April 23rd, 2019.

As I stare down the dark tunnel, into this abyss, I wonder if many like me have done so with the same certainty. Were courageous people, or were they cowards? The latter certainly applies to myself, I now reluctantly admit to myself. Though who else do I admit this to? No one, as the time for that is too late. Nothing matters but that cold, gilded handle I have in my hands. The footsteps of nurses, the conversations of doctors, everything is drowned out by the sound that is soon to come. Am I sweating? Is my heart racing? Can they notice either on their monitors? If so, I'd rather not alarm someone to what I am about to do, not yet. As I lie here in this dark, sterile prison, I ponder... how did this begin?

... It must have began when I gave up my name. That must be the cause.

April 3rd, 1977.

The roar of applause crashes over my body like a wave of relief. This is a high like none other, I am sure. My name is Clyde Adriano, but I'm known throughout this tiny town as "Sly Clyde", a popular magician in town. Though disappointingly, I had not yet seen a talent agent to come to Alachua, Florida. That, or my luck was as stunted as my career. However, these mere facts washed off of me like dirt in rain. Their adoration was intoxicating, the pure voracity in each clap, with each eye wide in disbelief, each vibration from their voices and whistles; I could feel it then, and can feel it even now, though faintly. I could also feel the brushing of the curtains as they slink towards each other, and in front of me, each step that leaves this tiny theater, each blink as I realized it was over, it had been for some time.

I unconsciously walk towards the dressing room, and saw myself in the mirror upon entry with my white silk garments. Remembering that brother said it would look dashing on my dark complexion, I entertain the thought, the unlikely notion that I could inspire such amorous emotions. Though I couldn't account for his strategies in attracting the fairer sex, I certainly can see its effect on the audience, and that is most pleasing of all. Slowly transforming from "Sly Clyde" to "Mr. Adriano", I am almost finished with my tie as a knock suddenly taps at my door. "A fan!", I gleefully wish. Though what was on the other side was beyond my wildest imaginations.

"Mr. Adriano?", a high-pitched, male voice calls. "Mr. Adriano, if you are decent, could we have a little chat?"

"Who are you?", my voice cracks in reply. I cannot contain my excitement at the prospect that was just a turn of the knob away.

"Boris Valko, a, uh, freelance agent. Can I come in?"

My hand acts on its own, but this lack of control is welcome. My tie was perfect, as was this moment. "Sure. Hope you don't mind the lack of room."

"Nah, I've been in tighter binds. Heh!" There is a stark cockiness about him. He laughs, hiding... maybe enticing? As an old man looking back, this would be suspicious, but I was young. "Anyway, I like your stuff. You're a guy with talent, am I right? I'm right. You don't need to be in little dead-end crud like this! We in agreement so far?" It's like he could read my mind, as I can read each of his hand movements, every twitch and move being exaggerated and grandiose. I nod in excitement, unsure as how to reply. "So it's like this: I can book you somewhere else. Somewhere in Miami. It'll be your big debut, 'kay? Heh heh, picture this: 4,000 people, all coming to see you, Clyde!" My heart is pounding faster than ever, and my hands moved with a mind of their own, shaking his.

"Mr. Valko, name the time and place!" I roar with delight, my excitement causing me to forget my volume.

"Heh heh, calm down, buddy, we'll get to that. But first, I wanna talk about your act..." I swallow, almost frozen.

"M-...my act?"

"Yeah! Heh, don't worry, it's just a few suggestions, buddy. Now, here's what we do..."

April 13th, 1977

I can feel the curtains part, each ray of crimson bursting between the increasingly large crevice. I see their mouths individually go agape at the sight of me. The silk of my cape drinks in the color, almost as if the fabric were bleeding. My eyes are focused, my body moving out of my mind's control. Glancing to the side, I saw Boris' intent gaze on my person. If I were to show how I felt, it would be pure and utter shock. Only ten days to rehearse, with a full new repertoire suggested by Mr. Valko. My mind mouthed the words as they rang out, since I knew them by heart, having wrote them.

"And now, prepare to be mortified, shocked, and mystified at...

The Magnificent Gramarye!"

