Page 4 of Her Final Hours (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #3)

T he engine of the Ford Bronco growled as Noah arrived outside the Elizabethtown Community Hospital in upstate New York. Dark, heavy clouds unleashed a torrent of rain, their wrath forcing his windshield wipers to work frantically to clear the deluge.

It had been a while since he’d been there.

His vehicle idled as he eyed the hospital.

It was shrouded by a curtain of water, blurring his view of what looked like a one-story primary school building.

The red brick and dull gray stonework looked tired, surrounded by trees.

The small parking lot outside only served to highlight the size of the tiny town.

It was a far cry from the medical centers in Saranac and High Peaks.

His breath formed before him in the cold winter air as he hurried to the door. He could smell the scent of a burning wood stove from a nearby house, making him wish he was home .

Noah shook droplets of rain off his coat as he entered the hospital. He was greeted by the usual hustle and bustle of staff in scrubs attending to patients. A security guard was giving directions. The lighting inside was bright and the walls were painted in a sickly green color.

His boots clattered on the cold, unforgiving linoleum as he made his way toward his BCI lieutenant, Savannah Legacy. She was engrossed in a conversation with two state troopers. He cleared his throat and she turned.

“This better be an emergency, Savannah.”

“Is there any other reason why I call?”

He let out an exasperated exhale. “What a night.” He rubbed his hands to warm them.

“And it’s only beginning,” she replied, giving a nod of her head towards the bowels of the building.

As they navigated the maze of fluorescent-lit corridors, Noah listened attentively as his lieutenant brought him up to speed on the unusual incident that occurred over in Westport.

Their footsteps echoed, a backdrop to the sound of beeping machines creating an eerie soundtrack as they went deeper into the hospital.

They passed by nurses and doctors who rushed by with urgent expressions.

In the rooms, he glimpsed patients who were hooked up to breathing machines, some clinging to loved ones’ hands.

Layering that, an occasional cough or moan emanated from behind closed doors.

“God, I hate hospitals,” he said.

“Likewise.”

A shriek cut through it all, wild and unruly, someone in extreme pain.

“I want to go home.”

“I understand,Hilda, but your husband dropped you off here.”

“But I want to go home. ”

“And you will but we just need to deal with that leg of yours.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

A nurse tried to convince an Alzheimer’s-stricken elderly lady in a nightgown to head back to her room. It pained him to see people growing old and losing their memory. He could only imagine what it would be like as his father slid into the void.

“Have you heard a word of what I just said?” Savannah asked, slowing her pace.

Distracted by the sweet old lady, he looked back at his supervisor. “Uh-huh. Found wandering in Westport. The girl doesn’t know who she is or where she came from or what happened.”

“Right. Now we assume she’s been drugged.

We’re just waiting on the toxicology screening.

No ID on her. We ran her through CODIS — nothing, we’ve taken her fingerprints and checked multiple places but it came up empty.

Child services has no record. We’re going to check with dentists and get a photograph of her out there.

Hopefully, social media might be able to help.

She was partially clothed. A lot of bruising, mostly from restraints.

Somehow, she must have managed to get them off her ankles.

Oh, and there was fresh blood on her hands that didn’t appear to belong to her.

We have patrols searching the railway for anyone injured.

We estimate she is between fourteen and seventeen.

Currently, the Sheriff’s Office is treating her as a runaway. ”

“A runaway. So why are we here?”

“You’ll see.”

Just as she said that, they walked into a room where a doctor was conversing with another medical professional. He turned at the sound of them entering.

“Dr. Summers,” Savannah said.

“Ah, Lieutenant Legacy. Good timing. ”

Savannah turned to Noah, introducing him. “This is Senior Investigator Noah Sutherland.”

“I’m familiar with you. I mean, I knew Luke. At least my daughter did. He assisted her after a break-in. He was kind. Sorry for your loss.”

It never got old hearing that but every time someone said it, he felt a pang inside.

The doc shook his hand and then asked them to follow him. As they walked, he continued to talk. “This is a very unusual incident.”

“That’s an understatement,” Savannah said.

“So, we got the initial results back from toxicology. I’m not sure how familiar you are with the use of drugs to alter cognition, mood, and memory?”

“Go on,” Savannah said.

“For instance, Ritalin and Modafinil are often used to enhance cognition, we then have mood enhancers like Prozac for those suffering from depression. There have been many studies conducted on memory modification. Soldiers coming back from war who are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, extreme trauma, and so on. Well, there’s a drug called propranolol, it’s essentially a beta blocker that they have given to soldiers to dampen the memory so to speak.

So that a memory doesn’t solidify as a long-term memory.

It works to block the process of consolidation from the short to the long term.

It was proven to wipe out the memory of a traumatic event.

However, there exists a more powerful drug called ZIP which can affect the reconsolidation of memory.

Basically, it can erase particular memories.

That means every time we try to remember something, certain proteins come together in the brain and they put that memory together again. ”

“You’re losing me,” Savannah said.

“Think of it like this. Your memory isn’t like a computer where once you have it stored, you can access it each time.

Reconsolidation puts the memory back together and updates it based on your current way of thinking.

So, in some ways that memory is always changing.

That great night you experienced when you were twenty becomes something for better or worse, that fish you caught last year was this big, not that.

Small details can be left out. You will misremember parts of the event. ”

“Like childbirth,” Savannah added.

“Something like that. You might remember the good and forget the pain.”

He took them into a room and over to a computer where he showed them some stats, data, and images of the brain combined with various protein visuals.

“The theory behind this is that the protein known as kinase M zeta, mostly commonly referred to as PKMzeta, is involved in the storing of long-term memories. However, when the drug ZIP is used, it inhibits the PKMzeta and blocks the memory from forming. If this is done to a person, that memory can essentially stop existing. A study was conducted on mice where a memory was formed by shocking them each time they went to a specific area. ZIP was given to some and not to others. Those who didn’t get it avoided the area where others were shocked, those who got it kept going back. ”

“Even though it was harming them.”

“Exactly. The memory of what they experienced was gone. That’s how a particular memory can be erased. It didn’t erase the memory of where the area was, only what happened when they arrived at it.”

“And so this was used with PTSD. Was that the purpose?” Noah asked.

“That’s one application. The other is with addiction. Certain things can trigger the need for drugs. If you can erase that trigger…”

“They would no longer want the drug. ”

He nodded. “You got it. DARPA has been using it with the military.”

“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 found on 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.