The Inmate

by Freida McFadden

“Yes…” I rub the back of my neck. “I was just wondering… Am I going to be responsible for seeing all the prisoners in the penitentiary? Like, do I just cover a segment or…?” Her lips curl. “No, you’re it, girlie. You’re seeing everyone. Any problem with that?” “No, not at all,” I say. But that’s a lie. The real reason I was reluctant to take this job isn’t that I’m scared a prisoner will murder me with my own shoe. It’s because of one of the inmates in this prison. Someone I knew a long time ago, who I am not eager to see ever again. But I can’t tell that to Dorothy. I can’t reveal to her that the man who was my very first boyfriend is an inmate at Raker Maximum Security Penitentiary, currently serving life without the possibility of parole. And I’m the one who put him here.

“Now that we’re living here, am I going to meet my dad?” I almost choke on my own saliva. Wow, I did not know that thought was going through his head. As much as I have tried my best to be two parents for this kid, there have been times in Josh’s life when he has seemed obsessed with who his father is. When he was five, I couldn’t get him to stop talking about it. Every day he would come home with a new drawing of his father and what he imagined that father would look like. An astronaut. A police officer. A veterinarian. But he hasn’t mentioned his father in a while.

“Josh,” I begin. “Because he lives here?” He raises his eyes from the table. “Right?” Every word is like a little tiny dagger in my heart. I should’ve just told him that his father was dead. That would’ve made things so much easier. I could have made up some wonderful story about how his father was a hero who died, I don’t know, trying to save a puppy from a fire. He would’ve been happy with that. Maybe if I told him the puppy fire story, the kids wouldn’t have bullied him last year. “Honey,” I say, “your dad used to live here, but now he doesn’t. Not anymore.” I can’t quite read the expression on Josh’s face. The other problem with your kid getting older is that they can tell when you’re lying.

“I was just here dropping my son off,” I explain. “It’s his first day of school, so, you know, he’s pretty nervous.” “Oh!” He smiles again, but it looks slightly more forced this time. “Well, the first day of kindergarten is always scary for kids. I’m sure he’ll do great.” When I told him it was Josh’s first day of school, he assumed I meant he was starting kindergarten. He doesn’t realize my son is ten years old. He’s going to find out eventually, and I’m dreading it. I don’t want him to do the math. After all, he was there that night too. He has the scars to prove it.

Just as I reach my office, I catch sight of Officer Hunt coming down the hallway with one of the prisoners. It must be the guy who got injured in the yard. The inmate is wearing the standard prison khaki jumpsuit, and unlike most of the prisoners, both his wrists and his ankles are shackled, so he’s shuffling along slowly next to Hunt. As he gets closer, I can see the bandage taped to his forehead, which is saturated with bright red blood. Whatever is under there, it’s almost certainly going to need stitches. Then my eyes drop to the prisoner’s face. Oh. Oh no. No, no, no… It’s Shane.

“Where’s your bag?” Kayla asks him. He frowns. “Bag?” “We’re spending the night.” Kayla looks at Chelsea for confirmation. “Right?” “That’s right, Timothy,” Chelsea says. “This is an overnight party. Didn’t Brooke tell you?” “Yes…” He shrugs. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything.” Kayla looks scandalized. “What about a change of clothes?” Tim glances down at his jacket, which is hanging open to reveal a gray T-shirt and blue jeans. “I don’t know. I’ll just wear this tomorrow.” “Boys.” Chelsea shoots me a look. “Sometimes I wonder what we see in them.” I laugh along with Chelsea, but when I look back at Tim, there’s something in his expression that makes me a little uneasy. I told him we were spending the night. Back when we were much younger and such things were allowed, Tim used to come to my house for sleepovers, and he always brought along everything but the kitchen sink. Yes, a lot of time has passed since then, but it still seems strange that he would come to a sleepover at Shane’s house and not bring anything but himself. It doesn’t seem like Tim at all. Maybe I don’t know Tim at all anymore. Or maybe he doesn’t plan on staying.

