Sole survivor, p.1
Sole Survivor, page 1
Sole Survivor © 2024 by Candice Wright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Cover design by Kirsty-Anne Still @The Pretty Little Design co.
Editing by Tanya Oemig
Proofreading by Briann Graziano
Created with Vellum
Sole Survivor
Candice Wright
Contents
Author Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Also by Candice Wright
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Trigger Warnings
For all those who got up and carried on when getting up and carrying on was the hardest thing to do.
Author Note
Trigger warnings are located at the very end of the book.
This book is part walk in the park, part deep dark crevice.
Please proceed with caution.
To live in the body of a survivor is to never be able to leave the scene of the crime.
Blythe Baird
Chapter One
Rue
Idon’t know what wakes me up. It could be the loud voices that seem out of place. Or maybe it’s the cold that’s seeping into my bones, making my body shake and my teeth chatter. I reach for the duvet, but my hand refuses to cooperate.
I’m not quite awake enough yet to realize that something isn’t right—that I’m not in my bed or even at home, and that the mind-numbing cold is coming from the damp soil beneath me.
Flashes of light flicker around me, but I can’t seem to find the strength to open my eyes. I know I should, but they feel so heavy, and somewhere in the recesses of my brain, a sense of caution tells me to stay where I am, that it’s safer here in the dark.
The sound of barking makes me jolt, and more awareness washes over me, stealing the calmness and letting in the first real tendrils of panic.
My body still won’t move, no matter how much I tell it to, and breathing is becoming harder and harder.
It takes me a few moments to realize my face is pressing against something—something that’s stopping me from sucking in clean air. I try to turn my head, but nothing happens. More panic sets in, and voices draw closer.
My face feels wet, but I can’t tell if it’s from tears or something else. Nothing makes sense. I try to focus on the last thing I remember, hoping it will tell me where I am, but there is nothing there—not a single memory. It’s as if someone simply picked up a broom and swept them all away.
My chest is burning now; the lack of oxygen makes my head pulse. One clear thought pushes its way to the forefront of my mind: I’m going to die.
I’m going to die right here and now if I don’t move.
Somehow, I find the strength to turn my head. It’s barely an inch, but it’s enough for me to suck in a breath.
I cough, inhaling more than just air, my ribs protesting as I gag.
I pray I don’t throw up, knowing I’ll choke for sure. When I finally get my coughing under control, something else catches my attention. Something that feels like tiny little taps on my cheek. Rain.
It’s raining. Which means I’m outside. My other senses start to come around. I ignore the pain, unable to pinpoint where the worst of it is coming from, and focus on everything else.
What do I feel?
Cold. Wet. My fingers twitch. Something soft and damp moves beneath them.
I breathe in, and this time, thankfully, I don’t choke.
What can I smell?
Earth.
My fingers twitch again as more words flash in my head.
Soil. Dirt. Mud.
The rain falls harder, making me gasp.
I can hear shouting now, and the barking is getting louder.
The beam of light flashes over me again, and this time, I force my eyes open.
The rain makes it impossible for me to see anything, but somehow, it makes me feel less helpless.
Now, I just need to find my voice.
I will the words to spill free, forcing a scream up my throat, but barely a whisper escapes.
“Help.”
I cough again, swallowing down the rain and dirt. It’s almost enough to make me give up.
But I don’t want to die like this, and nothing is a better motivator than fear.
“Help.” I try again.
“Help me.” Louder this time.
“You hear that?” a voice shouts as everything goes quiet for a second. Even the dogs stop barking.
“Help me,” I force out again, praying it’s enough and crying when I hear a shout.
“Over here. Hold on, honey, we’re coming.”
The voice is masculine but smooth. Calming. Safe.
I don’t know much of anything right now, but I know that voice means safety.
“Help me.” This time it comes out more like a strangled whisper, my strength waning now as the lights move closer.
Suddenly, I feel hands on me, rolling me gently. A large body leans over me, shielding my face from the pouring rain, and I stare up into startling blue eyes.
“I’ve got you now, honey. It’s gonna be okay.” The voice of safety reassures me as a hand gently pushes my wet hair back from my face.
“I need a medic over here. And someone put the fucking tent up before we lose all the evidence,” he shouts. Though he’s right beside me, holding me tightly, I feel myself start to slip away.
