Left to Kill (Adele Sharp #4) - Blake Pierce Page 0,60
you have to do!”
The doctor cursed her beneath his breath, but nodded to the nurse, who held Amanda down again.
“She doesn’t like being restrained,” Adele said, quickly.
But the nurse ignored her. The more he pressed her, the more Amanda fought and struggled, shouting out. “No, number seven. Please, don’t hurt them. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to step on the plant. I didn’t see it. Please, no, we have to be let out. Not another month down here. Not another month. We need to be let out. Just for some fresh air!”
“Let out? What do you mean?” Adele said quickly.
The doctor continued with his efforts to sedate his patient but Amanda still struggled the more the nurse pressed on her.
“She doesn’t like being restrained. If you touch her,” Adele said quickly, “she’ll keep fighting.”
For the first time, the nurse hesitated. The doctor was trying to find a way to push the needle into the IV bag. But the drip had been ripped from Amanda’s arm.
“Hold her still,” the doctor commanded.
The nurse redoubled his efforts. He was large, strong. Amanda was a small thing, weakened, starving by the looks of her. And yet, she fought like a wild animal, trapped. She didn’t give in, and kicked and screamed.
“You’re hurting her,” Adele said.
“Agent, get out of here!”
“Amanda,” Adele said, desperate. “What do you mean, a month? Let out in a month?”
Amanda blinked, her eyes focused on Adele. She slurred her words for a moment, and still struggled against the nurse’s restraining arms. The needle pressed to her arm, but it was almost as if she didn’t feel it. Or as if the pain of something so small and inconsequential as a needle didn’t even register on her gauge. She stared at Adele. “Once a month, the children are let out to play. Even the children sometimes need sunlight. Our hands were still bound. Once a month. But if you step on the branches. If you break the branches, they break your bones. Every family has punishments. Every family. I’m just number seven.”
Adele could see the crazed light returning to Amanda’s gaze, and she was continuing to kick and struggle.
At last, though, the doctor managed to insert the syringe into her arm. He murmured quietly, softly, in consoling, gentle tones. “Girl, it’s going to be okay. Amanda, Ms. Johnson, it’s going to be fine. Agent, please, get out of here.”
“Amanda,” said Adele, “anything else you can tell me? Your head. Someone hit you? You were hit when you were taken—yes? Months ago, when you disappeared, someone hit you?”
Amanda’s gaze once again fixed on Adele. For a moment, the dim light vanished, and she blinked, closing her eyes as if straining against a headache. The doctor had pressed the syringe, emptying the contents into Amanda.
The American girl was breathing heavily now, but her gasps seemed to quiet, her chest stopped rising and falling so rapidly. The nurse slowly released her. As he did, she seemed to relax even more.
She was now slurring her words. “Just number seven,” she murmured. “Number seven.”
“Amanda?” Adele said, urgent. “Who hit you?”
Adele thought of Ha Eun, her throat slit. She thought of the list of more than two hundred names. Potential victims. She thought of the list of twenty-six names. Dead. There was still hope for the others. She didn’t know how many of them had been taken by the killer. How many of them had their own sad, traumatic story. But she did know, in this case, people’s lives were on the line.
“Amanda, please, you’re strong. Stronger than I’ve ever been. I need you to tell me, who hit you?”
“Can’t go out in the garden for a month. If you break her plants, they’ll break your bones.”
Adele watched as Amanda’s eyes fluttered, then closed, and then she lay still, a stain of sweat ringing her pillow like a halo. Her body pressed into the cot, her thin, malnourished form trembling.
The nurse glared at Adele. He looked to the doctor and took a step toward Adele, hand out as if to guide her out.
“Touch her, and you end up on the floor too,” John snapped from the doorway.
The nurse backed off. The doctor stared at Adele, sweat slicking his brow. The older man brushed himself off, the stethoscope now around his neck, shifting back and forth.
“I hope you’re happy,” the doctor said. “You made that nearly impossible.”
Adele frowned at him. “Why didn’t you tell me she was awake? Why didn’t you send your report to me?”
The doctor