely time to give up on this one. She’s lasted longer than most, but the thrill is gone.

  His eyes moved to a collection of photos taped to the far wall. The photos were labeled one through six. Each had been taken in the same shabby room, and each contained an image of a different terrified girl.

  “Today’s the day you make it onto the wall of fame.”

  Ace pulled out the photo he’d taken when Fiona had woken up in the room for the first time. She had been sitting on the same bed, the raw fear in her eyes matching that of the girls in the other photos.

  Ace had already labeled her photo with a large number seven written in black marker. He taped the picture next to the others.

  “I’m thinking seven must be your lucky number.”

  He produced a coarse laugh, and the raspy sound finally prompted a reaction. Fiona looked up with a start, as if awakening from a bad dream, and sprang from the bed without warning, her fingers clawing at his eyes.

  “Whoa, there now, girl!” Ace shouted, losing his balance as a ragged fingernail scratched a bloody line along his cheek.

  He easily captured her thin wrists and pushed her back onto the bare mattress. As she scrambled to get up, preparing to renew her attack, Ace stepped back toward the middle of the room.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, knowing the shackle around Fiona’s ankle would save him from further injury. A drop of blood dripped from the scratch on his cheek and a red splotch appeared on his tan work boot.

  He wiped the blood off his face with the back of his hand, angry at himself for letting his guard down.

  The steel chain rattled against the rough wooden floor, then abruptly fell silent. She’d given up quickly this time. Her energy was running low, along with her will to resist.

  Ace figured that was for the best. He enjoyed the challenge of breaking a new girl’s spirit, but this girl’s time was up; she’d been in the room for months now, and the novelty had worn off.

  Besides, he needed the room free for the next girl.

  Ace felt his pulse quicken at the memory of Doc’s phone call the previous evening. Doc said he’d found a new girl that matched their strict criteria perfectly. If all went to plan, girl eight would be delivered within the next few weeks.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ace. You’ve got work to do here first.

  He sighed, knowing he had to dispose of the girl in front of him before he could move on to the next one. And the trip out to the old farm was always dangerous. There was always the chance he’d be seen; the chance he’d finally get caught red-handed after flying under the radar for so long.

  One careless mistake and I’ll end up in a cell over in Raiford in no time.

  He needed to neutralize the girl before he attempted to take her outside. If given the chance she would alert the whole neighborhood that he’d been keeping her in the room above the garage.

  No one had ever suspected the detached building held anything other than his old truck, the usual tools and lawn equipment, and a few cobwebs. No need to start raising questions now.

  The citizens of Willow Bay were still reeling from a recent series of murders that had stunned the usually quiet town. Although the killer had been caught, many of the people in town were still on alert, expecting the boogey man to jump out at any minute.

  Luckily for Ace, Doc had provided the perfect solution. It was a solution the girl would never be able to resist.

  Ace reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. He dangled it in front of her, taunting her with the handful of white pills that rested at the bottom of the bag.

  “I brought you some more candy, girl. Although I really shouldn’t let you have it, seeing that you attacked me.”

  “My name’s not girl. My name’s Fiona. And I don’t want your pills. I just want to go home. Please, just let me go home. I promise, I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done. I’ll disappear and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  She’d gotten the last part right, but the first part, well that wasn’t possible. He’d made the mistake of letting girls go before, and it never ended well. Eventually he’d learned his lesson.

  Always bury the evidence. That way it’ll never come back to haunt you.

  Ace walked forward, bracing himself against another sudden attack. The floor creaked under his thick-soled boots as he approached and shoved the plastic bag at the girl, who now lay limp and weak on the bed.

  “Don’t act like you don’t want ‘em.”

  He waited for her to take the bag, impatient to get on the road. The day would only get hotter, and there was work to do.

  Just as he had started to think he’d have to do it the hard way, she lifted a small shaking hand and took the bag.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The truck rattled along a narrow dirt road that led up to what remained of the old dairy farm. A faded Willow Bay Dairy sign leaned against the only structure still standing on the parcel of land that had been in Ace’s family since the 1950s. The tin-roofed stable had functioned as a milking parlor with eight roomy stalls. The thin wooden walls and rusty roof had somehow withstood decades of blistering heat, frequent thunderstorms and the occasional hurricane.

  Ace circled the stable and then parked in the back, before scouting the surrounding area thoroughly. All was quiet. No signs of trespassing in the overgrown pastures or dense clusters of palmetto bushes.

