PROLOGUE:

As the first few drops of rain fell from the gloomy city sky, the sea of businessmen brought out their umbrellas and rushed under awnings to keep from soaking. After a few minutes, the rain died down, and the busy cluster continued on their way. Through the light trickle in the windy weather, a newspaper tumbled off a bench and across a sidewalk, landing in a puddle.

NEW YORK TIMES, Monday, November 7, 1949.

The bold headline read "Johnson Killer Still On the Loose" and caught the eye of a nearby man. As he bent down to pick it up, a young woman turned the corner and bumped into him, making a mess of his trousers as he fell into the soaking city street. She fixed herself briefly before continuing down the sidewalk and into the dark, heels clicking in a rapid pattern, as if there was someplace she needed to go... or somewhere from which she was escaping.

◇◇◇

A knock sounded at the door. Alice quickly took off her cooking mittens and hurried across her apartment, wondering who it could be. After all, she hadn't had any visitors in a very long time. 

"Hello?"

There stood a man wearing a fedora matching a rough suit from which he pulled out a badge. His eyes quickly scanned the girl and then the pastels of the room behind her.

Puzzled, he asked, "Excuse me, but are you Miss Alice Cunningham?"

She nodded in reply.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, Ma'am, but I'm gonna have to take you down to the station for questioning."

"There must be some mistake," Alice began, before being interrupted again. She insisted that she was innocent, whatever the crime.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "It shouldn't take too long."

She finally agreed, stepping out of the doorway. Then, realizing her error, she excused herself back inside to turn off the oven and, of course, grab her purse. She left her apartment with the scent of chocolate trailing behind her. Little did she know that her brownies would get cold and stale, and her apartment would grow quiet from her absense.

◇◇◇

The detective brought Alice to the nearest police station and led her through the busy labyrinth of testosterone and paperwork to a small room in the back with only a table and two chairs. Alice sat daintily, flipped open a small mirror, and smoothly reapplied her lipstick while the detective went over some papers in his folder.

He asked about her age, occupation, family, and then moved on to asking more important questions. Why was she living alone at sixteen? What was her normal schedule like? Where was she last week? How long was she at the bakery? Eventually, he decided to let her go home until another man barged in reporting that there was another witness.

"Scratch that. Two other witnesses."

"Thanks, Mr. Jacobs. You may leave."

Alice rose slowly, "Excuse me, sir, if I could just get going..."

"Sit back down, Miss Cunningham." He grabbed a chair and ran a hand through his slick hair before taking out a cigarette.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he spoke again, "Now tell me, Miss Cunningham. Where were you, again, on Friday night?"

"Well, I was at the bakery talking to Joe and Missy and pickin' up my usual, and the bakery closes at nine, so I must'a gotten home by around nine-fourty, and with all this rain we've been havin', surely..."

"So it takes you fourty minutes to get home?"

"Yes, sir. The bakery isn't that close, and I walk real slow. Sometimes I stop and talk to the Thompsons down on Village Road..."

"Did you stop and talk to them yesterday?"

"No."

"Did anyone see you go home yesterday?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Your neighbors?"

"The ones downstairs left early for a Thanksgiving family reunion."

"Seems a little fishy, don't it?"

Alice sighed and slouched back in her chair for a moment before regaining her posture. She lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes slightly, "I did not do anything. I am innocent. Please. Let. Me. Go." She squinted at his nameplate "Detective Byrnes."

Byrnes' head tilted to the side slightly while his hand slowly let go of the cigarette. "Uh-huh."

Mr. Jacobs barged back into the room.

"You, out." He pointed to Detective Byrnes and jerked his thumb outwards. "I spoke to chief. They've got all the evidence covered."

Then, motioning to Alice, "Looks like we'll see you in court."

◇◇◇

Alice was shoved into the room. She scoffed, slamming her heel onto her restraint. He yelped in pain.

"Quiet, quiet," said the judge.

Alice sat on her side, and the witnesses sat on theirs. Along with the crowd was Mr. Johnson's family.

Thus the story was told, the tragedy that Mr. Johnson had been found dead in his own home when his wife and children came home from school.

The case dragged on for the longest time. Alice was asked questions, answering them as truthfully as she could. Then, each member of the Johnson family told their side of the story, or the lack of story they had to tell.

