Read Online Unspeakable by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online

stared at Layne as he fired the gun again.
    Olivia felt the stinging, searing blow to her shoulder. She staggered back into the hallway. She braced herself against the wall to keep from falling. Horrified, Olivia gazed down at the pool of blood beneath the crumpled form of her friend. When she looked up again, her eyes met Layne’s.
    For a moment, he seemed to realize what he’d done. His mouth dropped open and he shook his head at her. It was as if he’d finally come out of his trance.
    Helpless, she watched him turn the gun on himself—just under his chin.
    â€œNo, wait!” she screamed.
    He fired, and the blast of the final shot reverberated in the room. Layne’s blood and brains splattered against the window behind him. Then his body flopped down on the floor.
    Olivia stared down at him. But her vision began to blur. She could hear someone running up the corridor. She didn’t know who it was, but they were calling out to her. She couldn’t answer. Her body was shutting down and her legs gave out from under her.
    Everything started to get dark.
    But she was thinking about her friend, Winnie—and about Layne.
    At last, poor Layne had found a peaceful, quiet place.
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    Olivia woke up and squinted at the window in her hospital room. The afternoon sun shone through the open blinds. The TV bracketed to the wall was on mute, and tuned to a baseball game. Any one of three people could have turned it on: her husband, her dad, or her college-age brother. The latter two had come down from Seattle, and were staying at a Best Western.
    Blindly reaching for the button at her side, she elevated the head of the bed until she was almost sitting up. The IV tube in her arm flopped around a bit as she reached for her water glass and took a sip. The nightstand also had a stack of magazines: People, Us Weekly, InStyle , and several others. If she never saw another photo of a Kardashian again, it would be too soon.
    She rubbed her eyes and focused on the visitor’s chair. She recognized Clay’s baseball cap, sitting on the cushion. Clay must have stepped out for a minute.
    A foil Get Well Soon helium balloon was tied to the arm of that chair. It was from Clay’s niece, Gail, who had stayed with them for two weeks last summer. Cool air from the vent by the window made the balloon dance.
    Olivia gazed at the menagerie of plants, flowers, and cards on the dresser. On the cover of one card was a cartoon of a guy with a broken leg; a rectal thermometer joke was on another; and a photo of a sexy, shirtless intern was on yet another. The shooting incident that had put her here in the hospital had occurred just three days ago. She appreciated the cards, but wasn’t quite ready to laugh yet. Several of those cards and flower arrangements were from Clay’s baseball buddies and their spouses. It was nice of them to think of her, and she felt guilty for not having tried harder to make friends with them.
    She felt guilty about a lot of things right now.
    The pain in her left arm was a constant reminder of what had happened. The shooting incident at the Portland Wellness Cooperative had made the front page of The Oregonian. The ongoing postmortem analysis of Collin Cox’s murdered mother and her lover had gotten bumped to page two. Reporters had been hounding Clay and her coworkers. Clay had the hospital operator screen all the calls to her room.
    Her official condition was stable. They’d removed the bullet from her shoulder, but she’d developed an infection. This morning was the first time her temperature had finally dropped below a hundred and one. The doctor thought she might go home the day after tomorrow—and he recommended bed rest after that. He advised against her attending Winnie’s funeral on Tuesday. Clay had promised to attend for her.
    â€œYou’re awake,” he said, strutting into the room with a Starbucks Frappuccino bottle. He looked sporty in his