Page 3 of Framed

Starting to see a pattern?

Fate: 3

Scarlett: 0

The rain always was and always will be a bad omen for me.

Which was why I knew it wasn’t going to be a good day when I woke to rain pattering our single, thin window. With clouds blocking the sun, there wasn’t much light in my single cell at the Rawlings County Women’s Detention Center.

It was quiet this morning, a rare occurrence since I transferred here two years ago from juvie on my eighteenth birthday.

What a way to celebrate right?

It stayed quiet, save for the rain, as I went through the morning’s boring routine. Everything felt the same as it did every day. Roll call. Head count. Breakfast. Chores or jobs. And now our brief break for free time. I was in the rec room, pretending the news wasn’t on, pretending I was absorbed in the latest Colleen Hoover book that had finally hit the center’s joke of a library.

… Development, we just got confirmation from one of our field reporters that politician Jonathan Sinclair was arrested at his Tuscaloosa home in upstate Georgia last night.

What did….

What did she just say?

“Turn that up, Sally,” I told the hyperactive, blonde inmate I was sure was missing a few screws. Sally also came from the same Juvenile Detention as I did. Back there, we all called her Scissor Sally.

Yes, for exactly the reason one would guess.

Sally took a pair of scissors everywhere with her. While I could never quite decipher the true reason she felt the need to—and I never felt the need to ask—I quickly caught on to the fact that it brought her a sense of comfort and calmness. Anytime she seemed anxious or worried, I’d catch her reaching for them.

Since she never threatened anyone with them, the guards would often turn a blind eye to it. Even though they were contraband, we all knew that she hid the scissors under her mattress.

That was juvie though. They took her scissors away when she and I got transferred here, around the same time. It had been a rough transition for us both, but for Sally especially. We’d grown close and watched out for one another, though. I was glad she was my cellmate here.

She also happened to be a news junkie who kept up on every story that aired. Most people didn’t want to constantly be reminded of the outside world carrying on as usual while we were trapped in here, but not Sally.

Needed to know something about the upcoming election? Ask Sally.

Needed to know what the winning lottery numbers were last night? Ask Sally.

She was the resident know-it-all when it came to all things news related.

Right now, Sally eyed me suspiciously. I normally fell under the don’t-want-to-know camp when it came to the outside world, and the news especially. But after a moment, she did what I asked.

I didn’t blame her for being suspicious. I’d been adamant about my dislike for the TV ever since they placed it here in the middle of the rec room at the end of last year. Until now, I’d never showed the slightest interest in it. It had been an annoyance, mostly, and distracted me from my reading.

For the first time since it arrived, I wasn’t annoyed by the fact Sally kept tuned to the news at all hours of the day. If she didn’t, I wouldn’t have seenthis.

“Yes, Diane, that is correct. We are here on the scene and police have confirmed that Jonathan Sinclair has been arrested in connection with a previously closed case involving Naomi Stewart, a local teen who was brutally murdered a few summers ago.”The dark-haired reporter in a yellow raincoat pressed her hand against her earpiece before gesturing at the cameraman. He rotated toward the scene.

The camera panned to Jonathan Sinclair in handcuffs being led out of his house by his brother, Sheriff Sinclair.

I felt Sally’s eyes on me but I didn’t bother to break eye contact with the flat-screen TV located in a small corner of our communal area. Sally knew the full story behind how I ended up here—minus the anonymous notes. I left that part out.

But my story was one of the reasons we bonded; she too claimed she was being framed for a crime she didn’t commit.

“Diane, if look closely behind me, you see can see the defendant’s own brother, Sheriff Sinclair, leading him toward the door of his patrol car. I’m sure this was certainly not the reunion the two brothers were hoping for after a long campaign season for Jonathan.”

“I agree, Adriana, this was far from the reunion they were hoping for.”

“Hang on, Diane,” Adriana said before gesturing towards the cameraman once again.“Come on, Dale.”

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