“My mother died a couple of years ago too,” Shane says. I tie off another suture. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I mean it. Shane was close with his mother—after his father took off, it was just the two of them. If she’s gone, that means he has nobody. He holds my gaze for a moment. “She died believing that I had killed those people.” My hand gripping the needle trembles, nearly missing his skin. But you did kill those people. I want to say it, but it would be unprofessional. And there’s no point. Despite all the evidence, Shane would never own up to what he did that night. But it doesn’t matter. Shane is guilty. I was there that night. If it were up to him, I would be dead right now. I can never forget that. And I will never forgive him.

“All right.” Shane clears his throat loudly. “It’s my turn again.” We all turn to look at him, our drinks ready. “Never have I ever,” he says, “been on a date with Tracy Gifford.” Shane is staring at Tim as a bolt of thunder shakes the room. Tim raises his eyes, and a look passes between them that I can’t quite identify. We all sit there, our hands frozen on our paper cups. Tracy Gifford is the girl who was found dead over the summer. Obviously, none of us have been on a date with her. But then Tim raises his cup. And he takes a drink.

Gasp

“Look…” I take a drink of my own alcoholic beverage for courage. “I just want to be clear that my life is kind of complicated right now, and I’m not looking for… you know, anything. Except friendship.” “Oh, good.” He leans back in his seat, which squeaks under his weight. “Because that’s exactly what I’m looking for too. Friendship.” “Good then.” “Perfect.” I study him across the table as he smiles back at me. Tim is a good guy, he always has been, and I believe that if I tell him all I want is friendship, he won’t push anything further. He’ll respect my wishes. After all, ten years ago, he saved my life.

“You’re that girl!” She snaps her fingers. “You’re… Bridget Something. You’re the one who got Shane Nelson sent to prison.” Of course she’d get my name wrong, but remember the name of the handsome star quarterback perfectly. For a moment, I consider denying the whole thing, but it’s futile. She knows it’s me. “That was a long time ago.” “That was total bullshit.” Kelli practically spits out the words. “I knew Shane. He was a good guy. He would never have done those things.” I don’t point out to her that the object of her flirtation, Tim Reese, was even more instrumental in getting Shane sent to prison than I was. But Tim’s transgression was more forgivable than mine because he’s hot. Anyway, I’m not surprised she’s defending Shane. This is nothing new—plenty of people in Raker, especially people who knew Shane well, were furious at me for testifying against him. Shane was a football star, and everyone loved him. I had been his girlfriend, and people felt I was betraying him. Even if I didn’t have to leave for other reasons, I could never have stayed in Raker after what I did to him.

But I had to testify. I had to tell the truth about that night and get that monster locked away for good. “You weren’t there that night,” I say quietly. “I didn’t need to be,” she retorts. “You got it wrong. Shane was innocent.” “No,” I say, “he wasn’t. Believe me.” Before she can say anything else, I turn my shopping cart and speed walk to another aisle. After everything I’ve been through, the last thing I need is some scary waitress stalking me in addition to all my other problems. I go through the aisles as quickly as I can, gathering the items from the shopping list, mostly from memory. It’s only when I get into the car that I realize I forgot the Lucky Charms.

“Do you like working here?” “Yes.” It’s the truth. Even though I’m still a little scared of the prisoners, and I miss my heels, I find it to be rewarding work. And I want Shane to know that his presence here doesn’t intimidate me. “The inmates are nice.” “Yeah. To you.” I get as close to Shane as I dare. It’s not my first choice, but you have to get close and personal when you’re removing stitches. “They’re not nice to you?” “Do you see the stitches on my head?” I grab the first stitch with the forceps and snip it free. “I thought you walked into a fence.” “Yeah, well.” I snip the second stitch. “You know, my son got bullied a lot last year. It was really hard. The other kids even gave him a black eye.” Shane blinks up at me. “They gave him a black eye in preschool?” For a second, I am lost for words. I don’t know why I told him any of that. Five minutes ago, I swore to myself I wasn’t going to share any more personal information with this man. Especially not about my son. Our son. What would Shane say if he knew the truth? If he knew that a few weeks after that awful night, I started throwing up in the toilet. I had hoped it was a stomach bug, but when it didn’t get better, I caved and bought a pregnancy test. And when I saw the two blue lines on the test strip, my entire world shattered into pieces.

I had to tell my parents. They leaned on me hard to get an abortion, but I wouldn’t do it. But one thing we all agreed on was that Shane could never know. We carefully picked out the outfit I wore to Shane’s trial so that nobody would see my growing baby bump. And after the trial was over, I left Raker and didn’t return. Until now.

