Date: Wednesday, August 14th, 2013

Time: 9:36am

Location: Pharmacology Lab, Ivy University, Los Tokyo

I meant what I said to her. Every word. I had just gotten used to a life of wonderful things: nice clothes, good food, a luxury apartment, and a stupidly impractical car that I had wanted since I was a little kid. But I would have given it all up if we had to. If it was really needed to make things work and for her to live her dream of having a firm someday.

I'd like to pretend it was all noble intentions, but I know that's not completely true. Don't get me wrong, I wanted that life, I did. The father and mother, three kids, two-story house, and white picket fence life. Most people called it mundane and basic, but it was new and exciting to me. I had never had that before, and I wanted to experience what I had missed out on as a kid.

However, a big part of me wanted that because it meant she would always be in my life. Even if she broke up with me, or we got married and she later divorced me, we would always have this person, this child, tying us together.

Even when we were still in the thick of the situation, unsure what would happen next, I knew how selfish that thought process was. Later, once we were out of it, I also realized how stupid it was to even think that way. If she became unhappy and left me, it would only be more painful to have to be in her life and watch her start anew with someone else. No, it needed to be pure. It needed to be real. It needed to be right.

Luckily, I didn't have to worry about that anymore: wondering if she felt the same. She finally said unprompted what she had parroted back to me months earlier but had never meant. She meant it that time though; I could sense it.

I still don't know exactly what made her feel differently about us. She told me it was just a sudden realization, like a switch was flipped, but she didn't provide any specific rationale. The only argument I could conjure up was that she finally felt secure that I wouldn't abandon her. If this was the reason though, it was kind of offensive when you think about it. I grew up with a single mother. Did she really think I would pull the same crap my father did?

I didn't have this conversation with her and tried not to overanalyze it. I'll take my wins when I can get them, and this was definitely a win. After she said it that first time, she said it all the time now, maybe even more than I did. Our relationship was always punctuated by joking, laughing, and banter but there was even more lightness and ease after this development. Like I didn't have to try and read her mind and determine if she was thinking or feeling something that she refused to say or was actively trying to hide.

It was miraculous; we were just about six months in now and somehow that honeymoon feeling was even stronger than it had been those first few weeks. It made it excruciating to do anything if it wasn't together though. I now groaned every time I got up in the morning to go to work. I was never bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, leaping out of bed, and eager to get to work before, but now I hit the snooze as much as I could get away with without getting in trouble at work. Whatever allowed us to lay in bed together for a few minutes longer was worth it.

With this change in dynamic though, she wasn't being the responsible voice of reason either. She usually got up earlier than I did so she could do her makeup and hair, but she was hitting snooze too so we could spoon for five more minutes and then would hit snooze a few more times, so we could keep doing it.

Then we'd try to rush out the door, me putting my pants on two legs at a time and her rapidly brushing her hair and putting on about half the amount of makeup she normally did. Both of us would grab an energy bar on the way out and make coffee at work rather than taking the extra time to fuss with all the various coffee apparatuses I have in my apartment. It was a frantic way to start the day, but we couldn't stop doing it if it meant another 15 minutes together.

Unfortunately, we barely got to see each other outside of work nowadays. The summer, and August in particular, was always the busiest time of year at the firm. While time-off requests were not usually well received, most requests did come for the summer, and some did get approved, so we were always working with a smaller crew. At least there was no elbowing for a spot in the boardroom on morning meeting day.

The bulk of approvals were for the most senior staff, the partners and the veteran attorneys, so I was completely blown away when we both got four days off in the last week of August. Grossberg always did have a soft spot for Mia for some reason, although didn't we all. Then too, he wouldn't give us the full five days we requested. I doubted that he really needed us in for that Monday though. I think he just needed to haggle us down a bit to not look like a total pushover.

They say that crime spikes in the summer too, not sure why. Something about the weather making everyone more irritable? More people or tourists around maybe? Between the lower staff complement and the higher demand, I usually served on two criminal trials a week from the end of July to the beginning of September every year. This was a four-to-seven-day commitment, depending on the case, usually comprising sixteen-hour days. Sometimes I would prep all day before a three-day trial started then prep the evening of the last day of that trial for the next three-day trial. It was exhausting.

