The Inmate

by Freida McFadden

When I’m alone in the bathroom, I stare at myself in the vanity mirror. I put on makeup for our date tonight, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at me now. My face is about the same color as a sheet of paper, and the purple circles under my eyes are as visible as ever. How could Tim forget about that necklace? I testified during Shane’s trial about how he tried to strangle me with it. Tim was sitting right in the audience. I remember because whenever I was nervous during my testimony, I would look at him and feel less alone. After all, he was there that night too. How could he possibly forget that the snowflake necklace almost killed me? Stay away from Tim Reese. He’s dangerous. Okay, I need to calm down. Tim heard my testimony, but it’s not like he’s been having nightmares involving a snowflake necklace for the last decade. It’s understandable he might have forgotten that little detail. It certainly makes more sense than the alternative of him intentionally buying me that necklace to freak me out.

I rub my runny nose. “Who… who do you think it is?” She pauses. “I don’t know.” “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to say.” Chelsea lets out a long sigh. “Fine. It was Tim.” I lift my eyes in surprise. That wasn’t what I thought she was going to say. “Tim? But…” “It makes the most sense, Brooke.” She tucks a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “Shane’s right—Tim’s the only one who had the opportunity to go up there and do it. And he was the one who was cuddling up with Kayla all night. Shane barely knew her.” “But…” But it can’t be Tim. Not my first best friend. My first kiss. The guy I’ve known all my life, who would do anything for me. I touch the snowflake necklace, remembering how pleased he looked when I opened the box. “And he dated Tracy Gifford,” she reminds me. “What’s up with that? He had a bunch of dates with a girl who turned up murdered, and he figures he doesn’t need to mention that to anyone? That is hella suspicious, Brooke.” “I know, but…” “Plus, he’s frustrated,” Chelsea adds. “Because you’re dating Shane, and of course, he wants you for himself.” I swivel my head to stare at her. “What are you talking about?” She lets out a dramatic sigh that lasts several seconds. “Come on, Brooke. You must realize that Tim is madly in love with you.” I snort. “No, he’s not. We’re friends.” “Right. You think of him as a friend, and he’s in love with you.” She cocks her head to the side. “I thought for sure you knew. You really don’t see it?”

I reach for the charm on my necklace again, my fingers shaking slightly. Is Chelsea right? I always thought Tim and I were on the same page about our relationship. I mean, yes, he used to talk about us getting married back when we were little. But we were children. And yes, we kissed that time. But it was just once, even though it lasted twenty minutes. And we were practicing. It wasn’t like it meant anything… Oh God. She’s right. Tim is in love with me.

Margie grabs her coat and takes off for the night. It’s only after she’s gone that I dare to approach the blue rectangular box left behind on the kitchen table. It looks like either Tim or Margie put it back in the box, so all I need to do is toss it in the garbage. But instead, I find myself opening the box. I hold up the necklace, letting the snowflake charm swing back and forth. It looks exactly the same as the one I used to wear—the one Tim bought me for my tenth birthday. It’s a gold chain with a gold snowflake with white diamonds set into the six spokes of the snowflake. I look closer at the necklace and notice something else that makes my heart stop. The second spoke on the snowflake is missing a diamond from the edge. Exactly like the one I used to wear. This necklace is identical to the one I wore in high school. And it has the exact same defect in the exact same place as that necklace did. Is it possible that it’s the same necklace? I never found out what became of that necklace. After it broke, I never saw it again. I had assumed the police kept it as evidence, but maybe they didn’t. Maybe somebody else had it this whole time.

Tim claimed he got it at the town flea market. A flea market? What flea market is he talking about? I have lived in this town since I was a baby, and I never once heard about any sort of flea market. Was he lying? Stay away from Tim Reese. He’s dangerous. Is it possible that Shane was telling the truth about that night? Is it possible he wasn’t the one who tried to strangle me with that necklace? I never got a look at his face. The only person who testified with absolute certainty that they saw Shane with a knife was Tim. Even though my testimony was damning, Tim was the one who put the final nail in his coffin. What if Tim was lying about everything? No, I can’t think this way. Tim is my boyfriend. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s a good guy. He wouldn’t lie, and he sure as hell wouldn’t kill anyone. I know it better than I know my own name. But then how did he get that necklace?

