Chapter 7
The tour group moved toward the back of the campus. This area was famous for its historical architecture and a long, steep slope paved entirely with uneven cobblestones.
Dean Cromwell clapped his hands. "Let's go to the observation deck at the top of the hill for a group photo!"
Brigham gripped the handles of the wheelchair and began pushing Giselle up the incline. The rubber tires bumped roughly over the stones.
Halfway up, Brigham's phone rang. It was a special ringtone for his head of security. He stopped pushing. He answered the phone, his face turning serious.
He looked over his shoulder at Amy. "Come here. Hold the chair for a minute."
Amy froze. Every instinct in her body screamed to walk away. But Dean Cromwell glared at her, his eyes silently threatening her research funding.
She walked over. She placed her hands on the rubber grips of the handles. She stood as far back as her arms would allow, keeping maximum physical distance from Giselle. She pushed upward.
They neared the top of the hill. The slope here was the steepest.
Giselle suddenly turned her head. She looked over her shoulder right at Amy. Her lips curled into a dark, twisted smile.
Before Amy could react, Giselle's hand snapped down. She violently unlatched the brake on the right wheel that she had secretly engaged. At the exact same moment, Giselle threw her entire upper body weight backward against the seat.
The sudden shift in momentum yanked the heavy wheelchair backward. The wheels hit a large gap in the cobblestones.
The chair violently tipped backward.
The massive weight of the chair and Giselle pulled Amy forward. Amy lost her footing on the slick stones. She fell hard to her knees, but her hands clamped down on the handles in a desperate attempt to stop the chair from flipping.
Giselle reached back. Her manicured fingers clamped around Amy's wrist like a vice. Her sharp acrylic nails dug deep into Amy's flesh, breaking the skin.
"Ahhhhh!" Giselle let out a blood-curdling scream.
The wheelchair completely tipped over sideways. Both women crashed hard onto the brutal cobblestone path.
Chaos erupted. The media photographers lunged forward, their cameras clicking furiously, capturing the disaster from every angle.
Brigham dropped his phone. He spun around. He saw the overturned chair. He sprinted down the slope like a madman.
Amy lay on the ground. When she fell, she had thrown her hands out to protect her head. The rough, jagged stones had ripped the skin off her right palm. Blood poured from a deep gash, dripping onto the gray rocks.
The pain was blinding. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself up onto her left elbow.
Brigham reached them. He didn't even glance at Amy. He stepped right over her legs and dropped to his knees beside Giselle.
Giselle threw her arms around Brigham's neck. She buried her face in his chest, sobbing hysterically. "She pushed me!" She pointed a shaking finger at Amy. "She let go of the handles and shoved my back! She tried to kill me!"
The entire crowd gasped. Every camera lens swung to point directly at Amy's face.
Amy's eyes widened in shock. She held up her bleeding right hand. "No! I didn't push her! The chair slipped!"
Brigham's head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot. The veins in his neck bulged. He glared at Amy with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.
"I can't believe you are this vicious." His voice was a low, terrifying growl that carried over the crowd.
The words hit Amy like a bullet to the chest. The air left her lungs. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Dean Cromwell rushed over, pointing a finger at Amy. "Dr. Torres! This is unacceptable behavior! You will be severely disciplined for this!"
Brigham didn't wait. He scooped Giselle up into his arms. He turned his back on Amy and carried Giselle down the hill toward the waiting SUVs.
The engines roared to life. The black cars sped away, leaving the campus.
Amy sat alone on the cold cobblestones. The photographers crowded around her, flashing lights directly into her eyes. She looked down at her right hand. The blood was pooling in her palm, thick and red.
A dry, hollow laugh escaped her throat. It was so absurd. It was so completely hopeless. She sat there and laughed while her hand bled.
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