The past three summers, I hadn't minded it all that much. At least I would be in air conditioning most of the summer and it was one of my only opportunities to earn overtime. Despite the 9am-5pm hours posted on our office doors, the expectation was always for more. You technically didn't have to investigate cases in the evening or put in those extra hours of paperwork, but it would reflect poorly on your win rate and billable hours if you didn't.

Since this time expectation was built into our salaries, the only situation where I was eligible for overtime was the measly on-call pay on the weekend whenever it was my turn in the rotation, more if I had to serve on a trial that weekend, and then if we had a really demanding and wealthy client who necessitated round-the-clock attention. Or, as I said, in the summer when Grossberg and the partners reluctantly agreed that the pace that they required was beyond the scope of even our, admittedly, very high salaries.

This summer though, no amount of money was worth it. Time used to seem limitless. I had too much of it, I was bathing in it. I really didn't know how to fill my days when I wasn't working. Now it was a commodity, too precious to waste.

This was Mia's first summer at the firm and once she quickly got accustomed to the summertime pace, she decided she would dip her toe even deeper back into criminal law. She started helping my investigations by either accompanying me to crime scenes or exploring one place of interest while I was at another.

Unlike her time reviewing criminal trial paperwork for me during her regular workday, this kind of work was completely unpaid. She was still on her junior salary and I on my senior salary, and there was no chance for her to earn overtime without serving on her own cases.

She told me that she didn't mind but I didn't like her working for free, as happy as I was to see her. She said that I was being silly; the more she helped me, the sooner we could go home. I had asked why she didn't just take on some of the cases herself. That way she could make her return to criminal law official and get paid for it. She said that she'd think about it, but she didn't know if starting up again at the craziest time of year was the best idea.

She joked that she wasn't too worried about money anyway since she's been basically living at my place rent-free for nearly six months. A few months ago, once she realized that this arrangement was going to remain typical for us, she had offered to help pay some of my rent, but I had refused. It didn't feel right when I knew she was still paying $1,250 a month for that hellhole of an apartment she has in skid row.

A couple weeks ago, she announced to me that her lease would be ending at the end of September. She told me that she wouldn't be renewing it, if that was okay with me. I laughed and said of course. I had suggested that arrangement months ago and, even if I didn't want her to move in with me, I would have begged her to at least get a slightly nicer place.

She offered to pay half my rent once she moved in officially and I told her that we'd come to some sort of arrangement. She's likely at least a year or more out from senior associate status with her lack of trial experience and an even split seemed unfair. Maybe I'm just too old-fashioned, but I really liked to dote on her too. For her to know that she'd never have to worry.

We had become so preoccupied with love declarations, case preparation, and rental negotiations that Dahlia's case had once again become an afterthought. I had meant to stop by the pharmacology lab weeks ago to talk to Doug Swallow, but it was easy to slip the mind with everything else going on.

I couldn't really leave it any longer though. We'd be away in a couple weeks and once the university year started again, we'd have no reliable way to find Doug. While he was likely working full-time this summer, we couldn't be sure what his schedule would be like while he had classes.

I had my second day of a trial today, an aggravated assault case, and since we had nearly finished up yesterday and the judge had predicted that we wouldn't need a full second day, I didn't have to be at the courthouse until 11am. This was the perfect day to go chat with Dougie for a bit and see if he knew what his girlfriend had been up to.

I walked into the building and greeted the receptionist before asking her if I could talk to Doug.

"Is he expecting you?" she asked politely.

"No, not at all. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to chat with him." I spoke confidently, authoritatively. I've noticed that nobody asks too many questions if you just seem like you know what you're talking about and act like you belong.

She smiled. "No problem. I'll go see if he's available. Can I ask what it's regarding?"

That's an excellent question, and one I should have been prepared to answer before I got here. I thought of an excuse quickly. "I'm a potential client. Looking to get some expertise from one of the technicians here on a new pharmaceutical."

She nodded. "One moment."

She walked a short distance down the hallway and through a glass door into one of the labs spaces. From where I was standing, I could see her approach a man in a lab coat with his back turned. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around. As she spoke, he looked confused, but nodded before returning to his work.