I snip the next few stitches in silence. When I lean over him to get out the last one, I notice his gaze lowering. I glance down to see where he’s looking and… Oh God. My shirt is hanging open just enough to give him a fantastic view of my cleavage. And boy, is he taking advantage. I clear my throat loudly. Shane rips his gaze away from my boobs. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He’s not the first prisoner to look at me that way, although he is the first to apologize. “Don’t ever let it happen again,” I say sharply. “It’s just…” He scratches his neck which is turning red. “There aren’t a lot of, uh, you know, women here. And I don’t ever…” The last stitch comes free and I straighten up. I realize what he is saying. He’ll never be with another woman again. Ever. For the rest of his life.

“Looks pretty good. There will be a scar, but hopefully not too bad.” “I don’t care, but thanks.” He hesitates. “And I’m sorry about what I said last time. About that night…” I put my hands on my hips. “So you admit what you did.” “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But I understand you don’t want to hear that you got it wrong.” He is so full of it. He’s not apologizing for the sake of apologizing. He’s apologizing because he wants to talk about it more. I remember the word Elise underlined in his chart: Manipulative. “I was there, Shane.” I toss the tray with the stitches in the garbage, and I put the scissors and the forceps in the sharps container. “I know what happened.” “Obviously not. You said yourself you couldn’t see anything.”

I remove my gloves with a loud snap. “So if you didn’t do it, who did?” “You know who it was, Brooke.” I shake my head. “It was Reese.” His eyes are like saucers, now that he has my attention. “It had to be. He’s the only one who—” This isn’t the first time he has accused Tim. That was the crux of his defense all those years ago. But he couldn’t convince a jury, and he sure won’t convince me now. Does he think I’m stupid? “Shane, stop it,” I growl. “No, please, Brooke. You have to believe that I—” “Stop it!”

Hunt narrows his eyes at Shane. “Are you done here?” “Yes, all done,” I say tightly. “Take him away.” Hunt nods briskly. “Great, let’s go.” I see what’s going to happen a mile away. Hunt grabs Shane by the arm to get him off the exam table, but because there is a step to get down and his legs are shackled, he can’t keep his balance. He goes toppling off the table and clocks his head on the side of my desk with a sickening thump. I leap into action, bending down next to Shane, who is now on the floor. He groans, his eyes cracked open, but he’s woozy and there’s an egg rising just below his hairline. This happened once on the football field during practice. I had been on the sidelines with my friend Chelsea when Shane got taken down by a brutal tackle. Just like now, there was a sickening crack as his body made contact with the ground. I raced across the field to make sure he was okay, my heart thudding in my chest. I was so scared he had been badly hurt, and I still remember the rush of relief as I slid my hand into his, and his eyes fluttered open as he squeezed my hand. It was the first time I realized I was falling for Shane Nelson.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap at Hunt. Hunt doesn’t even look the slightest bit perturbed that he just gave one of the prisoners a concussion. “Relax. It was an accident.” I look at Shane’s face—his eyelids flutter the way they did all those years ago when he got knocked out on the football field. “Shane, are you okay?” “I’m okay,” he mutters. “Nelson is tough,” Hunt speaks up. “He’ll be fine.”

Just when I think this situation can’t get any more uncomfortable, I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. A second later, Dorothy peeks her head in. She is still wearing those half-moon glasses, and she peers at us over the rim, somewhat accusingly. “What’s all this commotion?” she demands to know. Shane is struggling to sit up, but he’s having a hard time of it, between the knock on the head and the shackles. I straighten up to look Dorothy in the eyes. “Officer Hunt caused Mr. Nelson here to fall, and as a result, he had a significant head strike. He definitely has a concussion. I’d like to admit him to one of the beds in the infirmary for observation tonight.” For the first time, Hunt looks like he cares about what just happened. “Dorothy, that is absolutely not true. I was just assisting the inmate to his feet, and he tripped. It was ...

“Marcus,” she says sharply. “Why on earth is Nelson shackled for medical appointments? He’s not a risk.” “I believe he is,” Hunt says. “Based on what?” she retorts. He doesn’t have an answer for that, which is a bit of a relief. Dorothy folds her thick arms across her chest and scowls at both of us, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. “Marcus, I want you to take those shackles off the inmate immediately,” she snaps. “Brooke, admit him to the infirmary overnight. Can you both handle this, or do I need to babysit?” Hunt and I exchange looks. Judging by his expression, he wa...

