Chapter 7

William Lewis drummed his fingers as he layed on the top bunk of his prison cell bed, his head resting on his hand and his mind thoroughly lost in thought. All week his mind had been filled with questions about his night with Detective Benson, and tonight was no different.

Why had the boyfriend sent those text messages?

Why would he send them?

What had the bitch done to get him pissed enough at her to lead her into Lewis's trap, and without Lewis knowing?

"It boggles my mind," he murmured to no one in particular, having stopped drumming his fingers to examine the dirt under his finger nails. "Well Scooby Doo, it seems we have quite the mystery on our hands."

"Can you please just shut up?" a dreadfully squeaky voice replied from under him.

Lewis looked down at his cellmate, a pale, skinny blond man from Long Island, who was sprawled out on the bunk beneath him. The guy was practically a stranger, and he had made it clear from the very first day that he didn't plan on getting chummy with his new roomie. When Lewis had asked the man what he was in for, the guy had simply claimed that he had caught his wife in bed with another man, and had beat them both to death for it.

This story didn't surprise Lewis, other than the fact that the guy resembled more of a rat than a murderer. He didn't look like the type to commit double homicide, nor did he seem strong enough to actually beat someone-even a woman-to death. In fact, he'd even lost his mind a few nights before, when a cockroach had found its way onto his pillow. Lewis had just assumed that he'd lied about his crimes to make himself seem intimidating so that Lewis wouldn't try to mess with him. But the guy never asked what Lewis was in for, and if he'd known, Lewis knew that he wouldn't be so quick to bitch at him about his post-midnight reflections. Night after night, this guy was just managing to piss Lewis off more and more.

"I'm sorry, did I disturb you?" Lewis cooed from behind his faux-friendly smile. "It won't happen again."

"Just quit talking to yourself," the man snapped back. "It's 2:00am, and some of us want to get some sleep."

Lewis rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, reflecting on the pipsqueak who had claimed the bottom part of his bed. Lewis had been moved into the cell only a week ago, but this guy had been a prisoner for at least half a decade, maybe more. He knew all the staff by name, could tell you where every room was on every floor, and could even tell you who it belonged to. Lewis had to hand it to the guy, he definitely knew the inner workings of the prison ward almost as well as Lewis knew the inner workings of the judicial system. Well, maybe not almost as good, but good enough that he might come in handy later. That is, if Lewis didn't kill him first for being an obnoxious bastard. He was awkward, overconfident, and was too quick to become defensive if he felt that he was being picked on or embarrassed. The man was irrational, aggressive, and extremely overdramatic...though not much unlike Lewis himself.

Suddenly, Lewis remembered why he'd been talking to himself in the first place, and his mood quickly darkened. He had to figure out how some son of a bitch had snuck right underneath his nose...but maybe someone else could give him an idea.

"Quickly," he said, leaning over the side of the bed, "I need to ask you a question."

"What is it?" his cellmate grumbled.

"Let's just say, hypothetically," Lewis said, "that there's this girl who's made some other guy mad. And so the guy goes to her apartment to wait for her to come home-so he can confront her, of course-and finds the door unlocked, when he knows she usually locks it. Later, after confronting her, he finds out that her boyfriend texted her that he wanted her to keep the door unlocked, which doesn't make sense because he doesn't even come home that night, or even the night after. So why, if he wasn't planning to come home, did the boyfriend text her to leave her door unlocked?"

His cellmate rolled over and stared up at him, his brown eyes sparkling with a newfound interest. Lewis noticed the change; whereas his cellmate's eyes were normally clouded by apathy and laziness, they now brimmed with genuine interest and excitement.

"Is this some kind of riddle?" his cellmate asked, the drowsiness gone from his voice.

"No," Lewis replied. "It's a genuine question."

His cellmate thought for a moment before answering.

"Well," he said, "did this man plan on hurting this girl when he went to confront her?"

Lewis paused, analyzing his cellmate's reaction before answering. "Possibly."

"Then maybe the boyfriend thought it was best that this girl was taught a lesson."

Lewis pondered this for a moment. "But this boyfriend-hypothetical boyfriend, I mean-didn't seem like he was mad at her for anything, at least not at the time. And in any case, how would he know that this guy was going to the apartment to hurt her? And if he somehow did know, why would he lead her into this guy's trap if he wasn't mad at her?"

Lewis's cellmate locked eyes with him, and simply replied, "Well, maybe it wasn't the boyfriend who sent the texts."

Lewis stared back back at him. "Then who was it?"

His roommate only smirked, and suddenly Lewis understood what he was trying to say. The gears in his head quickly started turning as a delicious plan started unfolding in his mind, and he felt a smile creep up along his lips as all of the little puzzle pieces begin to fall into place. Lewis couldn't believe his luck. "What did you say your name was again?"

Notes: Yes, I know, I'm an asshole for not updating this in such a long time. This year has been crazy, and I'm trying really hard to catch up. But don't worry, I've got too many ideas for this story to let it be abandonned. :) Please remember to leave a review, and to let me know what your thoughts are!