The receptionist walked back into the lobby. "He's just finishing something, but should only be a few minutes. I'll show you to a meeting room where you can wait." She led me down another hallway to a small sterile-looking white room furnished only with a round table, four padded office chairs, and a bookcase filled with reference books.

"Thanks," I said. She nodded and left the room, shutting the door as she exited. I sat in one of the chairs, the one facing the door, and waited.

About five minutes later, I heard the doorknob engaging, and Doug walked in. "Oi," he said, smiling. He offered his hand out and I stood up to shake it.

"'Ello," I said in my best English accent, before shaking his hand. We both sat down, him choosing the chair directly across from me, in front of the closed door.

"You mocking me, mate?" he asked, in a very uneven English accent.

"Sorry buddy," I said, laughing chummily. "Just a reflex. You from England?" I asked.

"My parents are from Birmingham. Moved here when I was five."

"Ah," I replied, elongating the word. That makes sense. He sounded a bit phony. Obviously lost that accent years ago, but just can't let it go.

"So, you're working on a new medication?" he asked, pulling out a small notebook and pen from his lab coat pocket.

"Right. About that." I paused. How do you tell a guy that his girlfriend is a murderer? "I'm not actually a pharmaceutical rep. I'm a lawyer."

"Okay?" he asked skeptically.

"You've been dating Dahlia Hawthorne, right?" He just nodded. "Since around March?"

"I don't know if it's any of your business," he said sternly.

I smirked. I couldn't exactly blame the guy for getting annoyed. I never even gave him my name. I switched tactics. "Did she ever mention a murder trial to you? From back in February?"

"A murder trial?"

"I'm going to take that as a no." I opened my briefcase and pulled out a few articles that I had printed off about both of Terry Fawles' cases. I slid them across the table. "Me and, –er, a colleague of mine were assigned a case back in February. Murder of a police officer. Dahlia's stepsister Valerie."

He flipped through the pages, scanning quickly. "You're not suggesting..."

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Dahlia killed her stepsister."

He shook his head in disbelief. "That can't be true," he said, laughing incredulously. "If she did do that, how is she out walking around? Going to school with me?"

"The charges were dropped due to lack of evidence."

"So that means she's innocent?" he replied with relief.

"No, it means the charges were dropped," I corrected. "The one witness who could have implicated her, he killed himself on the stand during that case. Using poison that she gave him."

He was quiet for a moment, just shaking his head and looking down at the table. "I don't believe you," he finally said.

I scoffed. "Look, you can believe what you want, but it doesn't change the truth. I suggest you read over those articles and see if it changes your perspective."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"To warn you. That meathead that she manipulated? He was her ex-boyfriend."

He scoffed this time. "It won't be like that with us. She loves me."

"I hate to break it to you, but she's just using you. You have access to potentially lethal drugs and chemicals that she needs."

"You're wrong," he cried out. "She didn't even know I was in pharmacology when we met."

Maybe I was being too harsh. I just thought that Doug needed some tough love to see reason. "How did you two meet?" I asked calmly.

He swallowed. "Outside on the campus. She dropped her umbrella, and I picked it up for her."

"Outside the pharmacology lab?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly, looking down at the table.

"That's quite the coincidence," I said drily. He didn't say anything in response.

I got up and pulled a business card from my briefcase before latching it shut. "Here's my card," I said, placing it on the table right in front of his eyeline. "I'm Diego, by the way. If you notice anything else suspicious, let me know. For now, I'd suggest you do some inventory. You might find that something is missing."

I started to walk out of the room when he got up. "Wait," he called out. I turned around. "I'll do that inventory. Then I'll call you when I'm done to tell you you're wrong," he said determinedly.

I smiled. "For your sake, I hope I'm wrong," I replied. I opened the door and walked out.

Date: Monday, August 26th, 2013

Time: 9:15am

Location: Diego's Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo

After talking with Doug, I relayed the details to Mia later that evening on our drive home. We both hoped that Doug would heed the warning and break up with Dahlia, but we were resigned to the fact that it was out of our hands now. He had all the relevant information, and it was up to him to make the right decision.

After that conversation, we really thought that the Dahlia Hawthorne saga was over. That we had finally reached a conclusion to that horrible case from six months ago. I never heard back from Doug, and I probably wasn't going to. There wasn't much else we could do but wait. Wait and see if she will act again like we thought she would.

