I finish suturing up the rest of Shane’s laceration in silence. He doesn’t ask me any other questions, and I’m grateful. I should never have told him anything about my life. That was a mistake. It just threw me off to see him again. It’s like everything came rushing back. The good stuff over the course of our relationship, and then the bad stuff at the very end.
“All set.” I tie off the last suture and dab at his forehead to clean off the blood. “Good as new.”
“Yeah…”
“You need anything for pain?”
He makes a face. “No, thanks. If I ask for pain medication, I’m just going to get labeled as drug-seeking.”
He’s right. Every time an inmate asks for pain medication, alarm bells go off in the back of my head. After all, the last NP who worked here got busted for selling narcotics. Still, Shane has a significant laceration on his head that I stitched up with no anesthesia. It wouldn’t be terrible for him to ask for pain medication. But it’s his choice.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’ll get Officer Hunt to—”
“Wait!” Shane’s voice is hushed but urgent. “Wait, Brooke. Listen, I need to say something.”
My eyes fly in the direction of the door. Hunt is waiting on the other side, in case I need him. “Shane, I can’t—”
“No. No. Please just listen to me, okay?”
I shake my head. “I can’t. This isn’t a good idea.”
“I just need you to know…”—his voice suddenly sounds hoarse—“I wasn’t the one who tried to kill you, Brooke. I swear to you. I swear on my life.”
I take a step back from the table. “I was there. I know it was you.”
“You don’t know that.” He grits his teeth. “I didn’t do anything. That asshole Reese knocked me out with a baseball bat, and then the next thing I knew, the police were shaking me awake and telling me I was under arrest.”
“Shane,” I hiss. “Stop this right now.”
“I would never have hurt you, Brooke.” His eyes are wide and earnest, and he looks so much like the seventeen-year-old boy I fell in love with. “I’ve been wanting to say that to you for the last ten years. You have to believe me. I would never have done something like that. I couldn’t. I loved you.”
My right hand balls into a fist. How dare he? How dare he lie to my face that way? “Do you think I’m a complete idiot?” I say in a voice just low enough that Hunt won’t hear.
“Brooke—”
Whatever Shane is about to say next is interrupted by Hunt knocking on the door to the examining room. Without waiting for an answer, he pokes his head in. “You done yet?”
“Yes,” I choke out. “We’re done.”
I help Shane sit back up on the table. Now he has to get off the table, which is a challenge with his ankles shackled. He’s doing it carefully, trying not to fall. Hunt watches him, his lips twisting downward.
“Hurry up, you piece of shit,” Hunt spits out at him.
I look at the guard in surprise. Hunt isn’t exactly a picture of compassion with these prisoners, but he’s polite enough. This is the first time I’ve heard him hurl profanity at one of them. And when Shane finally gets to his feet, Hunt jerks him forward much more roughly than he needs to.
Why does Hunt hate him so much? What did Shane do to elicit that kind of response?
The two of them leave the examining room. I watch Hunt take Shane down the hallway with the flickering fluorescent lights, back to his cell. When he gets halfway down the hall, Shane briefly turns his head to look back at me.
I touch my throat. I still wake up at night sometimes, covered in sweat, the memory of the necklace tightening around my windpipe still fresh in my mind. It was a long time ago, but I can still feel it happening like it was yesterday. I could feel the links of the gold necklace digging into my neck, I
could smell Shane’s sandalwood aftershave tickling my nose, and I could feel his hot breath on my neck.
But there’s one thing I can’t do. I can’t see his face.
I never saw the face of the man who tried to kill me. The power was out that night and everything was pitch black. But I knew Shane very well. I knew the feel of his body. The smell of him. I knew it was him.
It had to be.
Because if it wasn’t him, I have made a terrible mistake.