“Fuck, she has a music box in her hand, Eric, come bag it up,” the voice yells before it turns soft once more. “Stay awake for me, sweetheart. We’re going to get you looked at in just a second. I promise we’ll have you somewhere nice and warm real soon. You just have to hold on for me, okay?”
I try to. I want nothing more than to lose myself in the heat of his skin—anything to ease the numbness—but I feel myself fading away, and I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.
More lights. More noises—only these, I recognize. The faint whirring of a fan, the beep of the machine next to me, the shuffling of feet.
I crack my eyes open and wince, squeezing them closed.
“Shit, hold on a second,” a voice says before the lights are dimmed. “There, try again.”
Slowly, I open my eyes and find myself looking into a familiar pair of baby blues.
“There you are. You had me worried there for a little while. Do you know where you are?”
I’m about to nod but realize that’s probably not a good idea and answer instead.
“The hospital.” My voice comes out as a whisper, but he hears me.
“That’s right, and do you know your name?”
I open my mouth to answer, but there’s nothing there.
“I can’t remember,” I admit, gripping the blanket tucked around my waist.
His shoulders drop, but there’s no surprise in his gaze, almost like he was expecting it.
“Don’t worry about that right now. You just rest.”
“Who are you?”
“Fuck, where are my manners? Detective Nathan Hask at your service.” He does a little bow, lifting an imaginary top hat, before standing back up again.
I feel my lips twitch as I watch him.
“You found me.”
“You remember me?”
I close my eyes and nod gently, and though my head aches, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.
“I remember your voice. I knew you would make me safe.”
I jump when I feel his hand cover mine, my eyes opening again.
“I’ll always keep you safe, honey. Don’t worry about that.”
A knock on the door has him moving his hand away as he walks over to the door and opens it.
He steps back and lets two men in. I notice how similar the two of them are dressed. Nathan’s wearing dark jeans and a henley, but these guys are in dark suits. The tallest of the two men turns to the side, and that’s when I spot a badge clipped to his pants pocket.
“You’re police too?”
“FBI. I’m Special Agent Davis. This is Special Agent Jones. Can you tell us what you remember?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t even remember my name.”
Again, neither agent looks particularly surprised. Frustrated, sure, but not surprised.
What the hell is going on?
“Can someone tell me what happened to me?”
The two special agents look at each other before turning back to me. Agent Davis crosses his arms over his chest.
“I don’t want to influence your memories.”
“What memories? I have none. All I know is that I’m lying in a hospital bed, and you won’t tell me what happened.”
The door opens before anyone else can speak, and a young female doctor walks in, taking in the tension in the room before she turns and scowls at the agents.
“I told you when you asked that you could only speak to my patient when she was ready and if you kept her calm. We have no idea what effects this drug will have on her, and I will not have you upsetting my patient.”
“Drugs?” I whisper.
“She has important information that can help us catch a—”
“If she doesn’t remember her name, then I doubt she remembers much else. Give her time. If you push too hard, you might do more harm than good,” the doctor warns.
The agents look like they want to argue, but think better of it.
“We’ll come back,” Agent Jones says, speaking for the first time. I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a comfort or if it’s some kind of threat.
When the door closes behind them, the doctor sighs. “Damn Feds.”
“They’re just doing their job, doc,” Nathan says as the doctor shoves her stethoscope in her ears and places the other end just under my collarbone.
“And I’m just doing mine. All I care about right now is ensuring my patient is healthy.”
The doctor looks up at me and smiles gently. “I’m just going to listen to your chest,” she tells me, as if talking to an animal she’s afraid of spooking, before she moves the stethoscope to another spot.
“Your scans all look good. There is some fluid in your lungs, but we are treating that with antibiotics, and you’ll be happy to know your ribs aren’t broken. We think the bruising has more to do with whatever you were lying on than sustaining an injury.
“You have some bruising, as well as cuts and abrasions on your hands and arms, most likely defensive wounds, but most are superficial. All in all, you’re a very lucky woman.”
“I don’t feel very lucky,” I admit.
She looks at me, her kind eyes filling with sympathy. “I’m sure it feels that way right now, especially with all the memory loss.”
“Did I hit my head? Is that why I can’t remember anything?”
“No, there are no signs of head trauma. The memory loss is unrelated.”
“It is? How? Why?”
