Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-1186783-20141229015738

(having trouble with Source Mode, I apologize in advance for any formatting issues)

Author's Note: This was literally just a spur-of-the-moment case of inspiration hitting. I don't know a lot about the justice system, please tell me anything that obviously needs to be fixed. The idea was basically what if there was a case where you had a small amount of anecdotal evidence for the existence of the supernatural, but testing it further Amazing Randi-style would be highly unethical. Please consider this strictly a first-draft.

Also, let me know if including a real death in the story is distasteful, as the Senator was a real person, who really died on the date specified.

John Frie entered Jackson State Penitentiary on June 1st of 2013. The charge was armed robbery, for which he pleaded guilty. I haven't really reviewed the details of the case, I guess I'm too scared to, but I imagine he wanted to be caught. He wanted a stage for his little show where he would be watched.

His first cellmate was Charlie Shay. Frie was a little guy, maybe 90 pounds at a stretch. We picked Shay because he was pushing 70, and was in for three-strikes. We figured the two of them really couldn't mess with each other much.

I remember the first thing Frie did was go over to the mirror at the cell sink, and examine it. He ran his hand over his face, like he was trying to decide if he needed a shave. But he didn't shave, he just walked over, and laid down in his cot.

The next morning Shay was dead of a heart attack. We didn't think much of it, but it left us with a half-empty cell, so we had to move someone in. Somehow, Willie Hidle got picked. Don't ask me how, the guy was built like a wall, and had a temper. When we put him in we all whispered a prayer that Frie knew to keep his mouth shut.

The next morning, Hidle was dead of an embolism. We were going to pick another roommate for him, but Frie asked to be put in solitary, for his own protection. He didn't really seem scared, but he said that with two roommates dead in two nights, the jailhouse would start talking.

Normally they don't get to bring anything personal with them into solitary, but we didn't really think Frie was a danger, and he asked if he could bring a little hand mirror with him. We didn't know why, but we let him.

The next morning, when I brought him his breakfast I heard him whisper “Anything bad happen to Lautenberg?”

That was the morning of June 4th. June 3rd Senator Frank Lautenberg died of pneumonia.

Yeah, Lautenberg was old, but you want to test it? Could all be coincidence, but since then no mirrors, and nothing shiny. No we don't know what the mirrors had to do with it, but he hasn't killed again without them.

He hasn't left solitary since, but he hasn't asked to. Every morning when I bring him his food he just stares at me, smiling, wondering when he gets to put on the next act of his little show. 