My left big toe twitched, as it always does when I am surprised. That isn't my stage name... but the show must go on. My name isn't important, the smiles on their faces were. Before me are many decorated sheaths, each containing an expensive, cold blade within. Following procedure with these types of tricks, I have random audience members touch the blades, and see them as authentic. This time it's a small boy, as always, and the little boy's face is in a state of disbelief, awe as the steel grinds out of its container. The boy turns around, shouting "These things are dangerous, so don't run with them!" The crowd laughs as I do, yet out of the corner of my eye, Boris is clearly squinting in displeasure. After having the child politely chaperoned off by security, I am ready to begin. My body acts on its own, as the show is now my mind, my guide. Taking each dagger, I slip each through the immaculate silk, and the audience sees the fabric bleed. My eyes feign agony, my clenching teeth communicating a phantom pain, the crowd's murmurs being very audible, a panic settling in. After seven blades had pierced my personage, I slowly draw each one out as I had done in front of the boy earlier, each dagger dripping with the "proof" of my deeds. No sooner had the last dagger escaped, had I used it to rip through each button. Slowly opening the flaps of my shirt, I reveal that not a scratch had befallen me.

They clap. They cheer. They whisper. I can see it all. The act has changed, and so has the affections of the audience. I know now what it means to truly be a performer. I know what I want. I want their happiness. I want their unbelief. I want their love.


I want to be The Magnificent Gramarye.

May 12th, 1990

Between thousands upon thousand of tiny threads tosses and turns a little girl. She hums to herself softly a song she heard, but unsure of where it came from. A soft light grows slowly wider against the wall she stares at. She counts the footsteps that accompany the shadow that looms over.

"... You're not asleep, are you?" The little girl clenches her eyes hard, and makes plainly fake snoring noises. She can hear the soft scraping skin of the woman behind her's arms as they cross. "You know, big girls go to sleep when it's bed time." The small child gives up her charade, and slowly pushes up with her hands, her braids still immaculate as they were the in the morning. The woman sits beside her child, her fingertips slowly running down her child's hair.

"I really want to Mommy, but I'm not tired." whines the little girl, her eyes gleaming with desire.

"... I may not be your father, but I know that look. One story, then it's off to bed."

"Thank you, Mommy!" the little girl quietly squeals, latching onto her mother with her wiry arms. Then a quiet laugh befalls the woman.

"What story do you want to hear, Thalassa?"

"I wanna hear about how you and Daddy met!" The lady's eyes glaze over, her breath stilted. Thalassa looks on in bemusement, tugging on her mother's blouse sleeve, breaking her mother of the spell. The startled woman swiftly smiles down to her little daughter. Thalassa can feel her mother's hand grip the sheets behind her hip, out of sight. There's a silence before she speaks, her soft voice breaking.

"Sure, Thalassa. I'll tell it to you again."

May 12th, 1978

His body stands still on a plank over a sturdy, translucent cube of murky water, staring intently at its contents, as I mindlessly sweep the stage, my eyes wondering up and down the suit he wears. His pure focus is amazing, though I wonder what's so interesting about it. Is there a trap door somewhere? A key at the bottom? I have to ask, as a fan. That's what we do, right? ... Right?

"So, you have something important down there?" I inquire, leaning against the broom handle. I hope I don't seem to desperate, but then again, in a dirty polo shirt and khaki skirt, that boat has already sailed. His deep eyes narrow, not turning his head.

"A magician never reveals his tricks." coldly replies the most eligible bachelor in America. Disappointed, my head droops down, and I start to count the stains. His tone seems to instantly change, my heart fluttering with it. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm under a lot of stress for today's performance."

... Ma'am? That's it, I'm officially old. But this can't stop me now! He apologized, which means he cares, which means he's interested, which- which means I'm getting ahead of myself. Okay, calm down, just introduce yourself.

"It's okay, you work really hard. My, uh... my name's Felicity Roni." He slowly climbs down the ladder near the tank, and walks towards me. My blood pressure heightens, my breathing getting a little labored. THE Magnificent Gramarye wants to talk to me. Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear oh dear-

"You're nervous right?" Understatement of the century, but... how did he know? I cock my head, unsure of how he knew. "Your right hand. It's about to break the broom." My wide eyes dart towards the utensil I hold, and I can see the stress marks on the broom's handle. My face grows red, and I try to stutter out an excuse.

That's when he laughs. He laughs! I'm about to die from embarrassment, and he's laughing. What was shame turns to anger.

"What's so funny!?" I growl, my lips growing thinner.

"Nothing," he replies, wiping a tear from his eye, "it's just that... well, if I were to be uh... forward? Could you... I mean, WOULD you go out with me?" This surprises me, as time seems to solidify around me. This is it! This is what every woman dreams of! This is... wait, how long has it been? I need to reply!

