The Inmate (25)

“Fine,” Tim finally says. “Let’s go.”





Chapter 16


PRESENT DAY




Today I’m supposed to remove the stitches from Shane Nelson’s forehead.

I tossed and turned all night thinking about it. I dreamed of being back in that farmhouse. In my dream, the necklace was tightening around my throat and the smell of sandalwood filled my nostrils. Then I heard a crack of thunder, and some other noise in the background I couldn’t make out, and then…

I was awake.

After the third time I woke up in a cold sweat, I gave up on sleep. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee. That was at four in the morning, and now I’m running on empty. Actually, it’s a good thing. If I am exhausted, I’ll be less panicked when Shane shows up.

At around two in the afternoon, Officer Hunt leads Shane down the long hallway to the waiting area outside the examining room. He takes a seat, his wrists and ankles shackled once again, waiting his turn after the two other men in front of him. Of course, after I spot Shane sitting out there, I can’t think straight anymore. I have to keep asking the inmates to repeat what they just said five seconds earlier.

When it’s Shane’s turn to see me, Hunt grabs him by the arm and yanks him out of his seat. Shane needs a little help to stand, given his arms and legs are restrained, but Hunt is a lot rougher than he needs to be. And what’s up with the shackles each time? I thought before it was because he had been in a fight, but now he’s still cuffed.

Do they really think he’s that dangerous? The only other guy I’ve seen in the last few days who was shackled like this had an angry sneer and hate symbols tattooed all over his face.

But what am I saying? Of course Shane is dangerous. I know that better than anyone.

But he doesn’t look dangerous as he shuffles into my examining room and struggles to climb up on the table, a pained expression on his face. When he slips, he apologizes to me. “Sorry I’m so slow. It’s just hard to do anything chained up like this.”

You deserve it. The words are on my lips but I don’t say them. It would be unprofessional. Instead, I mutter, “Let’s get this done.”

He is struggling to find his balance on the exam table, and once again, I have to put out a hand to help him. He flashes me a grateful smile, and it looks so much like the old Shane, my cheeks burn, and I have to look away.

“Thanks, Brooke,” he says. “I appreciate it.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble.

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

I watch him attempt to scratch his nose with his hands shackled together. Finally, I ask the question that’s been running through my head since last week: “Why do they do this to you?”

Shane raises his eyebrows. “Do what?”

I nod down at the cuffs on his wrists. “Practically none of the other men get shackled this way. And I assume they’re all just as bad as you here.”

He cracks a lopsided smile. “Oh, I’m the worst.”

I stare at him.

“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” His fingertips dig into the khaki of his prison jumpsuit. “That I’m a monster? That I deserve all this?”

His brown eyes hold mine, and this time I refuse to look away. “Fine—don’t answer the question. That’s your right.”

I expected some nasty retort from Shane, but instead, his shoulders sag. He nods his head toward the closed door separating us from the guard. “You want to know why I’ve always got shackles on? It’s because he hates me.”

“Who?”

“Hunt. He hates my guts.”

“But why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Who the hell knows? Maybe I remind him of somebody. Sometimes people just don’t like each other. But it sucks if you’re a prisoner and the guy who doesn’t like you is one of the correctional officers. Makes your whole life a living hell. I mean, he has the power to make things really bad for me.”

I hope he does. I consider saying those words, but what’s the point? There was a time when I would have wanted to spit it in his face, but the years have taken some of the fight out of me. After all, Shane is in prison. He’s serving his time for the terrible things he did. Everything that happened is in the past.

I wanted Shane to suffer after what he did, and I got my wish. He’s stuck here, day in, day out, at the mercy of a bunch of guards who think he’s the scum of the earth. Getting beat up, and he can’t even do anything about it or else it will be worse next time. Sleeping in a cell every night.

His life is hell.

“So how have you been?” Shane asks me as I peel open the suture removal kit.

“Fine.” Do not engage in conversation with this man.

“Do you like working here?”

“Yes.” It’s the truth. Even though I’m still a little scared of the prisoners, and I miss my heels, I find it to be rewarding work. And I want Shane to know that his presence here doesn’t intimidate me. “The inmates are nice.”

“Yeah. To you.”

I get as close to Shane as I dare. It’s not my first choice, but you have to get close and personal when you’re removing stitches. “They’re not nice to you?”

“Do you see the stitches on my head?”