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I shower in the morning

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I shower in the morning. As soon as I get out, I find multiple texts from Lil: Maddy, omg, turn on the news!

Henry was killed in jail.

We're celebrating later 🥳

Are you up?

I wrap my boyish body in a towel. My bare feet slap the floor. I leave the bathroom. I turn on the TV and tune into KTLA NEWS. The headline scrolling the bottom of the screen reads:

HENRY FLECK MYSTERIOUSLY DIES IN JAIL.

The newscasters look keenly into the camera as a reporter, who's live on the scene, speaks. "...that's the real question here. How exactly was the suspect killed? I had brief words with the chief, he claimed there was a bullet wound, yet it didn't belong to any guns within the precinct. The stone walls are ten inches thick, so that eliminates the source being an outside job. I'm not sure how this was possible."

"Could this have been a rioter who broke inside?" An anchor from the round table asks.

"That's possible. We won't know for sure until the chief gives an official statement."

A combination of relief and affliction warps my mind. Killed in jail? The gun can't be found? That's odd. The police were handling the guy. Henry was supposed to go to trial tomorrow. Who would kill him right before he was about to face justice? The cops wouldn't. And why does Lil want to celebrate death?"

Yes, I had a dream about killing Henry, shooting him, to be exact. The driver gave me nightmares. I reacted violently in them. It was all I could do. All I could do was revisit and mentally modify the scenario. That doesn't mean I'm happy he's dead. I'm put off by the news. The guy was facing the justice system, as he should have. Who killed him? I tune back in.

"This appears to be too advanced of a kill to be done by a local. The station prepared for raids. If this was a sniper, that's a professional hit. I'm calling it now. This case will involve the FBI." One of the newscasters declares.

"It just may be that. Henry Fleck was set to attend a hearing tomorrow. It seems whoever pulled the trigger planned it with irony. Why wait until his last day of freedom?" The reporter vents curiously.

My phone rings. I answer without reading the caller ID, assuming it's Lil. "Yeah, I got your texts...this is crazy."

"Oh, sweetheart!" I almost drop the phone. "Your dad and I finally found you!"

"Mom??!" I exclaim.

"We've been at the hospital for weeks. None of the doctors would tell us where you were taken. They kept saying it was disclosed information. I had your damn social and birth certificate; they still denied us! They wouldn't budge on your location. I kept being told to call you. My new phone has your old number." She stresses emotionally. "I'm soo sorry!"

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