I open my eyes again to the monster truck of a man in the doorway. Charlie Callahan. He’s the only guy in here bigger than me, but also the nicest. He’s like a teddy bear, and had heard of me, so was the first to introduce himself.
“You gonna stay in here all day?”
I tuck my hand behind my head. “Why? They opened the doors for us?”
He chuckles, and the mattress dips as he sits at the end. “I wish.”
It’s hard to believe the guy is in here for attempted murder, but I doubt he’ll be here for long. He has friendsin high places already trying to get him out, and each piece of evidence against him keeps mysteriously disappearing.
“I’ve been thinking. I might start an agency once I get out,” he says, and I open my eyes again. “Totally legit, y’know? Private security shit.”
“Sounds nice.”
“You could come work for me.”
My smile is weak. “Thanks for the offer, but something tells me I won’t be leaving anytime soon. Not alive, anyway.” His expression darkens, and his brows pinch together in concern. “Don’t worry about me, Charlie.”
“You don’t wanna fight for your girl?”
I tense but don’t take his words to heart, because I know he means well. He really does.
Fuck, I’m getting soft. This is all Ella’s fault.
“That’s all I want to do,” I say. “But?—”
“Flynn.” Roger Perkins appears in the doorway, eyes wide. He’s a weedy guy, in here for killing his business partner. “Get your ass out here and watch the TV.”
I shoot up from bed and out into the main area. The television is hanging in the corner, and the news is on.
Ella’s face is on the screen.
“Turn it up!” Charlie shouts at someone.
“—Sarah is on scene with this developing story,” the anchor says, and the camera cuts to outside the hospital.
“Thanks, Jen. The tragic news broke only minutes ago that Ella Gibson, New York Times Bestseller, has died.” Something inside of me crumbles. My mind is awash with noise, like static in my mind. “She was rushed to this hospital just over two weeks ago after being attacked. Gibson, twenty-five, was brutally stabbed four times, and though she survived the initial attack, she died of complicationsdue to her injuries yesterday. Her father, Chief of Police Guy Gibson, had this to say.”
Guy appears on the screen, microphones in his face. Eyes red-rimmed.
“My daughter was the light of my life. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did, and though the perpetrator is dead, I won’t rest until those linked to her death are caught and punished.” Somehow, I find the strength to move closer to the television. “That includes the criminals that don’t roam our undergrounds but walk among us in suits—and uniforms. Not just those who commit crimes, but those officers who cover it up. Now, you aren’t just hiding from a chief determined to clean up our force.” He looks into the camera. “You’re hiding from a father avenging his child.”
He walks away as questions are screamed at him.
“I’m sorry, Gable,” Charlie says from beside me.
I’m fixed in place, a humming in my ears that almost knocks me over.
But I remain standing.
“Don’t be.” I clear my throat of emotion. “She’s not dead.”
I walk back to my cell, Charlie on my heels.
“Listen, man, I’ve heard that denial?—”
“It isn’t denial. It’s facts. Ella isn’t dead.” I sit back on the bed and lie down, refocusing on the rusted springs. Charlie stands in the doorway, unmoving, and I close my eyes and breathe deep.
She’s not dead.
