Proven Guilty (Treadmill III)

VIII

I suppose I teased you a little bit earlier. I said you would be getting the real story, of everything that went down without the cops knowing about it. Without any station running a story on it. I didn't tell you the story then. But I'll tell you now, I swear.

I planned the entire thing from my cell. I planned it with the ample time I found myself enjoying; I didn't quite enjoy socializing with the other inmates. Or the guards. I was in fact relying on my lack of socialization to jumpstart my plan.

I'm starting to hate the word 'plan.' Maybe I'll call it something else. A scheme? A plot? A strategy? The entire thesaurus page for the word 'plan?' That was how I wrote all of my papers in high school.

But I digress.

There were dozens of ways that this plan could go awry, and I believe both Rebecca and myself were well aware of all of them. Every single tiny strand that could be pulled out of place by forces and people completely out of our control. I've never liked not being in control, as I'm sure everyone has figured out by now. I didn't like that this plan left me with little control of the situation, but it was difficult to pull the puppet strings from inside a prison.

Where most of my other plans had failed, this was the one that needed to work.

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December 31, 2020

5:57 PM

6 Hours & 3 Minutes Until the New Year

Dinner was coming soon.

Dinner was the catalyst to jumpstart the plan.

Kennedy was simultaneously excited and terrified for dinner on New Year's Eve. Agitated. She was agitated about dinner on New Year's Eve. She didn't even know with 100% certainty that Rebecca would bother showing up for her part. She wouldn't blame her if she didn't show. But it would most definitely put a damper on everything.

"It's dinner time, Abrams."

Hannah, a guard who Kennedy had come to almost-like during her time in that cell, unlocked the door and motioned for Kennedy to go out into the hallway. Everyone else was filing down the narrow, yellow-tinged floors in the direction of the cafeteria.

Kennedy hated the cafeteria. It smelled like rats.

She kept her eyes on the back of Hannah's head while they walked, convinced that if she made direct eye contact with anyone, they would be able to see right through her and her plan. So, the back of Hannah's head it was.

Kennedy followed everyone else into the cafeteria, lining up to get her food. The nerves bouncing around in her stomach wouldn't allow her to eat anything, but she didn't want to look suspicious.

She sat down with her tray at a relatively empty table and began to look around at the women who had yet to take their seats. The ones who could possibly sit down across from her. She prayed whoever it was wouldn't be too strong. Or too much of a murderer.

A tray slammed down onto the table and someone sat in the seat across from Kennedy. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. She had studied the sleeve on the woman's right arm from across the hall for hours upon hours.

Nel.

Kennedy took three deep breaths.

In. Out. In. Out.