This is the young man I’m looking for … he’s the last piece of the puzzle that will unravel everything.
He’s frantically picking up notes, folders, books, and anything he can get his hands on, stuffing it all into a bag.
Is he trying to get rid of the evidence?
He doesn’t seem aware of my presence yet, so I stalk slowly and pull out my gun before he turns. I point it at his forehead the moment our eyes lock.
“Don’t move,” I warn him.
He immediately drops the things he gathered onto the concrete floor. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
His lip quivers as he speaks. “Samuel. Samuel Garcia.”
Precisely who I’m looking for.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Gathering … things I found.”
I click off the safety. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, sweating profusely. “It’s all just one big misunderstanding.”
“You knew your way around here too well,” I say. “Which means you’ve been here more than once.” I glance around. “What is this place?”
“A hospital.”
Hospital, my ass. It’s way too unsanitary for that.
I push the barrel further into his forehead. “Don’t. Lie.”
“I’m not, these are operating rooms. You saw them yourself, didn’t you?” He points at the doors behind me.
That part is true.
“What kind of operations would take place in such a disgusting place?” I growl, pushing him further back.
“They help women, children, men, anyone who needs it, off the record, off the books. So no one gets registered,” he says. “Look, I don’t know—”
“They would die of sepsis before they exit this building,” I interject and grab his shirt to pull him closer. “No, you’re not telling the truth here, and I swear to God I will put a bullet in your brain if you don’t tell me exactly what I want to hear.”
“Don’t kill me, please. I was just here to pick up some stuff, that’s it.”
He’s hiding something, I just know it.
I snatch the papers from his hand and hold them out in front of me, reading a list of names, probably patients that once came here for God knows what reason. But I stop the moment I see the words that bring a chill to my spine.
Sunny Reed.
I hold up the paper in front of him, my finger underneath her name, as I grit. “Do you know her? And don’t lie to me again,” I say, as the barrel of my gun bores into his head.
“S-she…” He stutters, “She’s m-my ex, my ex-girlfriend.”
My eyes widen.
This man … he’s the one she was targeting, the last one on her list,andit’s her ex-boyfriend?