“Doc—” Nathan warns. I forgot he was even in the room for a second.
“She has a right to know what happened to her, detective,” she snaps before looking back at me.
“You were injected with a substance called sonodophetamide, or Sono-d, as it is more commonly referred to.”
“What? I don’t even know what that is.”
“Few do. It hasn’t been granted FDA approval yet.”
“So, was I part of some drug trial?” I ask, confused.
“We don’t know. It’s possible. We are checking every avenue,” Nathan answers.
“It has to be. Otherwise, how did it end up in my system? Are you trying to tell me I’m an addict?” I panic, frantically checking my body for needle marks.
The doctor grabs both my arms gently and holds them still so that I can see that both are clear of track marks.
“Though Sono-d can be taken orally or administered using a syringe, you have no needle marks on you. You are not an addict. I ran a full tox screen on you, and Sono-d is the only substance we found in your blood system.”
I blow out a shaky breath, squeezing my hands into fists when the doctor lets me go, wishing one of them would just dumb everything down for a second and explain things to me like I was five.
It hurts more the harder I try to remember.
“Someone, please tell me what’s going on. What happened to me?”
The doctor and detective stare at each other for a moment before Nathan sighs and reaches for my hand.
“You were drugged before being dumped in a shallow grave at Highgrove Park. The agents that were here before, plus all the local police, are looking for the person who did this to you.”
“What?” I choke out, feeling violated.
My eyes shoot to the doctor’s.
“Was I raped?” I whisper.
“We did a rape kit while you were unconscious, and we found no signs of penetration and no bruising or tearing either. We also tested for STDs just in case, and everything that’s come back so far is negative.”
My breathing picks up as my fear starts to take hold.
She leans closer. “I know it’s terrifying not knowing, but in my professional opinion, you were not raped.”
Nodding, I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down.
“You were fully clothed when I found you, and if it helps, it’s not our guy’s MO. None of his previous victims were raped or showed any signs of sexual abuse,” Nathan adds.
Knowing his words are meant to give me comfort, I can’t help but freeze, focusing on what he actually said.
This wasn’t an isolated incident.
“There are other victims? Are they okay? Do they know who did this?”
The doctor and Nathan look at each other again as an uncomfortable silence envelops the room.
I look between them, feeling a chill in the air.
“How many others are there?”
“Nine. You make ten,” Nathan replies, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.
He answered quickly.
Too quickly.
I feel like I know the answer, but I have to ask. I have to know for sure.
“How many survived?”
“One. You.”
Chapter Two
Rue
Ihear the door open, but I don’t turn away from the window. There is a cop stationed outside so I know it’s not someone who’s any kind of threat to me.
There is always someone coming in or out. I just let them get on with it. I don’t have the mental capacity to make polite conversation with anyone right now.
It’s been three days since I was found, and thanks to the news reports I now know the man that took me is called the Lullaby killer. At least by the media. I know more about what happened to me from the news than from the police who have been unwilling to share. Like the Sono-d and the music box I’d been clutching are part of the guys MO. The feds haven’t been back, and Nathan has been pretty tight-lipped, using the excuse that it’s an active investigation. Never mind that this is my fucking life we’re talking about.
I still don’t know who I am, and the news is calling me a Jane Doe whenever they mention me.
I watched the footage of the park where I was found. It’s mostly deserted now. The forensic team is long gone, but the police tape is still up, marking out the location where I was dumped. A few people gather around, curious in a morbid sorta way, taking in the open grave, some even snapping pictures with their cell phones before moving on.
It’s like watching something on a crime show because things like this don’t happen in real life, do they?
I turn at the sound of a cough and find Nathan watching me. I frown, realizing he must have been the person who entered a few moments ago. Has he just been standing there watching me?
I feel my face flush. He might be handsome in that blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but it’s wasted on me. Right now, I feel like the sole passenger on the Hot Mess Express heading straight for Crazyville. I still have dirt under my nails from trying to crawl out of the shallow grave I was tossed into. And my hair is a tangled mess with mud and God knows what else in it. One of the nurses was going to help me shower, but a multi-car pile-up on the freeway meant it was all hands on deck, and now that I’m on the mend, I’m not a priority anymore. I get it. The casualties need the nurses more than I do right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that my skin crawls at the thought of a serial killer’s hands all over me.
