A man walks in, no doubt a lawyer my parents sent to get me out. I pick my head up off the table and watch as he sits in the chair across from me.

"Miss Nicole Suhn?"

     I nod, shaking my head to try get my hair out of my face. Damn these cuffs.

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes."

     He places a folder on the desk and I turn my attention to look at him. He's cleanly dressed in a sharp American style suit with silver cufflinks. I run my eyes over his face; he's in his mid-thirties but the stress of the job is starting to show in the lines of his brow.

"I'm your lawyer, William Greyson," he states. "Your parents hired me to get you out."

     I nod again. He seems nice.

"Can I borrow a pen and some paper?"

     His expressions shifts to one of confusion and I race to explain myself before he got any wrong ideas.

"I just want to draw. I'm really tired because I've been in here so long, and I don't want to fall asleep on you. If I keep myself occupied, I won't."

"Alright..."

     He opens the folder, rummaging to find a spare scrap of paper, then passes it to me with a black pen from his coat pocket.

"Thank you so much."

     I glance at it, flip it over and begin to sketch out a few basic lines. The cuffs are a bit limiting, but easy to work around.

"Anyways," he continues after a brief pause. "I'm sure you know what you've been charged with."

"First degree murder," I murmur, trying to suppress the memory. "I'm telling you, I didn't do it."

"I believe you, Miss Suhn, but..."

     I cut him off as I glance upwards to meet his gaze.

"Please, just call me Nicole."

     With a nod, he continues.

"...but your case is less than ideal."

     Of course it is.

"You see the bad news is, all the evidence points in your direction. You have no alias, you were found on the scene of the crime, and you had a gun on you consistent with the victim's wounds."

"But the good news is..?"

     He just looks at me.

"There is no good news."

     I sigh, turning my attention back to my sketch to keep my mind away from the unpleasant situation at hand.

"With that being said, I'm going to ask you a few questions to see what I can do."

     He removes a small tape recorder from his pocket.

"This is just so I can have everything on record."

     I nod, suddenly nervous, and place my pen on the table. He glances at me, and clicks on the tape.

"William Greyson, September 17th. Miss Nicole Suhn," he begins, speaking in a slightly more formal tone then before, "you have been charged with first degree murder for the death of Aaron Fields. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."