Dying to Tell (28 page)

“The brake lines on that car had been cut,” Cordelle said. “That accident wasn’t no accident at all.”

Jake hissed. Sadie’s parents had been murdered.

Sadie forced her eyes open as the nurse led her into the shower. She blindly remembered the woman removing her clothes and pushing her into the stall.

Then the shower water blasted her, and she shivered, her breath catching at the unexpected cold. She looked down at her naked body, then at the woman watching her, and wanted to scream.

But screaming wouldn’t get her out of here. It would only reinforce to everyone around her that she was unstable.

Still, her skin crawled as the chubby woman thrust a sponge into her hand. “Wash, lady. I don’t have all day.”

Sadie’s vision blurred, the past few hours tangled in her mind. How long had she been in this room?

How long had Amelia been gone?

“Hurry up,” the nurse said. “It’s not like you’re primping for a damn date.”

Sadie shuddered, then ran the sponge over her body. Her mind became fuzzy, her movements slow, her arms so weighted she could barely reach her hands above herself to shampoo her hair.

Then the woman grabbed her arm and jerked her out of the shower stall, scrubbing her body roughly with a towel.

“Put the gown on,” the woman ordered with a sneer. “You thought you were smart, stealing your sister’s clothes. Or did she give them to you?” She cursed beneath her breath. “Next time we’ll search her before she pays you a visit.”

“But I’m Sadie,” she said, although her words sounded slurred, the room spinning again. What in the hell had they given her?

The same drugs they’d given Amelia...

No wonder her sister had been incoherent.

She stuffed her arms into the sleeves of the hospital gown, humiliation mingling with nausea as the nurse tied the back of the gown together.

Panic hit her as the woman dragged her back toward the room. She took one look at the restraints on the bed and knew she couldn’t go back.

She had to find Amelia.

Her head throbbed, but she mustered up her anger and shoved the nurse back into the bathroom. The nurse bellowed, but she closed the door, then pushed the chair in front of it.

Dizzy again, she had to pause to catch her breath. But there was no time to wait. Someone would hear that damn nurse any minute...

Frantic, she ran to the door, then peeked outside. Noise from down the hall echoed loud and clear—an orderly and a nurse laughing about some stupid joke. Then the clank of the medicine cart. And footsteps.

She waited until they grew quiet, then eased open the door. When she saw the hall was empty, she ran down the hall, her vision blurring in and out of focus. For a moment, she saw double, then threes, and she clutched the wall, groping her way until she found the stairwell that led down to the bottom floor.

A voice made her freeze; then she realized it was another patient screaming for help. A shudder rippled through her, and tears burned her eyes.

That could have been Amelia.

Or she.

But she couldn’t help whoever it was until she escaped, herself, and the drugs wore off.

Blinking to refocus, she turned the corridor, hugging the hall as she went. One step, two, three...a few more, and she’d reach the next hall. It led to the front.

No...she needed to find a side exit. Too much security up front.

Another step, and she nearly stumbled, then felt her way around the corner and headed down the hall. No, the wrong way.

Tears of frustration burned her eyes.
Dammit, Sadie, you don’t have time to cry
.

She ducked into a corner when a nurse walked by, then glanced left and right. Another nurse down the hall. A patient strolling with a family member.

A security guard.

Her heart started to flutter, panic setting in. She fought for breath, then bolted the other way and rounded a corner, spotting a neon orange exit sign above the door at the end.

Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she ran down the hallway toward the sign. Her feet felt heavy, paranoia reminding her to hurry.

She was going to make it. She was almost there. Just another few feet.

Then suddenly a loud noise boomed over the intercom.

“Code red, patient missing from the west wing.”

Alarms pealed all through the hospital, lights blinked wildly, footsteps pounded the floors. She was slowing, her lungs squeezing for fresh air.

Her mind scattered, fear taking over. She could not get caught. She could not.

She had to run.

One more step.

Her fingers touched the door. Another alarm boomeranged, blasting so loudly that she had to cover her ears, and her knees went weak.

Dammit, she needed a key to get through that door.

She turned and tried to run the other way toward the stairs, but suddenly something hard slammed against her skull.

She tried to scream, to fight. She called out for Jake.

But the world faded away and she slipped into the darkness.

Skid pulled on the scrub suit and hat, tucked Amelia’s hair beneath it, and ducked his head as he eased down the corridor. He had hidden out while the fucking guards had searched the hospital, waiting on the alarms to die down.

Amelia had almost gone into that basement, but he’d saved her from that.

Just like he’d saved her back then.

Still, Amelia had tried to claw her way to the surface, begging him to go back and save her sister, but he quickly vetoed that idea.

It was too risky.