... Silence. I said reply!

"YES, I WOULD LOVE TO!" I blurt out, short of breath. I look down, my face flushed, and notice a slight twitch in his left shoe. "Is..." I don't want to blow it, but my curiosity is too strong. "Is your shoe uncomfortable?" I see the twitch again. Why am I so focused on this? He grins, much to my surprise, and he's opening his mouth to answer-

"Hey Adriano, get your valuable bottom over here!", a voice calls from behind The Magnificent Gramarye. It's some gangly-looking man in a slick suit. His hair is greased back. If I was going to judge him now, I'd not spend five minutes around him. The handsome magician sighs, and sturdily shakes my hand, then turning and leaving. The greasy man laughs as he whispers into Gramarye's ear. That's when I suddenly realize: there's something in my hand. Looking down, it's a crumpled piece of paper, smooths out after a couple seconds of pressing it between my hands. There's a message in black ink on it:

"Back alley after the show"

He's amazing...

May 12th, 1990

Felicity smiles down on her sleeping child. Cautiously rising from the mattress, she slowly shuts the door, enjoying every second of the sight of Thalassa' slumber while she can. She removes her hand from the knob, noticing a gloved hand near hers. Without moving a muscle, she stares at the hard wood door. Magnifi's hot breath slinks down her neck.

"Why did you do that?", growls the magician faintly.

"What do you mean?", the monotone voice replies. His hands sliding slowly up her arms, trembling from withheld rage. His fingertips grind against her tough skin, Magnifi's nostrils flaring.

"You spoke to him. My friend doesn't appreciate how you talk to him." His hands reach her shoulders, grasping them ravenously. Felicity's hands clench into fists, her body more wrathful than her tone.

"He's no one's friend, Clyde. Not yours, and definitely not mine." Her voice rattles on that last word, as the wind whirls around her, the floor bluntly greeting her. Straddling her stomach, Magnifi glares down at Felicity, his beard disheveled.

"He is the only friend I have, Fel! Do you understand that?" The sting of his knuckles rains down her face brutally. During the torrent, Felicity can hear creaking nearby. It takes all of her focus to realize it comes from the nearby door. "He was there before you! He was there when I had no one, you good-for-nothing leech!" Felicity sobs, incoherently begging for Magnifi to stop, her wondering gaze catching a small glimmer in the shadow of the ajar door.

"Please," Felicity coughs, barely able to breathe, "she's watching..." His big toe twitches against my hip. A silence befalls them, as the fabric of his gloves seem to bleed. Rising, he scoffs, scuffing his shoe across her abdomen. "Don't worry, I'm her father." The door moves open slowly, the young girl shuffling back in fear. Magnifi's arms embrace Thalassa, and his voice sweetly hushes her, her eyes wide at the site of her purple-faced mother. On Felicity's cheeks run burning rivers of salt water, and she wonders when everything changed.

May 31st, 1978

The dressing room lights are a little brighter tonight. They always are when she's backstage. A knock at the door, a familiar knock, since our little code was to use "two bits". I raced to the doorknob, flinging wide what little keeps us apart. I am soon disappointed. The lights give his greased hair a sheen, his eyes gaining a fire to complement his stare's blaze.

"I knew it. You're breaking my heart here, bud. Breaking my heart!" My eyes focus on the wall. Barging in, Boris' hands dart around wildly. "You know, it's against company policy to be frateranizin' the tech crew. Especially some dirt-cleaning gold-digger." Shameful, I close the door. Passerby's don't need to hear this, especially so close to the show starting.

"Boris, please... I have needs, I have wants. I need Felicity like I need you." His eyebrow cocks upwards. "In a different way." I can see his relief when he looks in the mirror, pretending to check on his shave. He takes in a large breath.

"Fine, but buddy, you're going to have to make a choice." He speeds to me, his face close in. "There are thousands of people that need you, and they want you as well. You need to stop being such a selfish jerk, and start making smart decisions. We clear, Clyde?" I hesitate to speak. He's correct, and I have no answer. "I'll take that as a yes. Heh... you had me worried there, bud. See you after the show! Haha!"

My hat lies on the table. My fingers tracing the rims slowly, I look at the small box inside.

"Maybe I can wait..." I mutter to myself, donning the top hat, finishing the illusion of The Magnificent Gramarye.

