Bridget started to kneel. But if they saw the typewriter pushed to one side, it would be a big clue as to what they had been doing. She leaned over and began to move it back into place. But as she did, she lost her balance. Suddenly she was tumbling off the desktop.

For a second, she had the illusion she might catch herself. Then her right shoulder slammed into the floor. At the same time, her legs pinwheeled overhead, until the chain abruptly jerked her left leg back. Pulled in two directions, Bridget felt like a turkey wishbone at Thanksgiving. When she finally stopped, she was lying on her right side facing away from the treadmill, while her left leg was straight up and nearly behind her.

Somehow Bridget had managed not to scream at the shock and pain. Not that it mattered, because Bob had shouted. And her fall had been so noisy.

Any second they would come in here and discover the sign. With her last bit of effort, she slid the paper under the treadmill. As she did, she saw short stacks of pages already hidden underneath.

With a wince, she probed her shoulder and then her ankle as she turned toward Bob. She was going to have some horrible bruises, but nothing was out of place. Nothing was broken.

And then she saw Bob’s right foot. It was bent at an odd angle, dangling like a half-kicked-off shoe.

The room went dark.

DERRICK

So Wrong, So Fast

Derrick was running to Bob’s room to see what had caused the loud crash when the power went out. With a thumb, he swiped the flashlight setting on his phone as he threw open the door. He half expected to see a broken window and an empty room.

Bridget and Bob were both still there, but something was broken, all right.

Bob’s right ankle. Dark blood on his dirty white sock and his foot at the wrong angle. Derrick’s stomach somersaulted at the sight. It was disgusting. It took all of his willpower not to throw up, but to instead find the key and set it in the lock. He tried to unlatch the cuff without actually focusing on anything.

His mom added the light of her own phone. After coming in, she reached down and yanked off Bob’s sock.

He screamed. Not only was there a bloody gash, but also something white and shiny. A bone, broken and now poking through the skin.

“What did you do, you stupid girl?” Joanne demanded.

“I tripped and fell.” Bridget was on her knees next to Bob, who lay moaning on his back on the treadmill. Her face contorted. “I’m sorry.”