Hunt helps me walk Shane down the hallway to the infirmary, and we get him settled in a bed. The bump on his head is swelling up, and he has to stop twice on the way to the infirmary because he’s too dizzy to go on. It makes me think about the night I was almost killed. That night, Shane got a knock on the head the same as he did today—the EMTs on the scene found the lump on his skull to prove it. He claims he was knocked unconscious before anything even happened to me. And for the first time in ten years, part of me wonders if he might have been telling the truth. But he can’t be telling the truth. Because if he is, the man who tried to strangle me all those years ago is still out there.

“I lope you, Brooke,” he says. I shiver slightly, nervous but also incredibly turned on. “I lope you too.” A smile plays on his lips. “Good.” “I, uh…” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Shane. I’m just super nervous because… well, you know, I’ve never…” “Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.” I look at him in absolute astonishment. Is he really telling me that he…? “You’ve never had sex before?” I blurt out. “No…” He frowns. “I haven’t.” “But you…” I am utterly confused. Shane has dated other girls before. Maybe he hasn’t been with anyone for very long, but he’s gone out with a lot of girls who aren’t exactly picky, if you know what I mean. And Shane is hot. His best friend Brandon—according to Chelsea—has slept with at least five or six girls in the time the two of them were dating. “I don’t know.” His face is suddenly filled with uncertainty. “I didn’t want some stupid one-night stand. I want to be with someone I actually like. Is that so crazy?” “No.” I squeeze his knee. I’m still nervous, but I feel a lot better after his confession. This is scary, but we’re going to figure it out together. “Not crazy at all.”

He squeezes my hand in his. “I love you, Brooke.” It takes me a moment to realize what he’s said. He hasn’t told me he “lopes” me like he usually does. He said he loves me. He loves me. “I love you too,” I breathe. He leans in toward me. “And I’m going to show you how much.” And he does.

“Did I pass?” he asks me when I back away from him. “You passed,” I confirm. “Great.” He nods up at the clock on the wall. “I wanted to get out of here before dinner. It’s taco night.” I can’t help myself from cracking a smile. “Taco Tuesday?” “You got it.” He adjusts his position in the bed. “I don’t want to miss taco night. I lope tacos.” My breath catches in my throat. I lope tacos. When is the last time Shane and I joked around about loping each other? That used to be our thing. I remember the last time I said the words to him: I lope you. Against my will, I feel a sudden rush of affection. Yes, Shane Nelson did unspeakable things. But before he did those things, I had loped him. No, I had loved him.

He reaches behind his head for the pillow he’s leaning against, which is almost flat as a pancake. He’s trying to adjust it to make himself more comfortable on this hard hospital bed mattress. I watch him struggle for a moment, then I lean in and fix the pillow for him. My face moves close to Shane’s as I adjust the pillow—closer than I was when I stitched up his head. I brace myself for the scent of sandalwood, but all I can smell is soap and shaving cream. The last time I was so incredibly close to him was over a decade ago. The night I lost my virginity to him. And he lost his to me. When it was over, I felt so good. I had been so happy that this was the boy I gave myself to. I was so in love with him. For a split second, our eyes lock together. And it occurs to me that we’re the only two people in this room. There’s a guard, and if there were a problem, he would be here in an instant, but he wouldn’t hear something quiet. Like if Shane leaned in and kissed me.

I somehow manage to rip my gaze away from his. But as I walk out of the room, my sensible flats clacking against the linoleum floor, I can feel him watching me.

When I’m six feet away from my car, a large hand closes around my arm. I instantly go on high alert, whipping myself around to confront whoever grabbed me. But when I turn, I come face-to-face with Officer Marcus Hunt. Outside of the prison walls, he looks even more imposing. He towers over me, his lips curled into a perpetual sneer, and his biceps are about the same circumference as my thighs. He doesn’t have any weapons on him at the moment, but he doesn’t need them. He could crush me with one hand. And we’re the only two people in the parking lot. “Brooke,” he says. “I need to talk to you.” “I don’t have anything to say to you,” I hiss at him. “Don’t be like that…” My purse is flung over my shoulder. I’ve got a bottle of pepper spray in there, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to get to it with him restraining me. “You need to let go of me.” “Brooke…” “Let go of me or I’ll scream!” Hunt’s eyes widen as he finally gets it in his head that he needs to let go of me. He releases my arm and holds his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want to talk.” He didn’t mean to scare me? Does he have a clue how scary he is? I can’t imagine what it’s like for Shane to deal with this guy every single day of his life.

