The Death of Sarah Jones (ManxMan) ✔️

CHAPTER 3

Elliot eventually made a call to his mom. The moment she answered, her voice cracked, and before he could even say anything, she was crying. She kept promising it would all be okay, repeating it like a prayer, but Elliot wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, herself or him. A pit formed in his stomach, a heavy, sinking feeling that told him this was only the beginning.

She put money into his account, and as soon as he could, he ordered food. He also got paper and a pencil. The second one confused him. Why would they allow something that could be sharpened into a weapon? But he wasn't about to question it, what else did he have?

He lay back in his cell, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts swirled, relentless. He felt like crying, but what good would that do? He was in prison for something he didn't do. If it weren't for the locked doors, he was sure someone could strangle him in his sleep. But even with those locks, he wasn't safe. There was still his bunkmate.

The sharp rattle of keys jolted him from his thoughts. A guard stood at the door, cuffs in hand.

"Get up."

Elliot obeyed, wrists snapping together as cold metal bit into his skin. The cuffs were too tight. The guard didn't seem to care. He led Elliot down a hallway, one he recognized, but they stopped at a heavy door, different from the others. There was a lock bigger than the rest, a thick, reinforced thing that made Elliot's blood pressure spike.

They stepped through.

A small, dimly lit room. A steel table in the middle. The guard pushed him forward, securing the handcuffs to a bar on the table before stepping back into the shadows.

The silence pressed in.

Then, the door groaned open.

A woman entered. Her cream-colored suit was pristine, not a single wrinkle, and her heels clacked sharply against the cement floor. She carried herself with an effortless confidence, her jewelry catching the weak sunlight seeping through a high window. Gold glinted from a chain disappearing beneath her shirt.

She sat across from him, smiling warmly, reaching out to shake his hand.

Elliot hesitated before returning the gesture, her skin smooth against his rougher palms.

"Hello, Mr. Martin," she said. "I'm Cassandra Davison. I've been assigned as your defense attorney, and it seems like you're in quite the predicament."

She placed a leather briefcase onto the table, unclasping it with practiced ease. A small brown case, colored folders, reading glasses. She slid the glasses on, the lenses catching the light as she glanced at him with a steady gaze.

For the first time since he'd arrived, Elliot felt a flicker of relief.

"Yes, it seems so," he said, chuckling dryly.

Cassandra sifted through the folders, then folded her hands over them. "Alright. Tell me everything I need to know about your involvement with the murder of Sarah Jones."

Elliot stiffened. His throat went dry.

He flicked his gaze toward the guard in the corner. Silent. Watching.

Then, lowering his voice, he leaned forward.

"I think I'm being framed."