The Inmate

by Freida McFadden

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