July 6th, 1980

Dinner has never been so awkward. Felicity and Boris silently are at odds, one holding a wine glass, the other a small glass of whiskey. I sit, almost isolated, a mug of beer gripped between my hands. Tonight, I am both Clyde and The Magnificent Gramarye, my formal suit accented by my trademark hat.

"So Fel, I have some good news."

"What good news is that, sweetie?" If her tone weren't enough, her gaze clearly showed who the comment was truly aimed at.

"After a month break, I'm going to take my show to Los Angeles, and it's going to be video taped!" My smile awkwardly tries to inspire comfort to both parties, but with no result.

"Yeah, he's gonna be huge after this. Huge." I can see the satisfaction in his grin, and the anticipation rising within Felicity.

"Don't you have more news, honey?" Boris' smile fades, as his line of sight turns to me from the corner of his eye.

"I'm... changing my stage name. 'Magnifi Gramarye'. I think it'd look better on the posters and marquees." I can see him clench his jaw. He's clearly shocked, knowing whose idea the change was. Then my lover leans in, her eyebrows furled in satisfaction.

"There's something else he should know as well."

"Fel, can we tell him in a less tense situation? I don't think-"

"We're getting married.", she proudly interrupts, "He popped the question two days ago." His hand quickly moves for the glass of whiskey, the liquid rushing down his throat. He's close to hyperventilating, his face red, crinkles forming around his nose, and rage-blind eyes speaking before a word is uttered.

"You're pullin' my leg, aren't you buddy? Very funny, bud, I got it! HA HA HA." Sighing, I try to console him.

"Boris, it's not going to affect my performance. Fel's quitting her job with the company, and won't be traveling with us. Also..." I swallow, worried of the results of this conversation. Felicity looks... surprised, Boris livid. "Boris, would you be my best man?" The next moment, his anger has been soothed, and sits down, returning the glare my fiancee' is giving him.

"That'll do, buddy. That'll do real nice-like. Heh heh." His staring contest with Felicity continued, with renewed energy. It was then I began to dread what was to come.

August 1st, 1995

It's midnight. It's midnight, and there's that familiar knock at the door. Today is officially the start of our nineteenth anniversary. Following the sound of "two-bits", I reflect on how I ever got here. Considering our past, both recent and far back, I pondered new ways to make her happy. Thalassa never was the same after that night in May, and therapy has thankfully brought me this far. We only shout every other day, which is a great improvement. I'm changing, I'm balancing, and soon everyone can finally be happy.

Looking in the mirror near the doorway, I smooth my thinning hair out, and make sure my beard is presentable. There's a silhouette of a head through the tiny glass window on my front door. It's got to be her... back from her mother's. I open the door wide to accept my love.

"Heh heh... lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" My left big toe twitches. Boris looks disheveled, yet excited. "Can I come in, bud?" My hands go to my hips, my muscles tense.

"Boris, do you know what time it is?"

"Time to thank your best friend, that's what. I did you a HUGE favor." His hands smooth back his hair compulsively, a ravenous grin across his face.

"Look, will you tell me tomorrow, Fel is gonna be home any minute, and you two never have gotten along."

"Well, bud, you don't have to worry about that, heh heh." He won't look me in the eye, a sure sign that something bad has happened.

"Boris, what's going on?"

"I solved all our problems, buddy. Hahaha!" He puts an arm around my shoulder, his other motioning forward, as if to demonstrate something over the horizon. His lips move close to my ear. "She put up quite a fight, bud."

My mind goes blank. His laughs taunt me, the empty hall seeming to grow cavernous. My body loses control, my mind becoming absent for what seems like an instant, yet an eternity. A pair of small arms are around me, my shoulder is damp. My head turns, looking down, my hands wrapped around my agent's throat. Releasing him, I hold my daughter to my chest, crouched down. Coming to my senses, I see the fear in his expression, reverberating in his every muscle. I pick up my drowsy, sobbing daughter in my hands, the fabric on my clothes seeming to bleed. As I stand over the bloody man, I restrain my voice to be very low, very decisive.

"Leave."

"Come on, Clyde, I-"

"Leave, now. I never want to see you again."

"But Clyde-" I can't contain my anger.

"I SAID NOW!" The room then becomes empty. Very, very empty. Thalassa, exhausted, falls asleep in my arms. Carrying her up the stairs, placing her in her bed, I can't help but notice that despite the tears, she still looks as beautiful and innocent as ever. I must enjoy this while it lasts, tomorrow she has to hear that her mother isn't coming home.

