Chapter 4
Chapter Four
J
It’s really, really easy to get remote access to someone’s camera and mike, especially if they’re on a public network.
Like say…
The hospital Wi-Fi.
I take control of Kelly’s phone like I’m ordering pizza. With a few taps, my screen expands with footage of Kelly and Shawn. To be more accurate, it’s the underside of Kelly’s chin and Shawn’s jaw. Fortunately, she has her phone out and not in her pocket or I wouldn’t have any visuals.
Kelly’s eyes are on the ground, her chin tucked to her chest as if she wants to roll completely into a ball the way an armadillo does when it feels threatened. She’s biting down on her bottom lip, and I can tell, even from the crappy quality of the phone’s camera, that she’s trying not to cry.
I slip in my ear buds to spy on their conversation.
“Did you tell anyone that I hit you? Huh? Did you?”
Kelly shakes her head and whimpers when Shawn grips her arm and shakes her.
“I don’t want to hear you spreading any lies about me. Do you understand?”
My blood boils. Who does he think he is to put his hands on his wife?
“It was your own fault for pissing me off. I give you everything you could ever want, and you’re still so ungrateful. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position?”
“Shawn, stop. You’re hurting me.”
“Stop being a baby, Kelly. Now, go back into that room and get your things. We’re leaving.”
“What? I can’t, Shawn. I haven’t fully healed yet.”
“Dad is asking where you are. He and Mom want to come over for dinner.”
Oh. So, this guy is dragging Kelly back to be his maid and family host? After abusing her, he wants to treat her like a trophy? Or worse, a servant?
He’s so condescending about it too. I bet this isn’t the first time he’s hit her. Images of what Kelly must have gone through with that monster fill my head.
My watch chirps.
I force myself to take three deep breaths. I’m overthinking again. Maybe Shawn didn’t start hitting Kelly until after they tied the knot. Maybe this is the first time. Who knows? What’s clear is that Kelly’s been mistreated by her husband, and it really pisses me off.
My watch makes the sound again. The face shifts colors. Green surges into yellow.
A warning sign.
Even though I want to explode with rage, I can’t. Not if I want to live. And I’m not going to let Kelly’s slimy, abusive husband of all people send me into cardiac arrest.
I close my eyes, count backward from ten like the therapist taught me, and get control of my emotions.
Put them away, J. Fold them up like nice, little table napkins and put them in the box. There. There. All neat and tidy.
When my eyes open, I check my watch and let out a relieved sigh. My heart rate has retreated to non-dangerous territory.
I’ll live another day.
Crisis averted, I tap out of Kelly’s microphone and camera. I’ve seen and heard enough.
Now, what can I find out about Shawn?
I access Kelly’s photos next. She has a few photos of herself but, sadly, no pictures of other injuries. After snooping around to check if she has a secret folder, I come up empty. Checking into her microphone again, I hear Kelly sniffling and then a door opening and falling shut.
She’s leaving.
If she stops getting medical attention and goes back to him…
The psycho already put her in the hospital once. The next time, she might be rolled into a morgue while he makes up some crappy story about her falling down a longer flight of stairs.
With time running out, I sign out of Kelly’s phone and hack Shawn’s. He doesn’t even have a password.
I go straight into his browser history.
There are plenty of porn sites and search phrases about sex and positions that I haven’t even heard of. This guy is a deviant. I bet he wasn’t even faithful to Kelly while he was punching her around.
A phrase jumps out at me as I’m scrolling.
Claustrophobia.
Is that a new sexual scenario?
The word pops up in his search history again.
A few weeks ago, Shawn logged into an online forum asking about diagnosing claustrophobia.
My body buzzes the way it always does when I uncover something hidden.
I type the word “claustrophobia” into his browser history.
It comes up empty.
“Oh. Shawn, you didn’t want anyone finding out about this, did you?” I smile and easily retrieve the deleted browsing data from the code buried in his phone.
When I type the word “claustrophobia” again, I get tons of hits.
What to do if your claustrophobia is getting worse?
Does anyone else feel like the walls are closing in when they’re in a small space?
How to get clinically treated for claustrophobia?
Pills to cure claustrophobia?
In the distance, a familiar figure dips and weaves past busy nurses and doctors. It’s Kelly. She’s really going to pack her things.
Time is almost up.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, and I tap into the hospital’s camera system. At once, four monitors blink to life on my laptop. I swipe through until I have eyes on Kelly’s husband.
Shawn is jogging down the emergency stairs. He must be suffering an awful lot if he’s choosing to hike to the ground floor all the way from the twenty-fourth floor.
I can’t let him leave.
Not like this.
I rub my collarbone in thought.
How do I get Shawn to keep his hands to himself?
Inspiration strikes suddenly, as it always does.
I open Shawn’s browser again and tap on the latest “fantasy” he’d been indulging in online.
Thankfully, the start of the video has the adult actress clothed—although “clothed” is relative.
I’ve seen girlfriends visiting their sick boyfriends wearing outfits similar to this.
Not that I’m jealous.
Okay, maybe a little jealous.
But I can compare cup sizes another time. Right now, I have about thirty seconds to see if Shawn has a type.
And he does.
His favorite adult actresses are dark haired, voluptuous, and smiley.
So… similar to Kelly. I slam my laptop closed and scan the nurses nearby.
Most of them are older with perpetual scowls and messy hair.
Nursing is a profession that seems to suck the life out of them. They really should get paid more.
“Shonda,” a voice says through the buzz of conversation. “Can you help log into the system again? I keep getting signed out.”
I hear an angel chorus in the background.
That’s Bailey. She’s a nurse who started working a few weeks ago. Young, pretty. Very full figured. Exactly Shawn’s type.
I do a quick search of Bailey’s personal information before I approach her.
“Hey, Bailey.”
“J!” Bailey grins. “What are you doing down here? Aren’t you supposed to be…” She points up.
I steer her away from the nursing station. “This is going to sound strange, but can you do me a huge favor?”
“Uh, sure. Do you need something?” She stares at my collarbone. “Is it your pacemaker?”
“No, it’s something a little more personal.”
“Well, can it wait? I’m really busy.”
I navigate to my bank app, add a few zeroes and tap the “SEND” button. Bailey’s phone pings in response. She fishes it out of her pocket and sees the notification her bank sent.
“Can you help me now?” I ask pointedly.
Her jaw drops. “Did you just… wait, how do you… why did you send me so much—”
“Will you help me or not?” I insist.
Time is seeping through my fingers. We need to act now.
“W-what do you need me to do?” Bailey asks.
Finally.
I show her the live footage of Shawn jogging down the stairs. “Get that man in an elevator by any means possible.”