Page 72 of The Coworker
“You just told me you have a broken rib. We at least need to make sure you don’t have a pneumothorax. That could kill you.”
“I doubt it. I’m not that lucky.”
“Shane…”
“I’m allowed to refuse, Brooke,” he says sharply. He drops his voice. “At least give me that.”
Our eyes lock. For a moment, he’s the boy that I used to watch playing football when I was a cheerleader. He was so great at it. And he looked so hot in his football uniform. But most of all, I loved how excited he used to be when he would spot me on the field and wave to me.
I would never have believed that boy was capable of trying to kill me.
The truth is, I still don’t believe it. There was something else that happened that night—something important I’m missing. Something tugging at the periphery of my memory. I feel like if I could think hard enough, I would figure it out. But the harder I try to remember, the more it eludes me.
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 here 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.
Chapter 40
ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER
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.