“Please, Brooke.” He takes a step back, his hands still in the air. “I just need to talk to you.” I don’t want to talk to Hunt. I want to go home and have dinner and possibly a bubble bath. But I need to work with this guy—I can’t be his enemy. And I’m admittedly curious about what he has to say. “Fine,” I say. “What is it?” “Brooke.” His forehead crinkles. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened with Nelson today. It wasn’t like I meant to hurt him.” “Yeah, right.” “I didn’t.” He shakes his shaved head. “But you know what, even if I did, he deserves it. Do you have any idea what that guy did to land himself in here?” I have some idea. “All these men have committed crimes…” “This is different. Nelson is different. He’s… he’s really manipulative.”

It’s the same thing Elise wrote in his chart. And she underlined it. “I haven’t seen him act that way.” “Right, because he’s manipulating you. He’s making you trust him, but you shouldn’t.” I crane my neck to look up at Hunt’s face. Whatever else I can say, I don’t think he’s making this up. He seems to really believe it. But the question is, do I believe it? “I’m not going to let him manipulate me,” I say. “That’s what Elise said. Now she’s probably going to prison herself. Or at the least, she’ll lose her license.” What is he saying? That Shane tricked Elise, and that’s the reason she got in trouble? I find that hard to believe, ...

“I am worried.” He glances over my shoulder at my Toyota. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this in the parking lot. Why don’t we go get a drink together and we can, you know, talk about this more?” Oh. I get it now. “No, thanks.” I adjust the strap of my handbag on my shoulder. “I have to get home. The babysitter is waiting.” “Another night then?” The concern on his face has vanished, and now he has a hopeful expression. So this is his game. He’s torturing Shane to impress me and get a date. It’s despicable, but I don’t want to outright humiliate him. I do have to work with him, and I’m also counting on him to protect me if I’m ever in a dangerous situation. “Maybe sometime next month,” I say vaguely. “I’m just really busy now. And my...

“Yeah…” I reach into my purse for my keys. “Anyway, I’m going to get going. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Sure.” He nods....

“Brooke,” he says quietly, “how old is Josh?” I shut my eyes for a moment, hoping maybe when I open them, this will all be a really awkward dream. Then I open my eyes again. Nope. Not a dream. “He’s ten,” I say. “Ten?” Tim’s hand is shaking as he runs it through his hair. “He’s ten years old?” “Right.” “So does that mean Shane is…?” He doesn’t need to finish the question. We both know what he’s thinking. I may as well tell him the truth. He deserves that. “Yes,” I say. “He is.” “Oh God.” Tim looks like he’s going to be sick. “I had no idea that you…” “Well, now you know why I left town.” “Yeah, but…” He stares at the door to my house. “Does Josh know who his father is?” “No. And I’d like to keep it that way.” “Does Shane know?” I shake my head vigorously. “No. No way.” Tim looks again at the door of my house, his eyes growing wilder by the second. “Christ, he even looks like Shane.”

I jerk awake. My eyes fly open, and it takes me a second to remember where I am. I am at Shane’s house, and he’s lying in bed beside me, still breathing deeply. But I heard something. A scream. I’m sure of it. I look down at my watch. It’s three in the morning. “Shane.” I shake his bare shoulder until his eyes crack open. “I heard something.” “Huh?” He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “What’s wrong?” “There was a—” And then we hear it again. A bloodcurdling scream, except this time I can clearly make out a word being screamed: “Brooke!” Shane sits up straight in bed, suddenly as wide awake as I feel. He throws his legs over the side of the bed and jumps into his pair of baggy blue jeans. He throws a T-shirt over his head, while I’m struggling with my skinny jeans. He is still in his socks when he reaches for the bedroom door. “Where are you going?” I ask anxiously. His gaze darts down to the doorknob. “Somebody was screaming downstairs. I need to check it out.”

