Page 9 of Her Final Hours
“And the girl?”
“She had ZIP in her system, leading to amnesia.”
“Who has access to this kind of drug?”
“It’s experimental. Researchers, the military, I would expect.”
Noah looked at Savannah. “Then I would ask again. If she is being treated as a runaway who could have been exposed to this, why are we involved?”
Savannah motioned toward the corridor where they exited and continued down to a room where the girl was. Inside, he could see the teen lying in bed. She looked small and fragile, her hair spilling over the pillows like a veil. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be sleeping. There was a nurse inside checking on her vitals. A machine beside her beeped steadily.
“Her reaction to anyone who gets near her has been extreme. They’ve given her a sedative.”
“Savannah?” Noah asked.
She raised a hand to indicate for him to have some patience. She knocked on the door and then entered. The nurse turned. Noah surveyed the room. It was small and sterile with white walls and a single window that overlooked the parking lot. There was a comfortable chair in the corner, and a small table by the bed. On it sat a vase of flowers and a half-empty glass of water.
“Could you show him the marks?”
The nurse pulled back the covers on the bed, giving him a clear view of the girl. Although she was wearing a blue hospital gown, the red scar-like marks all over her legs were unmistakable. “Are those…?”
“Names,” Savannah said, nodding. “We haven’t counted them yet but they go all the way up her legs and are also foundon her torso. It’s like she or someone carved them into her skin. They’re the names of missing girls going back twenty-five years.”
Noah moved around the bed, observing them. A few of the names stood out, cases that had gained national attention but had never been solved. For the rest, he’d have to pull the files. His brow furrowed as he got closer. His mouth widened at the sight of one name.
“What is it?” Savannah asked.
“I knew this one,” he replied, pointing to the scrawled letters. “Payton Scott.”
“Knew her… as in personally?”
He was riveted, his eyes moving up to the girl’s face, it was pale and still. What was her connection? Why were all these names all over her body? “Yeah. She was a childhood friend of mine. I was there the day she went missing.” His head dipped as a rush of painful memories hit him, that fateful day, the police, the press, the endless questions, the onslaught of national attention, suspects, and eventually it fading into obscurity, only known as an open cold case.
Noah glanced at Savannah. “You pulled my file, didn’t you?”
“Part of my job.”
“Then why ask if I knew her?”
“I wanted to see how you reacted. To see if it would be a problem.”
“What if it was?”
“Then I could put someone else on this but… I kind of get the feeling you’d want to handle it.”
Savannah knew him all too well.
As they were exiting the room, questions pervaded his mind.
They headed down to a waiting area where they were able to get a coffee and something to eat. “She doesn’t recollect anything?”
“At least not when asked. That may change moving forwardbut it’s early right now.”
“You don’t believe she’s a runaway?”
“I can’t say she is or she isn’t. But how many runaways would carve into their skin the names of missing girls? And are we expected to believe she bound her wrists?”
“Then why allow them to run with that theory?”