Besides, that damn sheriff who had his head up Sadie’s ass would probably figure out the truth.

Hell, he’d be long gone by then.

Another alarm pealed, the intercom blasting that a patient was missing. Fear clogged his throat. Had they already discovered they had the wrong twin?

He had to hurry.

He grabbed a chart from the door of one of the rooms, pretending interest in it as he made his way to the back exit. Two security guards rushed past, obviously on the hunt. He kept his face in the chart; he had to be cool, not draw any attention to himself.

He swiped the key through the locked door, then made it down the hall to the emergency exit. Sweet relief filled him as he opened the door and stepped outside, The sky was dark, though, storm clouds bullying their way across and turning it a dismal gray.

He turned in a wide arc, scanning the parking lot and mountain ridges. This fucking stink hole was miles and miles away from town.

And from the farm.

He needed a ride.

He ditched the chart in the trash can, then strode toward the parking lot. Shit. He should have taken Sadie’s keys, then he could have had her car.

But it was too late to go back now. He couldn’t chance getting caught.

A male orderly exited the front door and headed the same direction. Maybe he could steal the man’s car.

He felt in the pockets of the scrub suit for a weapon, but the pockets were empty. Shit. He should have thought to snatch a scalpel.

He’d have to use his hands, put the guy in a chokehold. He could knock him out within seconds.

You don’t need a weapon
, Viola whispered.
I can get him to give us a ride
.

Shit, he hated that doc had made it so they could all talk to one another. He was the boss. They needed to know that.
No
, Skid said.
We don’t have time for you to fuck this guy.

All right, but we don’t need you racking up more charges against us either. So don’t get any ideas about hurting him
.

He hated to admit it, but she was right.

Hell, he didn’t want to fool with the guy anyway. He’d just hot-wire a ride. He’d done it plenty of times before. And when he got close to the farm, he could ditch it and no one would ever know.

He loped toward a beat-up sedan on the opposite side of the lot from the orderly and waited until the guy climbed in his Honda and took off.

Then he found a rock at the edge of the woods and used it to smash the window on the passenger side.

I told you not to rack up more charges!
Viola shouted.

Stop being a nag. I didn’t hurt the fucker
, Skid said as he reached inside and unlocked the door.

Stealing is a crime, too
, Viola argued.

Since when did you get to be fucking Mother Teresa
?

I’m not, but I’m trying to be good
.

A laugh escaped him. Viola was too far gone to be good. But she had been useful.

That could end any minute.

He yanked on the sterile gloves he’d stuffed in his pocket and wiggled his fingers into them.
No worries. No one will ever trace the car back to us
.

He raced around to the driver’s side, slid into the seat, and hot-wired the vehicle.

I told you I could have handled him
, Viola said.
Why don’t you ever listen to me?

Skid grinned to himself, then told her to shut the fuck up. He was the boss now. He would do what he damn well pleased.

The others could go to sleep with Amelia.

Then he could take over forever.

Dr. Sanderson’s face stared at him from the newspaper. The bastard was dead, just as he should be. The police were hunting for his killer.

That damn reporter Brenda Banks cited the doctor’s accomplishments. Sanderson had volunteered at a free clinic for years. He had treated numerous patients for mental disorders.

Folks claimed he’d been a damn saint.

But
he
knew differently.

It’s time for you to go, too
, the voice inside his head whispered.
Write the note now, just as I ordered.

Outside, rain pinged off the roof. Thunder rumbled. Lightning struck, zigzagging across the mountain ridges as if God had screamed his wrath upon them.

He had to obey the Commander.

The darkness caved in around him, sucking him into its vortex. The voices...the cries of the others...the screams and pleas, begging the doctor to stop.

Begging the Commander to free them from the agony.

It had all happened so long ago.

But the legacy had followed him, shaped him into the man he’d become.

He glanced at the commendations on the wall. Remembered the oath he’d taken.

Sworn to silence.

He would keep their secrets to the grave.

The Commander’s voice reverberated in his head again. Quiet. Calm. All-knowing.

He sat down at the kitchen table, then picked up the pen and began to write.

I pray God will forgive me for my sins. I took Dr. Sanderson’s life because he hurt me when I was little. He hurt so many of us that I had to end it.

He signed his name, Emanuel Giogardi, then took a sip of his coffee and ran his finger over the .38 the Commander had given him. He had so many guns. Had used them so many times.

Weapons far more powerful than this one.

The M24 was his favorite. He liked the way the cool, sleek metal felt in his hands. The way it emitted that clean shot.

The faces of targets blurred in front of his eyes. Targets he had willingly killed.

Because disobeying the Commander was not an option. Disobeying brought punishments. Punishments he could not bear.