I had assumed after we exchanged “I love you’s” for the first time, we would make passionate love soon after. But instead, Tim can’t seem to get out of here fast enough. And then when he’s walking down the steps of my front porch, he trips and almost falls on his face. But I can’t say I’m not entirely disappointed he’s gone, because now I get to google Kelli Underwood. The details are extremely easy to find. Kelli (with an “i” at the end) is a twenty-seven-year-old waitress, who was also taking art history classes at the local college. She lived alone in a small basement apartment, and they discovered she was missing when she didn’t show up for her shift at the Shamrock two nights ago. One story mentions she has a boyfriend, but it doesn’t say whether he’s a suspect. Two days ago… was Tim here that night? I can’t remember. Fortunately, Kelli was extremely active on social media. Unlike me, she has plastered photographs of herself all over the internet. I look back on her various social media feeds, searching for anything that jumps out at me. Finally, I spot a post from the beginning of the summer: Fact: Assistant principals are GOOD KISSERS!!!!! Unless there’s some other assistant principal Kelli went out with, I’m going to assume she is referring to Tim. Which means he went out with her during the summer, and it was enough of a date that they kissed at the end. Or during. And apparently, she liked it. But that’s the only mention I can find about Tim. He has minimal socia...

But he definitely went out with her. He was lying when he played it down. Still, I can’t entirely blame him. I’m sure he’s not eager to talk about a waitress he went out with before we were together. And after what happened with that Tracy Gifford girl, he would rather not associate himself with another missing girl. It doesn’t mean he’s responsible. Hell, Kelli probably just took off somewhere without telling anyone. She’s probably fine. I’m sure of it.

“I don’t think Tim killed them,” I say. “I don’t believe it.” Chelsea plants her hands on her hips. “You have a serious blind spot when it comes to Tim. He isn’t as great a guy as you think he is.” “Yes, he is.” “Trust me—he isn’t.” It sounds like she has something specific in mind, but I’m sure it’s something stupid. “Look, he’s not a killer.” She lets out an exasperated sound. “Don’t you get it, Brooke? It had to be him. He’s the only one who had the opportunity. He was alone in the living room and he could’ve gone up and killed her. Nobody else had the chance to do it.” I chew on my lower lip. My lips have gotten very chapped in the last couple of weeks, as the weather has turned. Licking them and biting them makes it worse, but I can’t help it. “Actually,” I say, “one other person had a chance.” “Who? Shane was outside. And nobody else is here. Who else had a chance?” “You.” I try to pick out her features in the dark room, but all I can see are her dark eyes with leaked mascara. “You were alone in the living room when Tim and I were in the kitchen.” Her jaw falls open. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” I say thoughtfully. “It does make sense. More sense than Tim or Shane randomly killing Brandon and Kayla. I mean, Brandon was cheating on you. A lot. And then Kayla was accusing you of killing him. It stands to reason—” “Oh, this is good!” Chelsea sounds like she’s trying to be sarcastic, but there’s a slightly hysterical edge to her voice. “First my boyfriend is murdered and I have to find his dead body. And now you think I killed him, and apparently busted down Kayla’s door and did her in as well?” “No, I’m not saying that,” I say carefully. “I’m just pointing out that you had an opportunity and a motive.”

She stands there for a moment, her silhouette completely still. “If I am the one who killed them, why am I bothering to look for a weapon? If I did it, that means I’ve got a knife stashed away somewhere, doesn’t it?” “I… I guess so.” “Damn straight.” She shakes her head. “I mean, you are seriously out of your mind if you think that I’m capable of killing two people.” My stomach churns as a thought hits me. Tim was looking for the knife while Chelsea and I were in the house. He did...