Shane opens his mouth to protest again, but the words are drowned out by another scream: “Brooke!” We get out of the room and run into Kayla and Tim at the top of the stairs. They both look like they’ve thrown on their clothes as hastily as we did. I wonder what they’ve been doing in there. Hopefully, mostly sleeping. “You heard that?” Tim asks. Kayla is clinging to his arm. Shane nods solemnly. We all look downstairs, and even from the second floor, we can see that the front door is wide open. Droplets of rain are dampening the carpet right inside the door. “Chelsea,” I murmur. It had to have been Chelsea who screamed. Because it wasn’t Kayla and it wasn’t me, so Chelsea is the only one left. But why would she call my name? Why wouldn’t she call for Brandon if something was wrong? Unless… If Brandon did anything to hurt her, I’m going to kill him. Shane starts down the stairs first, taking them two at a time. Tim goes next, and I’m third. Kayla hangs behind, a distant fourth. I don’t blame her. She’s not great friends with any of us, and if there’s trouble, she probably doesn’t want to get involved. Shane reaches the front door first. He hangs onto the door frame, leaning out onto the small porch. Then he sees something that makes his eyes go wide, and he takes a step back.

And then I hear sobbing. Tim gets out onto the porch second. He reacts much the same way Shane did. By this point, I am frantic to find out what’s going on. I nearly trip over my feet getting to the front door. And then when I get outside… Oh. Oh God… Chelsea is on her knees next to Brandon, who is lying on the damp porch on his back, his chest a mess of dark red blood. The same dark red material is dripping out of his mouth, and his eyes are cracked open, staring at nothing. Chelsea is holding his hand, sobbing uncontrollably as the rain pours down on them. “What happened?” I manage. “Oh, Brooke!” Chelsea scrambles to her feet and throws her arms around me. She clings to me, even though she’s getting blood and water all over my clothes. “I came downstairs because Brandon wasn’t in bed. I saw the door was open so I looked outside and…” “Is he dead?” Kayla squeaks. She looks like she’s about to throw up. Tim kneels beside the body. He places his fingers against Brandon’s neck, searching for a pulse. He shakes his head. “He’s gone.” Chelsea dissolves into louder sobs. She’s still holding on to me, and I feel like I’m mostly keeping her upright. In another few seconds, the both of us are going to be on the floor.

Kayla gives him a look. “We need to leave, Shane. Why don’t you want us to leave?” Kayla makes a good point. We don’t want to leave a crime scene, but we have to contact the police. And if the phone lines are down, we have to drive to the station. My parents are going to absolutely demolish me when they find out what I’ve been doing tonight, but I can’t think about that. Someone is dead. And there’s a very real chance that somebody in this room is responsible.

“Let’s go inside,” Tim says. “At least it’ll be dry.” With that declaration, I can’t help but notice how soaked he got while rescuing Kayla. We’re all soaked, actually. We look like a bunch of drowned rats. Kayla got the worst of it though, when she slipped in the mud. Her dark hair is plastered to her skull and her trench coat looks like it will need to be peeled off her skin. There are flecks of mud on her face, intermingled with her ruined makeup. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Kayla hisses at him. “Trap me in the house with no way out…” “Hey…” Tim raises his hands. “I’m just saying… we don’t want to get sick out here…” “Sick!” She casts a horrified look at Brandon’s body, still lying on the porch. “Someone is dead! And one of you did it! You had to have…” “Kayla…” Tim takes a careful step toward her. “You need to calm down…” “I’m not going to calm down!” She takes a step back, almost stumbling over her own heels. “I don’t trust any of you. So until the power comes back on, leave me the hell alone.” With those words, Kayla runs back into the house. Her footsteps disappear up the stairs and the sound of one of the bedroom doors slamming echoes through the house.

