Page 70 of The Coworker
“Tim!” I call out. “Shane!”
No answer.
It’s not a good sign. I had assumed the two of them would be downstairs in the living room, keeping an eye on each other, but the living room is dead silent. Nobody is down there.
I suddenly wonder if I have made a terrible mistake leaving the bedroom.
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 notthathard. 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.
Chapter 39
PRESENT DAY
When I come out of the examining room to see who my next patient is, the only person waiting is Shane Nelson.
Once again, Officer Hunt has shackled both his wrists and his ankles. And it’s obvious what Shane’s reason is for being here: somebody beat the crap out of him. His lower lip is split open, he’s got a deep bruise blossoming on his left cheekbone, and when Hunt helps him to his feet, he has to limp into the exam room.
“I thought we weren’t doing the shackles anymore with him,” I say to Hunt.
The guard shoots me a look. Our relationship has been decidedly frosty since I confronted him about our shared past, but I’m feeling braver since I had an interview yesterday at the primary care practice, and it went well. If he wants to get me fired, that’s fine with me.
“He was fighting,” Hunt snaps at me. “The shackles are required.”
Considering I don’t see any abrasions on Shane’s knuckles, it seemed less like he was fighting and more like he was getting beat up. But I don’t push the issue. I do, however, close the door once Shane is in the exam room.
“Jesus,” I comment.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says. “Really.”
I give his face a once over. The bruise from when he hit my desk is completely gone, and he still has a light pink scar from the laceration I sewed up the first time he was in here. He has that cut on his lip and some bruises on his face, but nothing that looks like it needs stitches. But I notice every time he shifts his weight, he winces.
“What hurts?” I ask him.
“I have a broken rib.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How do you know that?”
“Because it feels exactly like it did last time I had a broken rib.”
I wonder how many broken ribs he’s had since he’s been in here. “I’ll order a chest x-ray,” I tell him.
“Great.”
Despite everything, I feel a rush of sympathy for Shane. In the short time I’ve worked here, I’ve seen him come in here with significant injuries at the hands of other inmates on two separate occasions. Even if he is “evil” like Tim claims he is, it seems wrong that the prison is allowing this to happen.