If she did, we had tracked her movements, and would be ready to present our information to the police and the prosecutor's office. For now, we just didn't have enough to bring forward a case. All that work and we were basically back where we started. A little more knowledgeable, but just as powerless to do something about it as back in February.

Then, a week ago, I got a text message late at night from an unknown number:

(11:47pm) 555-981-3321: I hope you're happy Mr. Lawyer! Because of you, Dougie is asking questions.

I was completely galled at first. I didn't know how she got my number and then it clicked: my business card. Either Doug was careless and left it lying around for her to find or he brought it up during their fight and Dahlia had scoped it out later. Whatever the reason, she had it now, and things had suddenly become more real. Investigating her was fine when she didn't know about it, but now we were liable to face her wrath.

I showed the message to Mia, and she was just as surprised. We wanted to reply right away but discussed it until the wee hours of the morning instead, trying to focus group our response. It was so tempting to just taunt her, but we knew we had to be smart about it. We had to convey that we were on to Dahlia without angering her.

That morning, I replied with the response we had decided on:

(7:55am) Diego Armando: Sorry to hear that. I guess you'll have to find a new supplier.

She responded almost right away:

(8:05am) Dahlia Hawthorne: I don't know what you're talking about. My Dougie still loves me. I just want you to mind your own business.

I showed the text to Mia, and she rolled her eyes. We didn't overthink the next message like we had the previous one:

(8:18am) Diego Armando: Keep the poison in the lab and we'll stay out of your hair.

I didn't hear back from Dahlia at all the rest of the week. It was business as usual for us, with two more criminal cases during the week, and a pretty normal weekend. Sunday night, on the drive home from Mamá's, we were both cursing Grossberg's name for forcing us to come in on Monday instead of giving us the whole week off, as we requested. We had decided that we would still leave on Monday evening for the hotel instead of waiting until Tuesday morning.

Then, I received another text message from Dahlia this morning:

(9:15am) Dahlia Hawthorne: I think we need to talk. You're operating under a misunderstanding, and I'd be happy to correct you. Meet me at the courthouse at 10:30am tomorrow and I'll explain everything. Bring my dear cousin too. You two are such a cute couple 3

After reading that message, I dropped the phone on my desk like a hot coal. I tried to think back to my interactions with Doug, but I had never mentioned Mia by name or that we were dating. Maybe Dahlia had figured it out from the court case in February, but we weren't dating then. While I had shamelessly flirted with Mia a good chunk of that case, Mia hadn't flirted back, and I don't think anyone else could have heard us from the defense stand anyway.

I scrolled back and re-read the five messages between me and Dahlia and found the offending phrase: "we'll stay out of your hair." After she read that, it wouldn't have been hard to connect Mia to me. She was the lead defense attorney on the Fawles case after all. Who else would have taken such a keen interest in Dahlia? How did Dahlia know that we were dating though?

The only other time she could have seen Mia and I together was at the library a month ago, but I don't think she had. We were in a different section than her and Doug, and Mia was in the bathroom when they were leaving. I don't recall seeing anyone outside when we left the library that night either. Even if she had seen Mia, she and I weren't as lovey-dovey that day as we normally were. It wouldn't have been a stretch to assume we were together, but Dahlia couldn't have confirmed it from our interactions alone.

That only left two possibilities. One, she was bluffing and said that so I would confirm one way or the other. Two, she had watched Mia and I at some point in the past two weeks. If the former, I'll be sure to respond with only "I" pronouns from now on. If the latter, well that made me shudder. We know Dahlia saw my card, so she could have easily found where we worked. Would she really wait around the parking lot for us to arrive or leave? Stupid question. If she would murder and coax someone to suicide, she wouldn't be above stalking.

My initial reaction was to go talk to Mia, but I held back. Why did Dahlia want to see both of us? I felt like I was playing chess with myself. Would Dahlia suggest bringing Mia knowing I would refuse to bring her or that I wouldn't? There was no way to know.

What I did know is who Dahlia would be angriest with. Dahlia was the daughter of the famed Aunt Morgan, a woman I've still never met but whose heinous reputation precedes her. Obviously, they both had mean streaks and they both had the same reason to hate Mia: Misty taking over as the Master. If Morgan had continued the bloodline as normal, Dahlia's parents wouldn't have split up and she would still be living at the Village, training to be the next Master after Morgan.