September 1st, 1995.

The contrast is stark, and somewhat poetic. The ebony ink splattered in undeniable truth upon the pewter page. The world is drowned out by its very insignificance.

"Magician's Wife Killed: The World Mourns His Loss"

"Murderer Found! Court Date Set Next Week"

"Magnificence in Concert: Canceled"

In my chair, I'm surrounded by insects. They scurry about, busy with their trivial tasks. These worthless gnats are under my beck and call. Now I am different, yet better. I know things now for what they are. I know what being a performer truly is: giving these pitiful peons something to distract them from their futility. Too long have I not reflected a simple truth: I am more than my audience is. And soon that shall be apparent to all.

September 17th, 1995

The curtains once again slide open. The audience doesn't speak, for they know by now that my grandeur demands proper attention. The crimson light bathes me in my true majesty, the undeniable pitch darkness of my fabric revealing the truth of change before them. I step up the wooden stairs center stage, to the gallows constructed for this occasion, my daughter standing at the top. A single noose stands before the terrified audience, and a shaking Thalassa. Slipping my hat and head through the hole, I grimly stare out at the faceless masses, the azure-clad girl with her hands on a large lever. Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet gives way, my large cape enveloping my very personage. In that instant, I am hidden from the foolish eyes of the audience.

After a moment, I see them from the other side. I can see their blank expressions, their utter flabbergasting. It is my one surviving pleasure. This is what I've wanted all along: control. Now I have it in abundance. Clyde Adriano is dead, and he is the only one I truly mourn. From now on, Magnifi Gramarye and his beautiful assistant are all that matters.

August 3rd, 1995, at 8:00 am: Court Lobby A

So nervous... I've waited three years for this, but here it is: my first REAL trial. No more palling around as a measly co-council, this is my shot at recognition. My name is Robert Hammond, and I'm a defense attorney. I work at the struggling Grossberg & Co. Law Offices, with the shareholder Marvin. Never have I seen a man so fit at his age, it almost makes me feel inadequate. The hair of my neck tingles as my client walked into the room.

"Heh, so, buddy, what's up? Heh heh heh..." His name is Boris Valko. He's a long-time associate of one Magnifi Gramarye, aka Clyde Adriano. Apparently an agent of some sorts, but he seems sketchy to me. Marvin says I can trust him, but I don't know... his file was a long read, if you know what I mean.

"Uh... h-hi. M-m-m-"

"Oh great, you're a public defender, aren't you? Heh heh, no worries, buddy, I have a real lawyer coming in any second now." His grin belied the utter fear I can see in his eyes. He's like an injured wolf, having a fancy pin-stripe suit and slicked back hair, but also being visibly shaken. He has some sort of cheap cologne on. It stinks of lemons.

"Uh... actually, I-"

"Was about to leave? I know. Sorry to intrude on you. Heh." I had no response. Maybe he can just read that I'm not ready for this. I'm going to-

"AHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM!", rang out a familiar bellow. "Mr. Valko, if you would please relax, your real lawyer was in front of you all along." Marvin had just entered, sporting that famous red suit he's seen wearing at many opportunities.

"This chump? He can barely say 'how-do-ya-do?' to a guy."

"Rest assured, Mr. Valko, Mr. Hammond is more than capable to take your case, and win. Isn't that right, Robert?" I hesitate, not knowing whether to try jumping out the window or to die on the spot. My heart is racing, my mind blank. "... Robert, are you alright? You seem pale."

"NO, SIR! I AM FINE, SIR! MY NAME IS DEFENSE ATTORNEY, AND I AM YOUR ROBERT HAMMOND FOR THIS TRIAL!" Grossberg's mustache twitches with delight as he chuckles softly.

"Robert, we're not so big to be caught up in formalities. It's Marvin, not 'sir', okay?" His hand moves to Mr. Valko's shoulder. "You're sure you are innocent, right?"

"Heh, I'm perfectly sure. I can guarantee that Robbie here will have a nice ol' time today." Patting the agent's shoulder, Marvin sighs with relief. Which seems weird, considering that he'd told me yesterday that Mr. Valko was 100% not guilty.

The room is starting to close in, a darkness over taking me. my chest locking up. Thump.

August 3rd, 1995, at 8:45 am: Court Lobby A

"Robert?", a voice calls out from the shadows. That sickening smell of citrus is gone, but I feel cold. Am I dead? "Robert?", the call comes once more.