  He flung open the stable doors, allowing sunlight to flood in and light up the empty interior. At least it would appear to be empty to anyone who happened by and looked around. Just a hard dirt floor and eight empty milking stalls. Nothing out of place to draw further attention.

  Satisfied that nothing was out of order, Ace walked over and removed a s
hovel from its hook on the wall. Liking the solid feel of the heavy tool in his hand, he turned toward the stalls. A number had been carved into a wooden beam on the back wall of each stall. Ace moved to stall seven and leaned the shovel against the wall before returning to the truck.

  He took another furtive look around before rolling back the truck bed cover and surveying the girl’s limp body. The fentanyl had worked quickly. Only the gentle rise and fall of her chest revealed that she was still alive. He had wondered if she’d make it all the way to the farm.

  Guess she’s tougher than she looks.

  The thought prompted a raspy, satisfied laugh. He liked to put the girls in the ground still breathing. That way he never had to see them change. Never had to see them become stiff and blue and bloated.

  He didn’t want the image of the girl’s dead and bloated body to stay with him. He preferred to remember his girls as they had looked when he’d first see them and taken their first photo. The memories and pictures were important; they helped him relive the good times after the girls had gone.

  Ace opened the tailgate and tugged at the water-proof black tarp that covered the bottom of the truck bed. He pulled the girl toward him and wrapped the ends of the tarp around her thin body before hefting her over his shoulder and carrying her to stall seven.

  He drew a large rectangle in the dirt with the shovel’s cutting edge then lifted a heavy boot and stepped down hard on the shoulder, slicing into the ground. He tried to ignore the splotch of blood on his boot as he rocked the shovel back and forth, loosening the hardpacked soil.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead and his back spasmed in protest as he bent again and again over the rapidly growing hole. It was hard work, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Digging holes wasn’t a job for an older man. But what choice did he have?

  He paused to catch his breath and looked over at stall eight, his jaw clenching in a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation. The eighth stall was still empty, and Doc had already found the girl who would eventually fill it. A surge of energy flooded through him at the thought. He returned to his dirty work, this time whistling even as his arms trembled with the exertion.

  A song was stuck in his head. Its words echoed through his mind over and over as he dragged the tarp to the hole and lowered it in.

  We live in fame, or go down in flame…

  The ends of the tarp slipped back, revealing the girl’s slight figure nestled in its folds. Ace considered her fine pale skin and her fiery hair. His very own sleeping beauty. Only this fairytale princess would never be kissed and would never wake up.

  He used his cell phone to take one last photo, then reached down and positioned the tarp back over the still, white face. He stood with some difficulty, his back and legs already weak and cramped. There was more work to do.

  He flexed his hands, painfully stiff from grasping the shovel’s handle, and tried to think of anything but the ache in his back, tried to focus instead on the next line of the song.

  Hands of men blasted the world asunder…

  He picked up the shovel and began to refill the hole. The work was tedious, but he knew he had to be patient. He had to make sure the stable looked as empty and abandoned as it had when he’d first arrived.

  No one else came by the old place anymore, but you could never be too careful. It had been an active enterprise back in the day, and some of the people in town might drive by and get curious.

  After he had restored the dirt floor to its original condition, he decided to drive into town. He needed to check in with Doc. As he steered the old truck toward the highway, the thought of Doc started him whistling again.

  Off we go into the wild blue yonder…

  The familiar tune and the blue sky ahead raised his spirits. He pushed his foot down harder on the accelerator, glancing back to see the stable disappear from view in the rearview mirror.

  Girl seven had finally been laid to rest, and he couldn’t wait for Doc to tell him all about girl eight.

  Chapter Two

  Eden Winthrop watched the young women file into the sunny meeting room, her concern for them mingling with pride. They had all been through so much, and yet they had survived and were now here, at Hope House, fighting to rebuild their lives.

  She noticed that several of the women were chatting and smiling, apparently starting to feel comfortable in the addiction treatment facility the Mercy Harbor Foundation had opened only the month before.

  “I think this place is really starting to come together, Duke.”

  She looked down and raised her eyebrows as if expecting the golden retriever to agree. He looked at her and cocked his head, clearly needing time to think it over.

  “Ms. Winthrop, have you seen Kara this morning?”

  Eden turned to see one of the residents standing in the doorway of the meeting room.

  “Sorry, Izzy, but I haven’t. I’ll go see if she’s in her room. You guys go ahead and get started with your session.”

