Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
A woman who looks to be in her early seventies walks out with her hair pulled up into a tight bun, and the few gray hairs are a striking contrast to the majority of her jet-black hair.
“Ms. Marks, follow me, please.”
Falling into step with her, we make our way through the door and into the hallway. The bright fluorescent lights flicker above, making my eyes blink in irritation.
“I’m Ms. Turnery. I was told you wished to speak with me.” She opens a door on the left and enters, and I’m quick to follow suit.
“I’m here to ask you a few questions about a former patient of yours—”
“I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time coming to our facility, but I will not disclose any information about a current or past patient with you. I’m sure you must understand confidentiality rules we must follow at this hospital.”
“As much as I respect that, I need your help with something that came into my possession.” I pull the file from my bag and slide it across the desk.
Ms. Turnery’s eyes go wide at what I assume is a familiar folder. “How did you get this?”
“I obtained it from a family member.”
She narrows her eyes, raising the folder to look at the label. “That’s impossible because there were no living relatives for this patient.”
I shrug. “The man who gave it to me claimed to be an uncle.” Leaning forward, I rest my elbow on the desk. “Listen, I can respect your policy, but I’m not asking for any additional information, just whether the documents are, in fact, authentic.”
“What do you intend to do with them?”
“Honestly,” I shrug, “at this point, I’m not certain what I need to do. But obviously, if they aren’t genuine, there’s nothing for me to do.”
The stern woman in front of me crinkles her forehead before she swivels her chair to face the computer on her desk. Using her keyboard, she’s typing something when her eyes squint and she leans forward. She picks through the documents in the folder, and then moves away from the monitor, handing me the file.
“They appear authentic, but that’s all I can help you with. Now, what do you plan on doing, Ms. Marks?”
“Thank you. As I said, I’m not certain what my next steps will be, but I do appreciate your assistance.”
With this research trip complete, I make my leave from her office, heading back out of the scary hospital and to my car.
It will be dark soon; this whole trip is taking much longer than I expected. Truth is, I won’t be able to go back to the city tonight. I have too much to do here still, so back to the Motel 8 on the side of the road where I crashed last night.
In the room, filled with energy based on my findings, I fire up my computer and pull up everything I can find on Cain. It’s time to solve the puzzle of who he is and how or if he has committed all these murders.
I’m not sure how much time goes by. My eyes are stinging from looking at the computer. My hands hurt from the notes I jotted down in my notebook and then taped up on the wall beside me, making my own version of an evidence board. Lifting my hand to my face, I scrub at it. It’s going to be a long night. I should grab a coffee and food.
I fire up the app for food delivery and see the local diner does deliver. I hit the screen, ordering breakfast for dinner and a large espresso. That should help, and then I look back at my computer and continue my search.
A knock makes me jump.
My food. Better yet . . . mmm. Coffee.
“Coming,” I call out, shutting the computer lid and making my way to the door. I remove the lock, sliding the metal out of place, and swing the door open wide.
A gasp escapes my mouth. “You.”
44
Layla
God, my head hurts.
Did I drink too much? I don’t even remember what I had or where I went.
Wait.
I shake my head, trying to wake myself up. My eyelids are heavy, and I can’t seem to open them. From the position I’m sitting in, I move to lift my hand, but nothing happens.
What the hell?
I shake my head back and forth, blinking my lids rapidly until my vision comes into focus.
That’s when I see where I am.
A ramshackle shed or cabin. Walls made of wood planks, and it’s dark, only a single candle lighting the space. The air feels wet, muggy. Tilting my head down, I see the reason I couldn’t rub my eyes. My hands are tied to the chair I’m in.
My heart starts to thump heavily in my chest.
“Hello. Is anyone there?” I shout.
When no one answers, I try again, this time, my panic bubbling up like a geyser. “Help. Can anyone hear me? Help me!”