"I'm ready to go...", I whisper. Anything was better than the extreme nervousness I was suffering.

"You'd better be, we've been summoned to the courtroom!" That's when it hits me: it's Marvin. I recognize the cold as the floor, the light as the florescent bulbs on the ceilings. Once again, I've had a panic attack and stopped breathing. Slowly regaining consciousness, I wearily raise myself up to a sitting position, vibrating limbs barely able to support my weight.

"What time is it?" A dumb question, yes, but an obligatory one.

"Eight-forty-seven, which means we have about ten minutes left. If you want to make a last-minute change, I'm more than willing to do so, but, if not..." His concern is touching as it is unnecessary. Grossberg has been almost like a second father. Hell, who am I kidding? He's like the father I always wanted. Slowly coming to an unstable stand, my hands move through my pockets. Grossberg holds out his hand, holding a small object. "You might be looking for this, Robert." My inhaler sits neatly in his palm. It's shameful, but a necessity. Gently taking it, I inhale the stagnant air of the medication.

"I'm not transferring this to you, with all due respect. I want to do this to see if I'm fit to be a lawyer at all." His hands move to his lapels, and he proudly smirks towards me, almost as if it were at me.

"Alright then, Robert, whatever you think is best for your client." Hearing those words felt awful. A punishment. My words didn't consider Mr. Valko at all, and Grossberg knew what my intent. "Alright, let's see if you've been doing your homework!" A game to him, an ordeal for me: homework, he calls it. Marvin expects me to be very well read on case files, and I struggle to finish them. "Please summarize the facts of the case."

"Well..."

August 3rd, 1995, at 8:30 am: Courtroom A

An unkempt detective leans lazily at the witness stand, a small white stick protruding from his mouth. His dusky coat shows signs of many shoot-outs, his demeanor almost like that of a dead man somehow animated. The court is silent while the detective's low, gruff voice undulates expertly. His name is Tyrell Badd, a detective of twelve years experience in multiple types of crime, usually organized crime or gangs.

"It all started when we got a call around three o' clock in the morning. It was from Magnifi Gramarye, calling to report the murder of his wife. When asked the location or method of the crime, he didn't know, but he claimed to know who the perpetrator was: the defendant, Boris Valko. Sending out several units, I was the first to arrive at the actual scene of the crime. Wasn't very hard to find, it was right at the front door. The victim, Felicity Adriano was lying in a pool of what we would later find to be two people's blood. The blood matched both the victim and the defendant, indicating a struggle. When one of the other officers finally arrested the defendant, he was covered in many bruises, and suffered from a slight concussion. We sent him to the hospital with a couple of officers, to make sure that he wouldn't split. The wounds of the victim matched that of a small letter opener, and was stabbed multiple times in the neck and chest area, the deadly blow hitting her carotid artery. Those are the basic facts of the case."

The silence is thicker than fog, and heavier than any weight. I can feel myself begin to hyperventilate once more, this time remembering to use my inhaler. Relief rushed into my lungs, but not into my mind. The crowd's glares turned to my client and I, as did the prosecutor's. He had many, wavy locks of hair, some of them braided, others left free to wander about at their leisure. His purple suit accentuated his heavy-framed glasses. The prosecutor seems older than me, but still very young. A high-pitched voice emanates from his personage.

"There, your honor, as you can see, this case is open-and-shut."

"HOLD IT!" I cried out, the clean-shaven, newly-appointed Judge having been interrupted from his almost verdict. "I uh... I want to cross-examine the witness." Gulping, I hoped my words would reach him. He seemed very stern, very strict.

"Very well, I'll let you cross-examine the witness." Though visibly peeved, I've got my first foothold in this trial. Now to not fail...

"Detective, other than the letter opener, what did you find?" In less than a second, I can feel Marvin tense up, and the prosecutor relax. The detective removes the stick from his mouth to reveal a lollipop. He stares at it in a fascinating manner.

"Well," his dark voice grumbles, "we found an envelope covered in blood containing a letter containing the prints of the victim and the defendant. We also found on the defendant traces of the victim's blood on his clothes, and confiscated his cell phone. It's a pretty advanced model, so it has logs of who the last five people to call him, and the last five people he called. The last person he called was Mrs. Adriano, the victim, at 9:45 pm, heavily indicating premeditation. After taking fingerprints, we found the defendant and the victim's fingerprints all over the murder weapon." The courtroom burst into murmurs. Frantically, I turn to Marvin, wondering what I did wrong.