  Izzy withdrew into the room and Eden turned to walk down a wide, airy corridor, Duke following her at a quick trot. The golden retriever had acted as Eden’s emotional support animal for years, and even though she felt like she’d finally gotten control of her acute anxiety, and hadn’t had a panic attack in months, the loyal dog remained her constant companion.

  Eden approached the room Kara Stanislaus had been assigned when she’d arrived at Hope House the previous week. She knocked on the closed door before trying the handle. The door wasn’t locked, but Eden paused before entering.

  “Kara? It’s Eden Winthrop. You’re late for your afternoon session with Dr. Bellows.”

  Hearing no response from within, Eden opened the door wide enough to stick her head inside. She saw Kara laying on the bed, her long, dark hair falling in a tangle over the side. The girl didn’t move as Eden yanked open the door and hurried across the room.

  “Kara? Kara, can you hear me?”

  Eden gripped the girl’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. Panic set in at the limp weight of Kara’s body. Eden lowered her head and listened for breathing. Relieved to feel faint puffs of air on her cheek, she placed her fingers on Kara’s wrist and detected an even fainter pulse. Eden turned and ran back down the corridor.

  The group of women were seated in a circle in the brightly-lit meeting room. Dr. Bellows sat with them, holding a clipboard and taking notes. He looked up as Eden burst in, immediately rising to his feet as he saw the fear on her face.

  “Kara is unconscious, Dr. Bellows. You need to check on her.”

  Eden waited for the therapist to hurry past her and then followed him back down the corridor, dread settling in her stomach at the thought they might be too late.

  “I went to check on her when she didn’t show up for the session and I found her unresponsive. She’s breathing and has a pulse, but she won’t wake up.”

  Eden’s voice caught in her throat and she forced herself to take a deep breath, knowing she needed to stay calm if she hoped to help the young woman.

  Duke stood by the bed when they entered the room as if on guard, and he looked at Eden with worried eyes.

  “It’s alright, boy,” Eden soothed. “The doctor’s here now.”

  She turned to see Dr. Bellows lean over Kara and pull up one eyelid and then the other.

  “Her pupils are severely constricted.”

  The therapist placed two fingers on her limp wrist.

  “Weak pulse, shallow breathing.”

  Dr. Bellows looked down as Duke began sniffing under the bed, the dog’s body tense and his bushy tail down.

  “Have you found something, boy?’

  Dr. Bellows reached under the bed and pulled out a prescription pill bottle. The cap was off, and the bottle was empty.

  “Methadone.”

  Dr. Bellows’ voice was grave.

  “She must have taken all the pills that were in this.”

  “Oh my god, how could she have…?”

  But Eden�
��s words were drowned out by Dr. Bellows’ deep, urgent voice as he called 911.

  “We need an ambulance right away. We’ve got a suspected methadone overdose. Young female, approximately twenty years old. Pinpoint pupils, weak respiration and pulse.”

  Eden listened numbly to the phone call, willing Kara to wake up and tell them it had all been a mistake.

  Did Kara do this on purpose? Or was this just a terrible accident?

  Dr. Bellows disconnected the call and pulled a package from the pocket of his lightweight blazer. He removed the wrapping to reveal a small white device with a short nozzle on top.

  “This is naloxone.”

  Dr. Bellows tilted Kara’s head back and inserted the nozzle into her left nostril. He pushed the white plunger on the bottom of the device before moving the nozzle to her right nostril and repeating the action.

  He finally raised his eyes to look up at Eden, noting her confused expression.

  “It’s an antidote for opioid overdose. If you’re going to run a rehab center you better have access to this.”

  Eden felt the sting of his words as she met his disapproving gaze.

  “Right, so how do we know if it worked?” she managed to say, refusing to waste time defending herself when Kara may be dying right in front of her.

  Eden wasn’t the usual resource providing care to the residents, and she certainly didn’t have medical training, but once this emergency was over, she promised herself she would verify with Reggie that all staff had access to the antidote.

  Sirens sounded in the distance and Eden’s heart jumped with hope. Maybe Kara would be all right after all. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

  Eden rushed toward the front of the building, waving to the ambulance. She ushered a paramedic carrying an enormous orange bag down the hall and into the small room where Kara lay on the bed, still unconscious.

  Eden stepped back into the hall just as a second paramedic approached pushing a wheeled stretcher. She forced herself to stay quiet and not ask the questions that bubbled to the surface.