Page 155 of Girl Between
Dana quickly undid the rest of her restraints and quietly eased herself off the table. The floor was damp and cold on her bare feet, but she barely felt it. Her focus was elsewhere, scanning the room for threats. She spotted her belongings. Her clothes lay in tatters on the gurney, but her socks and shoes were on the floor.
Slipping them on she moved to the tray next to the IV. An array of medical instruments and gauze were spread out on the less than sanitary surface. She stuffed the gauze against her wound, grabbed what was left of her t-shirt and tied it tightly around her waist. Besides her makeshift bandage and her shoes, she was naked. It made her feel vulnerable, but she refused to let that stop her.
Grabbing the bone saw from the tray, Dana began her trek through the dark labyrinth of her prison, which she’d immediately recognized as the infamous Plaza Tower.
If she ever made it out of here, she vowed to make it her mission to have the wretched building demolished. Water leaked overhead, echoing eerily off things she couldn’t see in the dark. It added to the damp, musty fear that permeated the place. If the psychotic serialkiller roaming the halls didn’t kill her, the dire conditions of the place certainly would.
Mold, asbestos, rust, rot … she could smell it in the air.
The building was a rotting skeleton of concrete and death. Her only goal was to escape.
The near utter darkness made her movement slow. She couldn’t see where she was going, but she’d come near enough to a blown-out window to know she was on an upper level. Not the full 45 stories, but high enough that jumping wasn’t an option.
The height, mixed with the massive holes in the structure, made her leery to move too quickly.
How in the hell did Monroe get me up here?
The building was condemned and without power. Surely the elevators didn’t work. Then again, there’d been a light over her gurney and the IV was the modern kind with a pump. It required power. Which made sense. Monroe would need reliable power to run his hospital of horrors.
Though Dana doubted the structure was sound enough to operate the original elevators, she knew Monroe must’ve found a way around it. Maybe some primitive sort of lift system used during construction?
She wouldn’t put anything past the man who’d been killing undetected for two decades. He was smart. Underestimating him was what landed her here.
Sticking to the walls, Dana kept her footsteps soft. She was drawn to a source of light ahead. The faint sound of classical music was emanating from the same direction. She moved toward it, hoping it was leading her to an exit. As she got closer, she realized she was wrong.
It was a room. Through the open door she could see walls covered in graffiti, but the most disturbing sight was the hospital bed in the center. And the motionless girl strapped to it.
137
“I’m not goingto ask you again,” Jake growled. “I need to see Dr. Gray’s report regarding this case.”
Creed unwisely brushed him off. “It’s not relevant. We have our own profilers working on it.”
“Those kindergarteners?” Jake huffed with impatience. “Yeah, I’m not going out on a limb when I say they can’t hold a candle to what she can do. I’d stake my career on it.”
“With all due respect, Agent Shepard, I hear you don’t have much of a career left to be staking such claims.”
Jake got right in Creed’s face. “Then you know I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
Creed took a step back, looking nervous but unconvinced. “I understand your concern, but Dr. Gray’s expertise is in the occult, not serial killers.”
“Where the hell do you think these murderous bastards get all their horrific ideas?”
Creed gave him a tired look beyond his years.
“Listen,” Jake said. “I don’t care that you didn’t read the report, but I need to see it.”
Creed looked hesitant, but that didn’t deter Jake. He got right in the green agent’s face again. “I’m not asking.”
Creed did the smart thing and sent Jake the file, which he printed and distributed to every man, woman, and child in the NOPD precinct.
“What are you thinking?” George asked after leafing through Dana’s findings.
“Here,” Jake said, pointing to a section he’d highlighted. “White male. Single. Between the ages of 40 and 50. Profession in the medical industry.”
“What about it?” George asked.
“She describes Monroe to a T.”
