The Inmate A gripping psychological thriller (Freida McFadden) (z-lib.org).pdf
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1、The Inmatea novel byFREIDA MCFADDENThe Inmate 2022 by Freida McFadden. All rights reserved.All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmittedin any form or by any means whatsoever without express writtenpermission from the authorThis book is a work of fiction. The names, char
2、acters, incidents and placesare the products of the authors imagination, and are not to be construed asreal. None of the characters in the book is based on an actual person. Anyresemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental andunintentional.Table of ContentsCHAPTER 1CHAPTER 2CHAPTER
3、3CHAPTER 4CHAPTER 5CHAPTER 6CHAPTER 7CHAPTER 8CHAPTER 9CHAPTER 10CHAPTER 11CHAPTER 12CHAPTER 13CHAPTER 14CHAPTER 15CHAPTER 16CHAPTER 17CHAPTER 18CHAPTER 19CHAPTER 20CHAPTER 21CHAPTER 22CHAPTER 23CHAPTER 24CHAPTER 25CHAPTER 26CHAPTER 27CHAPTER 28CHAPTER 29CHAPTER 30CHAPTER 31CHAPTER 32CHAPTER 33CHAPT
4、ER 34CHAPTER 35CHAPTER 36CHAPTER 37CHAPTER 38CHAPTER 39CHAPTER 40CHAPTER 41CHAPTER 42CHAPTER 43CHAPTER 44CHAPTER 45CHAPTER 46CHAPTER 47CHAPTER 48CHAPTER 49CHAPTER 50CHAPTER 51CHAPTER 52CHAPTER 53CHAPTER 54EPILOGUEACKNOWLEDGMENTSCHAPTER 1PRESENT DAYAs the prison doors slam shut behind me, I question
5、every decision Iveever made in my life.This is not where I want to be right now. At all. Who wants to be in amaximum-security penitentiary? Im going to wager nobody wants that. Ifyou are within these walls, you may have made some poor life choicesalong the way.I sure have.“Name?”A woman in a blue co
6、rrectional officers uniform is looking up at mefrom behind the glass partition just inside the entrance to the prison. Hereyes are dull and glassy, and she looks like she doesnt want to be here anymore than I do.“Brooke Sullivan.” I clear my throat. “Im supposed to meet withDorothy Kuntz?”The woman
7、looks down at a clipboard of papers in front of her. Shescans the list, not acknowledging that she heard me or that she knowsanything about why Im here. I glance behind me into the small waitingarea, which is empty except for a wrinkled old man sitting in one of theplastic chairs, reading a newspape
8、r like hes sitting on the bus. Like thereisnt a barbed wire fence surrounding us, dotted with hulking guard towers.After what feels like several minutes, a buzzing sound echoes throughthe roomloud enough that I jump and take a step back. A door to my rightwith the red vertical bars slowly slides ope
9、n, revealing a long, dimly lithallway.I stare down the hallway, my feet frozen to the floor. “Should shouldI go in?”The woman looks up at me with her dull eyes. “Yesgo. You passthrough the security check down the hall.”She nods in the direction of the dark hallway, and a chill goes throughme as I wa
10、lk tentatively through the barred door, which slides closed againand locks with a resounding thud. Ive never been here before. My jobinterview was over the phone, and the warden was so desperate to hire me,he didnt even feel compelled to meet me firstmy resume and letters ofrecommendation were enoug
11、h. I signed a one-year contract and faxed itover last week.And now Im here. For the next year of my life.This is a mistake. I never should have come here.I look behind me, at the red metal bars that have already slammed shutbehind me. Its not too late. Even though I signed a contract, Im sure Icould
12、 get out of it. I could still turn around and leave this place. Unlike theresidents of this prison, I dont have to be here.I didnt want this job. I wanted any other job but this one. But I appliedto every single job within a sixty-minute commute of the town of Raker inupstate New York, and this pris
13、on was the only place that called me backfor an interview. It was my last choice, and I felt lucky to get it.So I keep walking.Theres a man at the security check-in all the way down the hall,guarding a second barred door. Hes in his forties with a short, military-style haircut and wearing the same c
14、risp blue uniform as the dead-eyedwoman at the front desk. I looked down at the ID badge clipped to hisbreast pocket: Correctional Officer Steven Benton.“Hi!” I say, in a voice that I realize is a little too chirpy, but I cant helpmyself. “My name is Brooke Sullivan, and its my first day working her
15、e.”Bentons expression doesnt shift as his dark eyes rake over me. Isquirm as I rethink all the fashion choices I made this morning. Working ina mens maximum-security prison, I figured it was better not to dress in away that might be construed as suggestive. So Im wearing a pair of boot-cut black dre
16、ss pants, paired with a black button-up long-sleeved shirt. Itsalmost eighty degrees out, one of the last hot days of the summer, and Imregretting all the black, but it seemed like the way to call the least attentionto myself. My dark hair is pinned back in a simple ponytail. The onlymakeup I have o
17、n is some concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes,and a scrap of lipstick thats almost the same color as my lips.“Next time,” he says, “no high heels.”“Oh!” I look down at my black pumps. Nobody gave me any guidancewhatsoever on the dress code, much less the shoe code. “Well, theyre notvery
18、 high. And theyre chunkynot sharp or anything. I really dontthink”My protests die on my lips as Benton stares at me. No high heels. Gotit.Benton runs my purse through a metal detector, and then I walkthrough a much larger one myself. I make a nervous joke about how it feelslike Im at the airport, bu
19、t Im getting the sense that this guy doesnt likejokes too much. Next time, no high heels, no jokes.“Im supposed to meet Dorothy Kuntz,” I tell him. “Shes a nursehere.”Benton grunts. “You a nurse too?”“Nurse practitioner,” I correct him. “Im going to be working at theclinic here.”He raises an eyebrow
20、 at me. “Good luck with that.”Im not sure what that means exactly.Benton presses a button, and again, that ear-shattering buzzing soundgoes off, just before the second set of barred doors slides open. He directsme down a hallway to the medical ward of the prison. Theres a strangechemical smell in th
21、e hallway, and the fluorescent lights overhead keepflickering. With every step I take, Im terrified that some prisoner willappear out of nowhere and bludgeon me to death with one of my high-heeled shoes.When I turn left at the end of the hallway, a woman is waiting for me.She is roughly in her sixti
22、es, with close-cropped gray hair and a sturdybuildtheres something vaguely familiar about her, but I cant put myfinger on what it is. Unlike the guards, shes dressed in a pair of navy bluescrubs. Like everyone else Ive met so far at this prison, she isnt smiling. Iwonder if its against the rules her
23、e. I should check my contract. Employeesmay be terminated for smiling.“Brooke Sullivan?” she asks in a clipped voice thats deeper than Iwould have expected.“Thats right. Youre Dorothy?”Much like the guard at the front, she looks me up and down. Andmuch like him, she looks utterly disappointed by wha
24、t she sees. “No highheels,” she tells me.“I know. I”“If you know, why did you wear them?”“I mean” My face burns. “I know now.”She reluctantly accepts this answer and decides not to force me tospend my orientation barefoot. She waves a hand, and I obediently trot afterher down the hallway. The whole
25、outside of the medical ward has the samechemical smell as the rest of the prison and the same flickering fluorescentlights. Theres a set of plastic chairs lined up against the wall, but theyreempty. She wrenches open the door of one of the rooms.“This will be your exam room,” she tells me.I peer ins
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