“I want to go.” I kick some of the books away. “Let me go.” “Brooke, you’re being crazy! You don’t seriously think I killed Brandon and Kayla, do you?” “I don’t know.” I push a few more books out of my path. “I just need to get out of here. I have to use the bathroom.” I try to reach for the doorknob again, but Chelsea is blocking it with her body. I raise my eyes to look at her round face, her black hair with the pale tips that I helped her bleach in the bathroom at her house, and her brown eyes that suddenly look like pools of blackness in the dim light of Shane’s bedroom. “Chelsea,” I say firmly. “Step aside. Now.” Her gaze zeroes in on my face. “No. You’re not leaving.” Chelsea had been searching the room for a weapon, but she didn’t need to search. She had a knife on her all along. The same knife she used to kill Brandon and Kayla. The same knife she’ll use to kill me. Except when I look down at her hands, they are empty. Where is the knife? Did she stash it somewhere? “Chelsea…” “You need to stay here, Brooke. You can’t leave.”

I pick my way down the stairs as quickly as I dare. I hear noises coming from Shane’s bedroom. “Brooke!” Chelsea calls out again, but her voice is muffled like she’s still in the bedroom. It’s strange—I hit her hard, but not that hard. She ought to be back on her feet by now and running down the stairs after me. “Tim!” I call again, bordering on screaming now. “Shane!” When I get to the foot of the stairs, I let out a yelp as I trip and go sprawling. Something was lying in my path, blocking me. Something soft. Oh my God. It’s a body. I squint down, trying to see who it is, but the living room is too dark. I lift my hands off the floor and there’s something sticky and wet coating my palms. Blood.

Oh my God. Chelsea was right. Someone else was killed while Chelsea and I were hiding up in the bedroom. Chelsea was never trying to hurt me—she only wanted me to stay in the room so I wouldn’t end up like the others. I let out a choked sob, knowing I need to get back up and run but my body feels frozen. And then the weight of a body crushes me, keeping me from getting back on my feet. And fingers grab the chain around my neck, pulling it tight.

OH MY GOD

“You know,” I say, “sometimes you need to stand up to bullies. Last year, when my son was in fourth grade, he was getting pushed around every day. But now—” I stop short because Shane is staring at me like I just punched him in the gut. I rewind what I just said in my head, trying to figure out why he looks that way. Then I realize. “You have a son in fifth grade?” he asks in a hoarse voice. “You said he was in kindergarten.” I open my mouth, but no words come out. Just a little squeak. “Brooke.” He squeezes his knees with his hands. Hunt must’ve made the cuffs extremely tight, because I can see the metal biting into his wrists. “How old is your son?” I could lie. There’s no way he would figure out the truth. But then again, I’m sure he can see the truth written all over my face. “He’s ten.” “Is he…?” “Yes.” I nod slowly. “He’s yours.” Whatever those men did to Shane that landed him in here, what I have just done to him is far worse. He looks like he’s having a lot of trouble catching his breath, which is a bit disturbing if he really does have a rib fracture, but I don’t think that’s why. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he manages. I shake my head, but I don’t answer. I don’t think he expects me to. The answer is obvious.

Oh shit

“Brooke, can I…?” He hesitates, and I’m afraid he’s going to ask me to bring Josh to visit. I won’t do that. There’s no way he can convince me. But instead, he says, “Can I see a picture of him? Please?” I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But the way he’s looking at me is breaking my heart. And really, what harm could it do? So I dig out my phone. I bring up a recent photo of Josh and I hold out the screen so he can look at it. He stares down at the photo, his lips parted. “My God,” he breathes. “He looks like me.” “Yes.” “Can I see one more? Please, Brooke?” I really, really shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to say no. Shane will never meet his son, but I can at least give him this. So I show him a few recent pictures. One of Josh playing baseball. One from a birthday party. I show him some old ones too. Josh on his first day of kindergarten, proudly posing with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack. Shane eats it all up. In all my years of being a mother, I don’t think I have ever met anyone this mesmerized by pictures of my son. Even my parents never seemed that interested.

We could have easily looked at these photographs for the next several hours, but then Hunt knocks loudly on the door. “You wrapping things up?” I shove my phone back into my pants pocket. Shane’s face falls. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s okay,” he says. “Thank you. For showing me those pictures. I know you didn’t have to do that.” “You’re welcome.” His brown eyes are so sad, it almost breaks my heart. “I’m glad you never bro...

