Jamie stood there, bat in hand. Her father lay dead at her feet. She dropped the bat, and knelt down next to him, weeping over his bloodstained body. She sat there for what seemed like weeks, unable to move. Then a sudden wailing broke her paralyzing trance. The police were here.
Jamie sat on her porch, arms crossed, tears leaking from her eyes. The officer questioning Jamie was extremely stern. Sure, she had tried to explain to the him that when the murderer killed her dather, she ran after him with her baseball bat and clubbed him on the head. “Miss Filicraft” he had said, “You have just committed a first degree murder. You should be grateful you’re even here. If you were just 4 years older, you would be sentenced to life in jail.” He sighed. “But you are innocent unless proven guilty. You will have your trial sometime in March, so I suggest you start working on your defense.” Jamie’s heart sung.
"Oh, yes, and you will have to live with a personal counselor until you receive your sentence." Before she could protest, he led her from the porch into his cold police car. She sat behing bars in the backseat, feeling like a trapped animal. 'I shouldn't be sitting here,' Jamie thought, 'I never did anything wrong!' They drove through winding country roads to a small enclosed facility. Jamie and the officer exited the car, and entered the facility. After speaking with the woman at the front desk, then led her through a side door, where she met her counselor, Alyson.
Alyson Whittaker probably had her name in the dictionary as the definition for 'dumb blonde'. She was a mascara-wearing, pigtailed teenager with a miniskirt on her waist and a stupid grin on her face.
“Won’t this be fun?” said Alyson. “You, me, six whole months!!!”
“Yeah, sure.” Mumbled Jamie. She was definitely not in the mood. That night, her whole world had been turned upside down. Jamie tried not to choke as she cried herself to sleep.
A few days after Jamie moved in with Alyson, a letter came in the mail for Jamie. She had just gotten started on her homework, when Alyson called, “Jamie, sweetie! A letter for you!” Jamie ran, puffing, to Alyson, grabbed the letter, and ripped open the envelope. It read:
Dear Miss Filicraft,
We here at the Alonso Scientific Center are sorry to inform you that our blood sample turned out positive for your father’s DNA. Please feel free to contact us with questions or concerns.
Antoine Archipelago, Director of scientific studies
6 months later…
The cracking sound of wood hitting wood was heard. Jamie secretly crossed her fingers, hoping… wishing… Then the judge spoke.
“Jamie Filicraft,” he said, his words long and clear, “We convict you guilty of murder. You are hereby sentenced to 3 years with a personal counselor, at least 5 months in a juvenile disciplinary school.” Jamie gaped at the judge, her head spinning with disbelief. The judge shuffled his papers and said,
“I believe that the Morganson School of Juvenile Delinquents has an opening. You start in November.”
"Please, you honor! I didn't kill him!"
"Miss Filicraft," The judge rolled his eyes, "Are you telling me you just happened to be standing next to your father's dead body with a baseball bat that had his DNA on it?"
"Yes! ...No." Jamie's cheeks turned scarlet as the jury and everyone present let out a snigger. At that moment, Jamkie knew what she had to do. She had to find the killer.
To be continued...