“Shane,” I gasp. “Please… let’s talk about this.” “Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be back eventually.” Before I have a second to feel relieved, he adds, “After all, I need to make sure you suffer for what you did.” “Shane…” “I wonder,” he says, “if you’ll scream louder than Tracy Gifford did.” My mouth drops open. I try to speak but no words come out. “Goodbye, Brooke.” I can almost hear him smiling on the other line. “Or should I say, see you later.” Through the phone, I can hear my son’s voice. His laughter. I might never hear him laugh again. “Shane!” I cry. “Please—” But it’s too late.
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