“But there’s just one thing I have to tell you…” His words come out quickly, like he’s afraid I’m going to leave before he finishes, which is a real possibility. “I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t say it…” “Please don’t do this, Shane…” “You need to stay away from Reese.” His slightly bloodshot eyes are huge staring up at me. “Just do that for me. Okay?” “Shane…” “I don’t care if you think I’m a… a killer,” he chokes out. “Just… you’ve got to stay away from Tim Reese. He’s dangerous. Please, Brooke.” I look into his eyes, and there’s real fear there. A chill goes down my spine. I don’t know how he could think Tim is dangerous. Tim is so obviously not dangerous. I could never believe that about him. Shane has to be faking it. He has to be. “Fine,” I say. “Really?” “Yes.” He leans back against the bed, his facial features relaxing. “Thank you, Brooke.” It won’t be the first time I’ve lied to him.

“So I took another look under the blanket.” Tim winces as he says the words. “It looks like Brandon was stabbed to death.” “He… he was?” Tim’s face is so close to mine, I can make out all his features in the dark. But I can’t see the freckles that are usually slightly visible when I’m close to him. “But there wasn’t a knife next to him. I couldn’t find one, anyway.” “Oh…” Tim jerks his head at the kitchen counter. “I got worried that whoever it was would come back, so I went to get a knife from the kitchen. And guess what? All the knives are gone.” I stare at him. “What?” “Right? Pretty weird. There’s a knife block on the counter, but it’s empty.” I shiver and hug myself. “So what does that mean?” “I’d say it means that whoever did this planned it in advance and got rid of all the other weapons in the house.” “Tim.” I feel like I’m choking. “What are you saying?” “I think you know exactly what I’m saying, Brooke.”

“Brooke, listen to me.” Tim squeezes my hand as he looks me right in the eyes. “I haven’t seen you in ten years. In that time, I’ve dated a fair number of girls. But it never worked out—it couldn’t. And it was all because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Anyone else I dated, it wouldn’t be fair to them.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’ll never feel about anyone else the way I feel about you.” I might cry. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Tim is so sweet and sexy and he’s great to my kid. I should be throwing myself into his arms, and just thank my lucky stars. But for some reason, I can’t turn off Shane Nelson’s voice inside my head. Stay away from Tim Reese. He’s dangerous. Please, Brooke. It’s ridiculous, of course. I knew it when he was saying it, and I know it now. But I can’t shake the feeling that this has worked out just a little too well. That Tim is just a little too perfect. Especially for someone like me.

Nobody wants to stay behind in the living room, so we all go together up the steps to the bedrooms. The stairwell is dark, and I cling to the banister to keep from falling. Even though it’s hard to see, I can feel Tim’s presence right next to me, hovering over me with that baseball bat clutched in his right hand. Kayla had gone back into the bedroom where she and Tim had been sound asleep when Chelsea’s scream woke us all up. At least, that’s what I would deduce based on the fact that it’s the only door that is closed. Chelsea goes first, picking her way carefully down the hallway until she reaches the closed door. After a hesitation, she raps her fist against it. No answer. “Kayla?” Chelsea calls out. “Are you okay?” Again, no answer. Chelsea clears her throat. “We won’t try to come in. We just want you to tell us you’re all right.” She pauses. “Kayla?” In the slit of light coming in through the upstairs windows, I can see Tim looking at me. My eyes meet his, and he shakes his head. I can hear the bat shifting in his hand. Chelsea turns to us. “She’s not answering. What should we do?” “The door doesn’t have a lock,” Shane says. “I…” Chelsea’s voice trembles. “I can’t do this.”

Before there can be any more debate, Shane pushes past her. There’s a creaking noise as the knob twists open, and a second later, the door to the room swings open. Even though it’s dark in the room, it’s lighter than it was in the hallway, so our eyes are already adjusted. Which means I’m able to make out details I wouldn’t be able to otherwise. Like the bookcase in the corner. Or the bed in the center of the room. Or Kayla lying on the bed, her chest covered in fresh blood, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.

The asshole Nelson. He couldn’t have been talking about Shane. Maybe Shane was dangerous on the outside, but not here. If anything, Shane has been a target here in prison. He certainly isn’t going around breaking other people’s fingers. But the truth is, I don’t entirely know what he is capable of.

I look over Josh’s shoulder, at all the old faces. Flipping pages backward from Reese, he passes Kayla Olivera followed by Brandon Jensen, and my chest tightens at the words “In Memoriam” under both of their names. That should never have happened. “Wait,” I say. “Stop.” Josh freezes on the page with the H names. I slide the book away from him and look down at the page on the right. I stare at the photograph in the bottom right-hand corner. The name underneath is written in bold capital letters. Marcus Hunt. Oh my God, it’s Officer Hunt. I would never have recognized him if I didn’t know it was him. He had hair back then—fine and golden, like on a baby chick. I recognize him vaguely, remembering him as being a tall and gangly boy with thick glasses. Why didn’t Hunt tell me we went to high school together?

