Arthur laid his head on the cool glass window of the cab and looked out. Subdued, early-morning Brooklyn was a whole different lady than racy midnight NYC, and he reveled in the difference; He'd been dating New York City for a while now, trying to find a comfortably-priced place, but until then, just working the hotel circuit-(which surely would come to an end soon, since he wasn't exactly loaded with cash and he still had his loans to pay off)-was enough to give him a reasonable grasp of all sides of his city and enough excitement to keep him on his toes.

He was fresh out of law school- Harvard, actually-and just over a month into the work world, and he still held a profoundly deep, and as his superiors assured him, highly temporary regard for his profession.

The noble pursuit of law, Arthur was told, could be as dark and dirty as anything.

Well, call him an idealist, or, as his father preferred, "naiive," but Arthur couldn't help but believe in his career. Lawyers were, he felt, the embodiment of fairness in law, symbols even- the human factor in the pursuit of justice.

At least that's what he'd said in his graduation speech...or something similar. He wanted to feel like there was something to believe in in this world- something solid, something real, something fair.

He loved the law, loved its solidity, loved its beautiful concreteness, its nuanced flexibility…

It was his something to believe in.

And so he was here.

He'd graduated with top marks, which had sufficiently soothed Mr. Pensington's ruffled feathers enough to allow him to hunt for work outside of Boston, where the family had lived for generations.

-Mr. Pensington was his father. Arthur'd always known him, always addressed him as "Mr. Pensington." He hadn't known his father even had a first name until he was eight years old and possessed of sufficient curiosity and boldness that he even thought to ask.

The name was, incidentally, "Luther." Arthur had hated it the moment it'd passed his father's lips accompanied by an irritated eyebrow twitch, and he hated it now, hated its feeling of being on the verge of something that made sense, hated its quality of "almost-ness" that Arthur could hardly explain (and hardly understood, himself).

He'd tried "Dad," once, but Mr. Pensington had fixed him with a glare filled with such incredulous condescension that he'd instantly aborted and tried desperately to pretend it'd never happened.

...He'd found work in New York City, at a prestigious law firm. (He suspected, with no small amount of irritation, that Mr. Pensington had put in a good word for him, for Luther's reach was far and wide), but he liked to think that he stood on his own two feet, too. He was a strong candidate: he had good marks, good rec. letters from teachers who'd adored him; he'd also dabbled in sports in college-boxing, wrestling, some football…(he was a nationally ranked fencing champion…)

"...You gonna get out, son?"

Arthur blinked; they'd arrived at the Cenred & Fay building, and he'd apparently been dawdling. He grinned sheepishly at his cabbie and forked over a wad of cash, shouting "Keep the change!" over his shoulder as he got out and, swinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, made his way to the office building.

"Arthur," a feminine voice cooed as he entered.

"Vivian," Arthur acknowledged with a curt nod, sweeping past the receptionist's desk without stopping, or even glancing at her; he was late, he knew, and he needed to…

"Pensington," a second voice commanded, steel-edged, dripping with disdain, sounding out every syllable of the name like it was something nasty- and this time Arthur did stop, and he whirled around to face the speaker, reflexively muttering, "It's Arthur."

"You're late." It was his boss; like his father, she didn't seem to have (or need) a first name. Her surname, Morgan, was enough to both label her and inspire fear in everyone who encountered her, in a courtroom or otherwise.

She was nearly as tall as Arthur, (taller in stilettos), and about 75% legs, pale and fluid, which she loved to flaunt, along with a near-scandalous peek of cleavage at the unbuttoned top of her blouse. She was probably an attractive woman, but Arthur always felt ridiculously disturbed by her cheekily revealing outfits, itching, often, to button her shirt up to a respectable height, or just buy her a longer skirt.

Nonetheless, she was a respectably frightening woman, and Arthur bowed his head in almost-meek assent to her statement- "Sorry."

She seemed delighted with his apology, flashing a brilliant feral grin. "It's a pity," she mused mockingly. "I've got my hands full with the Oscar case- I was going to let you fly solo today."

Arthur's head snapped up, and she laughed at his sudden zeal. "No matter. I'll simply pass your case off to someone more dedicated. Come along, then, Harvard boy, I'm sure I can find something for you to do."

And she whisked off, leaving a thoroughly pissed-off Arthur to cough and wave his way through the cloud of perfume she'd left in her wake, the lilt of her laughter echoing irritatingly in front of him as he followed her.

Damn it!

Gwen stumbled, exhausted, through the door of the apartment and let her book bag slide unceremoniously to the floor.

It was late, she saw, checking her watch, nearly morning, for God's sake.

It'd been a long day, and hard, but it had started off well, at least…

She blushed, thinking of her first class of the day, Abnormal Psychology, and more importantly her professor…

Just about her entire Med. class had a crush on their young, energetic Psych. professor, with his adorable ears and dimples and those huge, blue eyes...

Gwen shut the door on the draft with a dreamy smile, and turned, hopping and shivering from the cold- and screamed, before clapping one hand over her mouth and one above her racing heart, recognizing the figure hunched darkly on her couch as her brother.

