• The woman was still screaming. The man seemed to be in great pain from the woman sitting in front of him screaming, but the prison guards just stood at their posts. He couldn’t believe everyone else just kept eating while she was shrieking. The man looked at the hard bread and attempted to pick it up with his shaking hands. Halfway to his mouth the bread fell to the ground with a soft tap that he could not hear over screams. He took one last look at her and seemed to lose his tortured expression. The screaming faded from his ears. Guards jumped as they heard shrill shrieks as the man started to tear his hair from his skull. Mathew Wells was brought to his cell.
    This is the journal of Mathew Jonathan Wells. I am now a permanent occupant at Stanley’s Maximum Security Prison, D Block, Cell 4812. When they found me I had saved forty-eight of them. The warden says that it wasn’t saving it was horrible. The guards never see her, nobody sees her, but I do. She helped me save them, but now she is mad at me.
    Officer Jillian Smith set the messy book down on her desk before sighing. It was now three days since Mathew Wells had been found with his brains splattered across his cell wall from what the guards believed had been suicide by slamming his skull against the wall. Still nobody had figured out who ‘she’ was and why Wells had done the things he did.
    “I wish you would go home and get some rest Jill.” Howard Greys was a short man with a thin mustache and greased back hair. He had a large cigar in his mouth that glowed softly. Howard stepped out of the doorway and smiled at Jillian.
    “Fine, but I think I’m on the verge of something Howard.”
    “I bet you are Jill, just like the last madman you figured out. You are too good at this.”
    “You are just jealous that I can figure out how these guys think.” Jillian laughed and flipped her folder shut.
    Jillian had obviously lost track of time as she walked through the labyrinth of roads to her home with only the neon lights of clubs to show her way. She opened the thick wooden door to her neighbors fighting again. Lying on her couch, Jill thought about Wells last five words, now she is mad at me.
    Jill woke up to the sound of someone knocking at the door.
    “I hear you, give me a second.” Jillian tiredly walked to the door and looked through the peep-hole. She stifled a small shriek as she looked into the face of a young Mathew Wells. Jill opened the door and looked over Mathew. Unlike his recent pictures, Wells had color in his skin and was rather attractive.
    “May I help you?”
    Yes I’m looking for Miss Jillian Smith.”
    That would be me.”
    “Ah that is good. I heard that you were trying to figure out how I thought and who she was.”
    “Yes I was.” Jill seemed to be tense and fearful of the man in front of her.
    “Well, you’ll know in due time Miss. First you must need to see my rebirth.”
    The world went black and soon Jillian was watching a fight between two men. A neon light flashed the words Black Jack’s. Cars sped by without any signs of noticing the fight. The short man drew a small switch blade and made a lunge at the man who Jill now recognized as Mathew. Mathew dodged the knife and knocked the knife away before taking out a revolver and aiming it at the now pale man.
    Jillian was running behind Mathew with the crack of the revolver echoing in her skull. The neon lights whirled by Jillian and stopped abruptly as a woman grabbed her arm and pulled her into a dark basement. Jillian tried to pull away but was held fast.
    “Stop I’m here to help you Jillian Smith.”
    “Help me with what?” Jillian tried to look at the woman, but a bag was pulled over her head.
    “It is for your own good Miss Smith.” Jillian lost consciousness.
    Jillian took a deep breath of the cold damp air as the bag was torn off. She sat next to Mathew who was pale and looked like his pictures. Across from them was a woman but her features were in the shadow. The woman’s white smile was burning in Jill’s eyes.
    “Welcome back Mathew, I am pleased you brought Miss Smith.”
    “She wanted to know you.” Mathew started to relax, but shook as he started to turn into dust. Jillian looked from the now empty chair to the woman trying to see her features.
    “Who are you?” Jillian tried to lean forward, but felt tight ropes dig deeper into her flesh.
    “Me? I am all-seeing, I am everywhere, I am everything, I am-“
    “That doesn’t answer my question. I asked who you are not what you thought you are.”
    “You want to know who I was the.” The woman opened a box and slid it across the small table. Inside was a piece of paper with a name written elegantly on it. Jillian’s color faded from her face.
    “This cannot be right.” Jill looked up and everything went dark.
    This is the journal of Jillian Alice Smith. I am now a permanent occupant at Stanley’s Maximum Security Prison, D Block, Cell 4812. When they found me I had saved forty-nine of them, one more than him. The warden says that it wasn’t saving it was horrible. The guards never see her, nobody sees her, but I do. She helped me save them, but now she is mad me.
    Officer Howard Greys set the messy book down on his desk before sighing. It was now three days since his old partner Jillian Smith had been found with her brains splattered across the same cell wall as Mathew Wells from what the guards believed had been suicide by slamming her skull against the wall in the same way Wells did. Still nobody had figured out who ‘she’ was and why Jillian had done the things she did.
    Jillian Smith woke up with the old television set making a static buzz. Her cat was sleeping on the antenna again and looked very pleased in its slumber. There was a knock on the door. Jillian opened it letting Howard Greys in.
    “Good morning Jill.”
    “Good morning Howard.” Howard took a note pad from his pocket.
    “A Mathew Wells killed himself last night, we were given the case to figure out why he killed people or as he said save them, who this she he was talking about in his journal and why he killed himself. I left the file and his journal on your desk at the office.”
    “Thank you Howard.” Jillian brushed off the wrinkles in her uniform she fell asleep in and entered the labyrinth or roads to her office. She opened the dirty, battered book to the last page and read Well’s last five words, now she is mad at me.