Gasp

I tap the photograph with my index finger. “Tim, do you remember this guy?” “Yeah. Mark Hunt. I remember him.” I shake my head. “I’m having a little trouble placing him.” “He was kind of a weird kid.” Tim drops his voice a notch. “Some football players you might have known beat him up bad enough to put him in the hospital once.” And suddenly, it all makes sense. Why Hunt hates Shane so much. Why he’s made it his mission to torture him. That asshole lied to me. And I’m going to make sure he knows that I know what he’s doing.

Gasp

“Brooke?” It’s Tim’s voice this time. “Are you okay?” I touch my fingers to the door. “Yes, I’m okay.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I think you should stay in there. Both of you.” There’s something about the way he says it—a tremor in his voice—that makes me back away from the door, my hands shaking. Tim is right. We need to stay in this room for the rest of the night. It’s our only chance.

I lift my chin. “Actually, I have a boyfriend.” “You mean Tim Reese?” Hunt laughs at the shocked look on my face. “Come on, the guy’s at your house every night. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes.” I can’t believe my ears. I’m suddenly incredibly sorry that I started this conversation. And even sorrier that we’re alone in this room together. “You’re spying on me?” He shrugs. “I drove by your house a few times. I recognized Tim from high school. A boring but safe choice. Also…” He bares his slightly yellowed teeth at me. “I find it kind of interesting that you have a kid in fifth grade. You’re kind of young to have a son that old, aren’t you? Who were you dating ten years ago, anyway?” Oh no. No, no, no… “I bet Nelson would be really interested to hear about that,” he muses. “I’d sort of like to see the look on his face, you know?” “Please don’t tell him,” I gasp. “Please.” Hunt flashes me a smile that makes me want to punch him in the nose. “Don’t worry, Brooke,” he says. “Your secrets are safe with me. But you better be a little nicer to me. For starters, from now on, you can bring coffee to me every morning.” “Fine,” I snap. He gives me a long look, and I brace myself for more demands. But they don’t come. He just shakes his head at me. “What a waste, Brooke,” he mutters. “All for that scumbag.” With those words, he jerks open the door to the examining room and storms out.

When I first started at the prison, I had thought Dorothy looked familiar to me. It suddenly hits me who she reminds me of—my mother. As I stare across Dorothy’s desk at her square face with her tan chin tilted slightly up in the air, I can’t help but remember how my mother used to boss me around. She always believed she knew better than me, and she couldn’t stand it if I ever disagreed with her—it was her way or the highway. You can’t possibly be thinking of keeping that monster’s baby, Brooke. I won’t allow it. But I kept my baby. I didn’t let her push me around that time. And I won’t let Dorothy push me around anymore. I’m sick of being a victim.

Tim used to be so thoughtful about getting presents. I’m sure whatever he got me is going to be wonderful. I gently pry the lid off the box—a gold necklace is nestled inside, resting on a little square of cotton. I pick up the necklace, holding it up until I can see the charm hanging off the gold chain. It’s a snowflake. I drop the necklace like it’s made of acid. I think I’m going to be sick. It’s the same kind of snowflake necklace that I used to wear years ago. The same kind of snowflake necklace that Shane tried to strangle me with a decade earlier. I jump up from the table so quickly that the chair wobbles on its legs. I feel a tightening in my throat. That necklace. It looks so much like the one I used to wear.

Tim jumps out of his own seat. “Brooke? What’s wrong?” “Why would you get me that?” I shriek. “I… I don’t understand.” He wrinkles his forehead. “It’s the same kind of necklace that I got you for your tenth birthday. I haven’t seen you wear it, so I figured you lost it. I saw this one at the town flea market last month, so I—” “Shane tried to strangle me with that necklace!” Tim looks baffled. “He did? I thought he tried to do it with his… with his hands…” My breaths are coming fast. Too fast. “No, he used my necklace. That necklace!” “I’m so sorry, Brooke. I didn’t realize—”