"Elyan, you scared me!" She whispered with a shaky laugh, once she'd gotten herself back under control. "What're you doing home?"

The dark figure barely glanced up at her. "Go to bed, Gwen."

"What's wro-?"

"I said go to bed!" He whirled, and Gwen tripped backwards, stricken and stung.

Her brother buried his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the coffee table in front of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly she barely heard.

"Good night, Elyan," she tried tentatively. There was no answer, so she picked up her bag again and tiptoed for the stairs.

….

It was maybe three A.M. when Gwen awoke, still in her work clothes with her head pillowed on her bag, to noises and loud voices from downstairs.

She clutched the bedside lamp protectively, straining her ears to hear what was going on.

There was a loud banging on the door, and she shuddered, swinging her feet off the bed- goodness, it was cold- and padding silently to the landing, lamp held aloft and threateningly with both hands.

Gwen tiptoed down the stairs, as quietly as she could, and then hid behind the corner; her heart thumped erratically in her chest.

Just as she worked up the nerve to peek around the corner, there was a shout and then a louder noise and then-

BANG! The door was kicked in, and men barged in wearing bulletproof vests, shouting "POLICE!"

Gwen was so startled she dropped her lamp, and it shattered as it hit the floor, making a spectacular crashing sound.

Instantly several guns were pointed at her. She stepped out from her corner, her hands up, shaking like a leaf.

"Gwen?" Elyan's voice. And then, "Don't touch her, she's got nothing to do with this."

"Elyan," she whispered, her voice tiny. "What's going on?"

But at the same time one of the officers stepped forwards, a pair of handcuffs glinting silver in his right hand. "Elyan Smith? You're under arrest-"

"I did it," Elyan interrupted, and his voice was thin and sharp. "I tortured and killed those women. You'll find the evidence and bodies underneath the yellow statues at Rallings Park."

And Gwen staggered back with a ragged gasp, stepping, unintentionally, on the wreckage of her lamp, pain shooting through her foot with the simultaneous crunch of glass. "What?" But no one heard her.

"Well, that's that, I guess," the officer said, and Gwen could see the anger in his eyes, in the muscle jumping in his neck-but no, no, this was wrong! This had to be wrong! Elyan couldn't hurt a fly!

She watched with wide, uncomprehending eyes as her brother was handcuffed, roughly, and pressed against the doorway.

His face turned to her, and the sadness in his eyes was overwhelming. "I'm sorry," he mouthed. "Sorry."

And then he was being hustled out of their home like the criminal they thought he was, and Gwen could see the lights on in her neighbors' apartments, and she knew everyone was watching them, and she had glass in her foot and she started forward-

"Elyan!" She screamed, but hands, many and strong, held her back. "Please," she sobbed. "Please, please, no. This isn't right. There must be some mistake. Elyan's not a murderer- Please!"

She looked up, through her tears, and she thought she saw- no, it couldn't be-she wiped her eyes, sure she was imagining things, but no, there he was, blue eyes and ears and all, studying her with a look of concerned consternation.

"P-p-professor?" She stuttered, wondering if she'd lost it.

"It's me, Miss Smith," He smiled reassuringly, dimpling sweetly, but she could glean no pleasure from it, not now.

"I believe you," he whispered, leaning in to show her he was serious. "I believe he didn't do it."

"You do?" Gwen sat back on her heels, ignoring what must have been at least a quarter-pound of glass in her foot. relieved to know that someone believed her, believed in Elyan...reassuring her from the beginnings of traitorous doubts...

"I did it," he'd said…

Gwen shuddered.

"I'll help you," the professor said, intent. "I'll help you prove he's innocent."

And it seemed ludicrous- how could her Psych. professor prove a man's innocence in a homicide case? How, even, was he here? But she believed him. The way he spoke to her, and looked at her earnestly and determinedly, Gwen sure as hell believed him.

"What can I do?" she asked, emboldened by his promise.

"You need a lawyer," he decided. "A good one."

"Here-" He pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and tore off a piece, hastily scribbling something down on it and handing it to her. "This lawyer, Morgan, helped my Mum through a tough spot, once."

Bending- "Let's look at your foot-"

"I can take care of it," Gwen waved him off, her ears burning. She dropped her gaze from his lovely blue eyes to the words he'd written on what she saw was a piece of some poor kid's essay- "Cenred & Fay."

…

…

Hope you enjoyed it, guys, and please do drop me a review:-)

I plan on finishing this story; I have a pretty good idea of where I want it to go, and I think it'll be a lot of fun to write (and hopefully to read, too?) Some of you guys know I've been having a hard time of it, and I just want to thank you all for your support. I will definitely start replying to reviews, because you people are amazing, (and I just realized I could do that….awkward...XD). As for my other stories, I will eventually finish Dreadful Day (Humongous apologies to those of you who are waiting for it), and I will continue to add to my Reveal Series. I will certainly endeavor to update this story with more regularity.

Constructive Criticism? Questions? Comments? I'd love to hear 'em!

Lots of Love,

Everthought :)