"Marvin, what just happened?"

"Robert, the first rule of a cross examination is to never ask a question you don't already know the answer to. Now the prosecution has several pieces of evidence having been heard very early in the trial instead of later on. In essence, you've just done Mr. Payne's job for him." Drenched is the only way to describe my current state, having sweated through my suit.

"The court accepts these pieces of evidence into evidence!", announces the judge as the bailiff hands me records of all the evidence. As I scan the text, a loud bang startles me. The gavel had been slammed, the judge looking quite sure of himself.

"The court sees no reason to prolong these proceedings..."

Where is it? Where is something I can use?

"In which case, the court finds Mr. Boris Valko..."

Cell phone records... cell phone records... they only prove his guilt!

"Robert!", the harsh whisper pierces my ear, Marvin looking as determined as the judge. "You can't give up now... find something to turn this case on its head!"

Turn it...? Of course, turn it on its head! If the outgoing call log is what is the focus, then what do the incoming call logs say?

"Sucker #8: 5:00 pm
Ball and Chain: 5:57 pm
Main Squeeze: 6:00 pm
Gramarye: 8:00 pm
Gramarye: 9:30 pm"

That's it! I have it right here!

"OBJECTION!", I roar instinctively, my index finger pointed out towards Det. Badd. "You say that this crime was premeditated, right?"

"Yeah. Needed to interrupt the judge for that?" Unfazed, he takes out a mirror, and starts staring at himself, almost in a self-examination.

"No! I mean... yes!" I can't let him fluster me like this. "But the incoming call logs... they show that the Gramarye household called my client, twice! Both of these calls precede the outgoing call to the Gramarye house!"

"OBJECTION!" The screech is almost too much for my ears. It's loud, bold, and shriller than any demon I could dream of. "So you are saying that the defendant killed the victim on an impulse?"

"No! I just... it's not premeditated!"

"Hee, hee, hee... you rookies always think you're so tough. So what if it isn't premeditated? It's still murder, and it's still done by Mr. Valko. Your case is weaker than a tiny, insignificant hair." As he says this, he effortlessly picks a single hair from his mane that one would call a head of hair, and breaks it again with ease. "But, if you're so determined, I could call in my next witness." His confidence flows like his hair, despite the lack of breeze in the room. Looking back to the stand, Detective Badd had already left like the ghost he is. "The prosecution would like to call the victim's widower: Clyde Adriano."

August 3rd, 1995, at 9:14 am: Courtroom A

"What do you want?" the man in black quietly queried. The silence turned to tension, and maybe pity? His expression is grim, unforgiving, written all over his face was the betrayal of his friend, and the loss of his love.

I'm screwed.

"Nothing much, Mr. Adriano, I-"

"My name is Magnifi Gramarye, fool!" growled the man in disheveled white garments, growing more disorderly with his mood. Payne is visibly shaken, as was I.

"Sorry, Mr. Gramarye, just... please testify about your encounter with the defendant." Magnifi's eyes widened with a deep rage.

"Gladly." His arms akimbo, his stance proud, I knew I was in for a fight. "The pest came to my house at about midnight. I opened the door, thinking it was my wife, but it was him: Boris. The little punk told me he did it, and left. Not before I had some payback, first."

I stare in amazement. That was it? THAT'S the amazing testimony that caused my client to be arrested? Marvin is staring me down. I can't falter now!

"HOLD IT! Mr. Gramarye, how can you prove this assertion that you met with my client?"

"OBJECTION!" the shrill yell blares once more. "We have ample proof of that. As you can currently see-"

"Fool, I will destroy the scum myself!" the magician's cruel shout interrupted, Payne bending over in shame. "See these gloves?" I nod. "These are my spare gloves. My other pair has your client's blood all over them. And I'm willing to bet the bruises match my fists." Swallowing my fear, I pretend to read a file to hide my fear.

"So, what did my client say when he told you he killed her?" The Judge's eyes grow wide.

"Are you saying that your client confessed, counselor?"

"N-no! It's... allow me to rephrase?" His disapproving glare grants me the time I need to reformulate. "What were my client's exact words when you met him?"

"I don't know," he begins, crossing his arms. "I can't remember much beyond him saying that she 'put up quite a fight.' Seeing as my wife is dead, one can connect the dots." This is bad, but I can be worse! Wait... never mind.

"But that could mean anything!"