Then there was the trial. Would Dahlia be most threatened by the lead defense attorney on the case, the one who had Dahlia on the ropes before Terry died, or the attorney who was dicking around most of the trial, more preoccupied with getting Mia to like me than winning that case? I had helped Mia when she needed it, but I generally wasn't the one conducting cross-examinations or making objections.

This overthinking was getting exhausting, but I didn't feel I had a choice. I wanted to just tell Dahlia that I was busy and refuse to meet with her, but Mia and I were now vulnerable. If Dahlia knew where we worked, she could ambush us at any time now. She could follow us home.

Meeting with her at a courthouse, a venue filled with lawyers, judges, and cops would be safer than a surprise attack. I had no choice but to meet with her and make sure that she knew how stupid she would be to do something. We were watching her and, if she lashed out at us, she would get caught.

I finally texted Dahlia back:

(10:33am) Diego Armando: I'll see you at the courthouse cafeteria tomorrow.

When Mia and I left work this evening, I had to break the news to her that I had to be back in the city tomorrow morning and couldn't stay the night in the hotel. She asked why, and I had to lie to her. I said that Grossberg needed me to meet with a potential client tomorrow about a class-action lawsuit. This client was shopping around firms and landing him could mean a huge payout if we won. This meeting was actually happening, and Grossberg had wanted me to do it, but he got one of the partners to take the meeting instead because he knew I'd be away.

I felt really crummy about lying to her. We had built this relationship on trust, but if I told her the truth, I knew she wouldn't let me go on my own. She would insist on coming with me. I couldn't risk her getting hurt. If Dahlia tried to stab one of us, like she had Valerie, I had the best chance of taking her on. If she could only pick one of us to target, it would be Mia.

Mia was disappointed with the news and said that she would give Grossberg an earful when she got back. I apologized profusely and told her that we would still meet Maya tonight and I would drive back into the city after. We had plans to go to this massive arcade complex that Maya had suggested.

Mia told me that she would come back with me in solidarity and take the train back tomorrow morning. I tried to convince her to stay at the hotel; I didn't want this stupid meeting with Dahlia to hijack her plans. She insisted though so I didn't argue with her. It was too late to get a refund on the hotel for tonight, so we still packed up our stuff and checked in even though we wouldn't be sleeping there.

I pretended to have a good time all night even though my mind was elsewhere, playing every game that Mia and Maya suggested and drinking soda and eating pizza like I didn't have a care in the world. On the drive home, I had lots of time to ruminate on the situation though, as Mia had fallen asleep a half hour into the drive home. I just wanted to stay in this moment. The two of us in love, on vacation, her sleeping soundly next to me, and me enjoying the scenic ride home. However, I kept getting this ominous feeling that I unsuccessfully tried to force away.

All night, it was more of the same. Mia was in a deep sleep next to me, but I couldn't sleep at all. At around 8am, she woke up and saw me seated at the edge of the bed, just staring blankly ahead of me.

"Morning," she said brightly. "Did you sleep well?"

I sighed. "Honestly, I didn't sleep at all."

She got up and sat down next to me. "You okay? You've been really quiet since last night."

I smiled halfheartedly. "I'm fine." I paused. "Just this big client. So important that I do well."

"They must be really important. I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous." She started massaging my shoulders. They were so tensed up that I don't think even a professional masseuse could unknot them, but it still felt nice.

"Yeah, probably not. Just can't wait until it's over and I'm back with you and Maya this evening."

She stopped rubbing my shoulders and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Did you need any help with the meeting?" she asked. "Maybe you'd be less nervous if you had backup."

I shook my head. "No, I'll be okay. You two have plans. I can suck it up."

She smiled warmly. "If you're sure. Make sure you take a nap before you drive over though, okay? You must be exhausted."

"Will do," I agreed. "The lack of sleep is starting to hit me." I slapped myself in the face to try and jolt myself awake. "I think I'll go have a shower to try and wake up."

"Did you want company?" she asked innocently.

I chuckled. "You know I'll never say no to that."

