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The next day I went to the studio where the Ballet had shifted and, just like Raphael had said, one of the executives called me to their office and explained with lots of ceremonial jargon that the company wanted nothing to do with me. I left, heartbroken, and as I exited I felt the eyes of the dancers following my every step.

I could hear some of them whispering about me being arrested and Vera’s murder, but just kept my eyes glued to the ground and left. Thankfully, nobody at Frisco’s seemed bothered by the fact that I was on bail and I worked myself to the bone in the hopes of distracting myself from the impending trial.

Raphael didn’t like it but I told him plainly that I was going to do whatever I wanted regardless of if he accepted it or not. Things were somewhat strained between us. He was playing the part of the responsible parent and I was being the rebellious kid who wanted space. Almost to spite him I joined a roller derby team (Miranda happened to be a member) and was out for practices or shifts most of the time.

Being exhausted all the time made it easier to forget the fact that I had a court date looming over my head, and that someone I’d known was dead. Oh and that I might have killed her.

I put on even more muscle from my crazy schedule and became even more brash and curt than ever. Raphael and I barely touched each other.

Time almost seemed to move too fast, and I found myself preparing for the first day of the trial. I was in a pressed business skirt and a collared shirt, my hair falling to my shoulders in its natural straight form. I didn’t wear any makeup.

The next few hours were some of the most stressful of my entire life. I watched in mute horror as the prosecution procured lab reports proving my DNA and prints were on the scene, and watched as a slightly-grainy security video was played of me stabbing Vera to death.

It looked like an open-and-shut case. There was all of the proof anyone would need to show that I was the killer. To my shock Cynthia’s case wasn’t trying to prove that I was innocent. She was just trying to convince the jury that I was crazy. With testimonies from my doctor and my prescription history she did it pretty well.

I kept my cool for the trial, but soon afterwards I flipped out, rolling the window of the Ferrari down as I panicked.

“I’m either going to jail or to an asylum!” I said almost hysterically, “Why didn’t Rollins say anything about what she was going to do?”

“You have to be patient, Kate.” He replied, “She’s good at what she does. If it came to this there wasn’t any other option.”

I sighed.

“Just drop me off at the station.”

The Detective had called me in again, for what reason I didn’t know. His officers had been quick to collect all of the evidence that condemned me, after all.

To my surprise, he called me to his office rather than the interrogation room.

“I believe you to be innocent, Miss Abromovich.”

I looked at him with shock.

“Why? All of the evidence...”

“There’s too much evidence. It’s too clean. Your sleepwalking has already been described as a state in which you are impressively resourceful. I doubt you would be so clumsy. Either you are impressively stupid or a genius that knew I would think like this.”

“Why tell me this, then? Why not prove my innocence?”

He sighed.

“There’s only so much I can compete with DNA and prints, miss. I want you to wear a wiretap. Be cautious. I find that people tend to get sloppy when things go in their favour.”

I paused a second before replying.

“You think that someone else is involved in this?”

His mustache twitched.

“I’m absolutely convinced of it.”

The End

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