"That's a joke, if I have ever heard one." However, my smile seems to catch him off guard.

"That could mean that my client could have easily been acting in self-defense!" He rears back in shock. Score one for the Ham-man! At this rate, I'll have won before-

"OBJECTION!" ... That screech again. I almost forgot he was here. "That's a nice story, rookie, but you forgot the one thing that matters in court: evidence!" Nodding in agreement, the judge chimes in.

"He is right, Hammond. Do you have any evidence to assert your claim?" Looking through my court record, there's not much. The widower's gloves, the defendant's cell phone, the letter- the letter! My left hand boldly smacks the desk in front of me.

"Mr. Gramarye, are you familiar with the contents of the letter your wife's corpse?"

"... No." His eyes narrowed, but I'm not sure if it was curiosity or anger.

"Then allow me to read it for you. 'Boris, I write this letter because I know my husband won't have the heart to say this to your face, but I thought you'd like to have a little souvenir of what I'm about to say: Clyde and I are leaving, forever. We're moving, and not giving you an address. We don't want our daughter around you, we don't want to be around you, we're done. Have a nice time being broke, Felicity.' Your wife clearly has a lot of hostility towards my client, doesn't he?"

"Robbert, where are you going with this?" Marvin whispers, but I don't give him any indication of listening, my gaze is firmly within Mr. Gramarye's. I know what I'm doing now, and a plan has never been more clever than this.

"So what?" gravely replies the disheveled widower.

"So... what if my client said 'no'? What if he said that he could track you down wherever you went? What if the victim didn't take that too well, and-"

"OBJECTION! I will not have the defense speaking ill of the dead!"

"OBJECTION! The victim was more ill in life than anything I could say... look, the victim was clearly upset, and used it to attack my client! If you look at the evidence, you'll remember that the victim's fingerprints are also on this knife!"

"SHUT UP!" bellowed the widower, his rage overflowing from the witness stand. "You will not say another word about her or Boris! I trust both of them more than anything else!"

Bingo.

"Well then, Mr. Gramarye, allow me to tell you about your 'friend'..." Silence befell the courtroom as I pulled out my file on the client's criminal past, listing frauds, assaults, and other assorted felonies and misdemeanors. "So, what would seem like a good solution to your wife, who may I remind you has her fingerprints all over this letter opener? That's right, the only real way to get rid of scum that's evaded the law this long, she thought, is murder. However, that plan has obviously backfired!" Though not a sound came from the gallery, the most pleasurable was Mr. Gramarye's. The neophyte Judge, recovering, clears his throat.

"Well... does the prosecution have anything to say?"

"No, Your Honor." His sweat drips down his face, a scowl of self-loathing across his face.

"In that case, I hereby declare the client... Not Guilty."

August 3rd, 1995, at 10:00 am: Court Lobby A

Man, that felt good! This must be what it feels like to win, it has to be. It also seems to feel like someone tapping your shoulder. Wait-

"What is it, client?" He doesn't seem pleased somehow.

"Bud, I'm real disappointed in you. You know what you just did out there?"

"Saved your sorry hide?"

"YOU RUINED ME, YA FINK! The agent racket entirely depends on trust, and do you know how obscure I'm gonna hafta get before I can find a sap that'll trust me again? I'm gonna have to go to frickin' Borginia!"

"That's not my problem, is it, client?"

"My name is BORIS, you good-for-nothin'... GOOD-FOR-NOTHIN'! You just made my little amateur surgeon act all for nothin!"

"AHHHHHHHHEM!" bellows Marvin, who is now visibly upset. "You are to tell me that I gave you full trust and confidence for nothing?"

"Yeah, boo-frickin'-hoo, you were paid up front. But not like your little boy had to lie, he just didn't get the last part right. Sure, she tried to kill me, but I got the letter opener from her, and we had a little chat. However, she was STILL in the way of my interests, so I let her have a little nip-and-tuck, courtesy of yours truly. However, what your boy DID get was me into a lot of hot water." Marvin had nothing to say, and neither did I to someone so ungrateful for my achievements. "Later, losers." As he walked away, I shot Grossberg a glance. He seemed to be heavily weighed down, which doesn't make sense. We've won, and that's what matters. That's all that matters.

But to keep winning, I need to keep employed, so it's time for some charm. "Hey Marvin, wanna get a bite to eat?"

"Yes, I could go for a few burgers right now..." Well, my job is secure. Things are definitely looking up today.

To be continued...