The Killing League

Three Years Later





Scouting Reports





1.

Florence Nightmare

Against a backdrop of gray skies and light mist, the Charleston Municipal Hospital appeared even bleaker than its surroundings.

Inside Room 211, seven-year-old Patricia Sirrine slept in her bed. She had light yellow hair that was fanned out around her head, creating a glow that surrounded a deathly pale face.

An i.v. ran to her arm. A plastic hospital bracelet encircled her delicate wrist. Light purple veins pulsed faintly beneath the skin.

The door opened and a woman entered. Ruth Dykstra looked like a country doctor with a friendly, kind face. She wore a cobalt blue sweater over her white, heavily starched nurse’s uniform. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

She walked to the little girl’s bedside.

“How are we doing Patricia?” she said, in a deep but gentle voice.

Patricia’s eyes fluttered open.

“Mmm. Hi,” the girl said.

“Hello, little beauty.”

“Who…?”

“I’m your doctor, honey,” Ruth said.

Patricia struggled to stay awake.

“You’ve had a long fight, my little Pattycake. You’ve been very brave. Some are saying it’s a miracle you beat that nasty old sickness.”

Patricia attempted a smile, but it ended up being more of a grimace.

Ruth went back to the door and closed it, then returned to the little girl’s bedside.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I’m going to make everything all right,” she said.

Ruth pulled out a four-inch hypodermic needle.

“Now you’re going to feel a little bit of a poke.”

Ruth put a hand on Patricia’s forehead and pushed her head deeper into the pillow. She used a thumb to pull back Patricia’s eyelid. With a quick, fluid motion, Ruth inserted the needle into the corner of the girl’s eye.

The little girl reacted instantly. She kicked and tried to sit up but Ruth held her down. She let go of the needle and clamped her hand over the little girl’s mouth.

The enormous syringe hung from Patricia’s eye.

Ruth spoke to the girl with a calm, loving tone.

“Fight all you want honey, you’ll go faster that way.”

Patricia’s kicks subsided and the little girl went rigid.

“That’s a girl. That’s a good girl.”

Ruth let go of Patricia and took the syringe from the girl’s eye. She pulled out a small cotton swab and dabbed a tiny drop of blood from the girl’s cheek.

Ruth then brushed a wisp of hair that had fallen across Patricia’s face.

Ruth was slightly flushed, and a wave of ecstasy briefly flashed across her face. She picked up the syringe, straightened the girl’s bedcovers, and pushed the wisp of hair back into place. She stood for a moment, staring at the dead girl, planting the memory deep in her mind.

“Good-bye Patricia,” she said, and left the room.