<div class="floatleft">(http://www.youknowyoulovefashion.com/storage/gossipgirl/season4/0404/0404blair2.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong><strong>Alice Beaumont</strong><br/><strong>Age:</strong>35<br/><strong>Crime:</strong>Stabbing her husband 47 times<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Rounded up and re-incarcerated with the rest of her group<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Group 1<br/><hr/><br/>Thankful for Kenzie's help with Winter, Alice started to think that maybe, just maybe, they'd managed to get away. She had no idea what had happened to the rest of the motley crew, and truth be known, she didn't much care.  All that mattered to the middle aged woman was that Winter was out of harms way.<br/><br/>Just when it looked like they were safe, the bright orange jumpsuit of the new guy attracted the attention of the authorities, and all too soon Alice, Kenzie and Winter were cuffed and dragged back towards the library.  Thrown unceremoniously into the back of a squad car, Alice sat quietly with the other women, her head hung in shame. Would the nightmare that had become her life never end?  Tears slid down her flushed cheeks as the distraught woman silently cursed the police for taking her handbag away from her. She needed it. Now more than ever.<br/><br/>After a short ride in the police car, she found herself in the lockup, jammed into a cell which was too small to comfortably cage a group of their size.  Alice took a seat on the cot next to Kenzie, encouraging Winter to join them.  The two younger women were the closest thing she had to friends in this mess, and if they could offer each other comfort and support, perhaps things wouldn't feel so bad.  And on top of everything else, she was starting to feel jittery. Looking out for Winter and Kenzie might help her ignore that. At least for a time.<br/><br/>The sudden sound of pliable flesh connecting with immovable shatterproof glass drew her attention to the man in the orange jumpsuit, whom she still didn't know.  Wondering where he'd come from, a voice suddenly spoke to her.<em><strong>"What'd I tell you? Fire. Lots of fucking fire! Must've been one of these...Voice Therapy weirdos that did it. Who else could've, huh? You think your damn grandma burnt the place down? It's probably the orange bastard, he wasn't even in the library."</strong></em>Alice gasped softly at the realisation that the voice could very well be right.  The stranger could be the one responsible for them being rounded up like cattle and thrown into jail.  He'd appeared out of nowhere, after the library had gone up in flames.  Had he been upstairs as they were all in the therapy room?  Had he set the fire with the intent of killing them all?  What kind of a monster would do that?<br/><br/>Another softer, more reasonable voice cut through her musings.<strong><em>"There's no way to tell who or what started the fire. All you can do is be grateful that you got out of there alive. It may have been a freak accident for all you know. In such an old building like that, the place was practically falling apart to begin with."</em></strong>Alice moaned with confusion.  Both voices were, as usual, potentially correct.  But which one to believe?  Alice glanced at the rest of her companions, letting her eyes settle on each face for a time, trying to glean a sense of guilt or innocence from each one.  It was pointless, of course.  If one of them was guilty, there was a good chance the perpetrator wasn't even aware of what they had done.  Therapy had shown that selective amnesia had certainly been a theme shared by a good many of them, although not by Alice.  She remembered, even relished, each blow she had struck against the man who had treated her no better than a slave for all those years.<br/><br/>Eventually coming to the realisation that she didn't have enough information to consider any of the group truly guilty, although she was still wary of the men, particularly orange jumpsuit, Alice decided to put her trust in the Voice of Reason.  She sighed softly, the tension in her body easing slightly.  Yes, they were incredibly lucky to have gotten out alive, and she'd even managed to get Winter out of harms way.  Almost, anyway.  She took the hands of the girls on either side of her and gave them a reassuring squeeze.  "We'll be alright," she murmured softly.  "We didn't do anything wrong, and they can't possibly prove that we did.  We'll be okay."  She was trying to convince herself as much as she was Winter and Kenzie.<br/><br/>The man in the orange jumpsuit continued to lean against the glass as Alice sized him up once more.  The thought of speaking to him, even just to ask his name, caused her chest to tighten almost painfully.  But the harried woman knew that if they were going to get out of this pickle, they'd have to work together. And they couldn't continue to call him "orange jumpsuit".  She cleared her throat softly, before working up the courage to address him.<br/><br/>"Hey..." she began, her voice already cracking.  She swallowed and tried again.  "Hey, you.  You in the jumpsuit." Alice was pleased to hear that she sounded less timid than she felt.  "What's your name? And how did you get thrown in here with us?"  Holding her breath, Alice waited to see if he would even respond to her, and what that response might be.