Shane stares at the wall. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite read. “You know,” he says, “sometimes I almost get used to how much it sucks being stuck here, especially for something I didn’t even do. I accept the fact that I’m going to have to ask permission to use the bathroom for the rest of my life, I’ll never get to hold a real job, I’ll never get to drive a car again, I’ll never get to be with… with a woman again. That every meal I’ll eat for the rest of my life is going to taste like slop. That once a month, a bunch of guys will jump me in my cell and beat the shit out of me for no reason except maybe I looked at one of them wrong.” He takes a shaky breath. “But then I find out about one more thing being in here has taken away from m...

Shane breaks eye contact first. “I’d like to go back to my cell now.” “Are you sure you don’t want—” “Yes.” I do as he says—I ask Hunt to bring him back to his cell without getting the tests he needs. He’s depressed—that much is obvious. Suicidal? I don’t know. We have a psychiatrist who allegedly comes once a month, but I’ve yet to see him once during the months I’ve been here. I consider calling Shane back to ask him more about it, but I don’t want to torture him. I’m not sure I’m going to see Shane again while I’m working here. He’ll probably do his damnedest to avoid any medical visits, and if the primary care practice offers me a job, I’m out of here. It’s been too hard seeing him. It has been nothing like I thought it would be. I’m glad this is almost over.

I’m going to die. My beloved snowflake necklace—the one I have worn every day for the last seven years—is cutting off my oxygen supply. Strong fingers are pulling it tight, closing off my windpipe as I gasp for air. “Please…” I try to form the words but I have no air. He’s going to kill me. Tim is going to kill me with the necklace he bought me for my tenth birthday. The irony of it. Except then I catch up with a whiff of something. Something in the air. A familiar scent close to me, coming from the guy holding me down. Sandalwood. Shane’s aftershave. It’s not Tim after all. Tim is the one lying dead on the floor. Shane is the one holding me down, trying to choke me to death. Shane is the one who had the opportunity to plan this. To get rid of all the knives and weapons in his house except for the knife used to stab Brandon and Kayla—and now Tim—to death. But he’s chosen a different end for me. “Shane,” I try to choke out.

But it’s no use. My head starts to swim as I cling to consciousness. I struggle against him, but he’s too strong, and he’s got the edge lying on top of me. Where is Chelsea? I don’t understand. She was trying to get out of the room. She should be out by now—she should be able to help me. But she’s not here. Maybe she decided to hide out when she heard me scream. I couldn’t entirely blame her. Lightning flashes, and I catch a glimpse of the blood in a pool beneath me. It feels hopeless. Shane already killed three people tonight. And one of them was a football player even bigger than he is. My consciousness is slipping away. I’m going to die. This is going to happen. A crash of thunder shakes the foundation of the house. It’s the loudest one yet, and vaguely, I’m aware of another sound in the background. And one other thing. The snapping of a link in my necklace. All at once, the air comes rushing into my lungs. I can breathe again. A rush of adrenaline hits me, and I sense Shane has been thrown off balance by my necklace breaking loose. If there’s ever been a chance, this is it. I swing my elbow back as hard as I can.

I run out onto the flooded road, grateful that my hours of cheerleading practice have kept me fit and nimble. Of course, Shane is pretty damn fit too. He’s a quarterback. And his legs are a lot longer than mine. All I’ve got going for me is a head start and the fact that nobody has elbowed me hard in the testicles. “Brooke!” I hear my name called out from somewhere behind me. Or maybe I’m just imagining it. Maybe it’s the wind. But I have to believe he’s close behind me. He can’t let me leave. If I live, I’ll tell everyone what he’s done. “Brooke!” Tears are streaming down my cheeks. My feet are numb from the ice-cold water, but I’ve got to keep going. This is my only chance. I’ve got to live. “Broo—” And then I see it. A set of headlights in the distance. It looks like a pickup truck. Under ordinary circumstances, it’s the kind of vehicle I would keep my distance from late at night because you never know what kind of axe murderer is driving, but right now, it’s my only chance. I run toward the truck, waving my hands in the air. “Stop!” I scream. “Help me!” Thank God, the truck stops, and the night doesn’t end with me being hit and killed by a pickup truck. I hazard a look behind me, but there’s nobody there. I’m not sure Shane was ever following me in the first place, but if he was, he’s gone now.