But the most peculiar thing was that group of witnesses. Three different witnesses with three incredibly different stories. The only similarity about them was that they had seen Alice at the crime scene.

While one of them was speaking, Alice noticed something from across the room. There was someone in the jury. Someone who should not be there.

Alice raised her voice, "Excuse me, Judge James. I have reason to believe that there is an unfair jury with us today."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, "What is this nonsense?"

"There's a person there who is - she's manipulating the jury." She pointed to one particular woman in green.

The Judge peered over to the jury, who were fidgetting quietly. One kept adjusting his notes. Another was biting on a pencil. Their eyes seemed to stare into space. He examined the woman before asking her name.

"Leila Waters."

"Are you in any way manipulating the jury, Miss Waters?"

"No, sir."

He eyed the jury. "Is this woman doing anything to deceive you?"

All the heads in the jury snapped up. Left. Right. Left again. They all shook "no" in perfect unison. Alice studied their expressions: wide-eyed, restless, and desperate, like there was something they wanted to say.

Alice spoke again, "She's controllin' them. Please, listen to me. She is bad news."

The Judge called over his assistant, and they mumbled to each other. After a moment, he nodded. "Miss Waters, you are relieved of your jury duties."

All of a sudden, the courtroom was silent, its people frozen like dolls. Time had frozen, it seemed. Leila had paused everyone right in their tracks.

"What are you doing Leila?"

Leila smiled and hopped down from her seat. "The real question is what are you doing..." She started going around the room, poking at the frozen people before arriving at Alice. "...in New York?"

"I live here."

"No," insisted Leila. "What are you doing here? You can't keep pretending that you're one of them."

"We are like them. We live like them. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"We will never be like them!" Leila flicked a finger, and papers went everywhere.

She lauched a table back at Alice. Then, a chair. Then, two more.

In her rage, Leila flung almost every object in the room at Alice,  Alice lunging out of the way each time. 

Alice darted to the exit of the room. The doors slammed, and Alice jumped back. "Why are you doing this?"

Leila prowled around the edge of the room like a cat cornering a mouse. "Oh, so sad. Looks like you can't get out." Her lips pursed in a devilish grin. "When was the last time you've used your powers?"

Suddenly, a book came flying out of nowhere and almost smacked Leila in the face. She gripped it with her nails and let out a tremendous laugh, "You're gonna have to do better than this."

Smack.

Leila fell to the ground, Detective Byrnes above her with a chair in his hands.

"You're under arrest."

◇◇◇

EPILOGUE:

As the first few drops of rain fell from the gloomy city sky, the sea of businessmen brought out their umbrellas and rushed under awnings to keep from soaking. One particular man was a detective, and he rushed inside to his loving family and large dinner. An hour later, after he kissed his family goodnight, he sat in his armchair while picking up the daily newspaper. His eyes ran over the bolded title on the front, smiling slightly, but he skipped it, eager to get to the comics.

"JOHNSON KILLER CAUGHT: HEROIC DETECTIVE"

On the other side of town, high heels were clicking past the city jail in a rhythmic pattern. When the young woman approached the back, she pulled out a set of wire cutters and edged her way between the fence, cursing softly when ripping a hole in her new dress. She continued to search for a specific cell when she stopped suddenly, and grasped the bars on the window, pulling them straight off the wall. A shadow appeared behind the window, and shoved it upwards.

"Alice?"

"Leila."

"Alice, you do know that I can break out of here anytime I want, right?"

"Then why haven't you?"

Leila thought about it for a second and shrugged.

"Well. I'm tryin'a make this look like a jailbreak. I'm not gonna let you spook the whole city by you leavin' without a trace left in your path." Alice paused, watching Leila leap down from the windowsill.

Silence.

"Why did you do it?"

Leila laughed and snapped on a new outfit and purse. Alice watched with a hand propped on her hip as Leila's features began to change. Leila pulled out a mirror from her purse and admired her younger face. Then, she waggled her red nails, "Buh-bye, sweetie."

Finally, she planted a big red kiss on Alice's forehead, "And thanks, Sis."

Her fingers snapped.

And just like that, she was gone.