Date: Tuesday, August 27th, 2013

Time: 10:10am

Location: Cafeteria, District Courthouse, Los Tokyo

After the shower, we both got ready, me for the courthouse and her for the hotel. She had looked out the window, saw the torrential downpour outside, and had determined that it was unlikely that she and Maya would make the beach today like they planned. She said they would probably hang out in our hotel room, watch movies, and grab a meal at the hotel restaurant. I would have offered her my car and taken the train instead so they could drive around and do something else, but Mia still didn't have her license yet.

When I was almost all dressed, and just about to tie my tie, Mia took over for me. She said that she had never tied one before and was curious how to do it. I obliged, walking her through it step-by-step. As I watched her, looking so cute as she concentrated on tying it properly, I had the inexplicable urge to cry. I held it inside though. There was still time to tell her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I dropped her off at the train station before heading to the courthouse. She wished me luck, made me promise I would nap for at least a couple hours before attempting the drive, and told me she loved me. I told her I loved her too and said I would see her soon. We kissed goodbye.

I arrived at the courthouse cafeteria 20 minutes early and sat around, sipping a coffee while I waited for Dahlia to show up. It was very dead in there as everyone typically broke for lunch at noon or 1pm. Dahlia arrived right at 10:30am, and I inhaled deeply as I saw her approach me.

"Hi Mr. Lawyer," she said in a bubbly tone of voice.

I already felt nauseous at the thought of dealing with this fakey nice girl act for the next hour. "Diego," I corrected.

"Whatever," she said dismissively, sitting down across from me. I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Where are you going?" she asked with irritation.

I rubbed my eyes in exhaustion and exasperation. "If I'm going to have to deal with you, I'll need another coffee to get through it."

"Can you get me one too?" she asked sweetly.

I scoffed. "Seriously?"

"You're already up."

I rolled my eyes again. 'Yeah, okay," I said. I didn't want to fight her over a $2.00 cup of coffee. I returned with two black coffees and placed one in front of each of us before sitting down.

She stared at her cup. "What's in this?" she asked.

"It's black."

She sneered. "Gross. You could have put sugar in it at least."

I laughed sarcastically. "I'm sitting down. You can go grab sugar to your heart's content."

"Fine," she said shortly. I don't think she was used to a guy not bending over backwards to accommodate her. She walked over to the coffee station and then returned shortly after.

"So, what did you need to clear the air about?" I asked drily, sipping my coffee.

She resumed her sweet demeanor. "Everything," she said. "I love Dougie so much. It really hurts that you think I'm only using him."

"I'm sorry to assume the worst. What do you love about Dougie?" I asked. "His fake British accent, his average looks, or his complete and utter naivety?"

"You're so cruel," she said woundedly. "Dougie is the sweetest boy I've ever met."

"You're right," I agreed. "I don't have a problem with Doug. What I have a problem with is him dating you."

"Are you jealous?" she asked.

I laughed broadly. I needed her to feel the absurdity of that statement. "Good lord, no. No, no, no. I have concerns about the fate of our British pal when he finds out you've been stealing chemicals from his lab. What would happen to him if you got caught?"

"That's not going to happen."

"Because you haven't been stealing or because you don't think you'll get caught?"

"What kind of person do you think I am? I would never steal," she replied defensively.

"Right. Murder, manipulation, and stalking are okay, but stealing is a bridge too far," I said sarcastically.

"What do you mean by stalking?"

I laughed. "So, you agree that murder and manipulation to suicide has happened?"

"No!" she exclaimed. She pursed her lips. "I've never done those things. I just know what you're referring to at least."

"How did you know about me and Mia?" I asked.

She smiled. "I was walking around downtown one day and just so happened to pass by your parking lot. The PDA between you two is scandalous. I only had to glance over for a second to get the picture."

If my eyes could roll back into my head, they would. At most, we would have held hands, joked around, or kissed quickly in the car. We weren't heavy on PDA in the work parking lot. "What are the chances?" I asked rhetorically.

"It really is a small world," she said cheerily.

"I see you have that bottle necklace on today. Prepared to silence me, if needed?"

She grasped the bottle and unscrewed it from the lid. She tipped it upside down. Nothing came out. "It's completely empty."

"Hm," I said skeptically. "How do I know this isn't just a decoy? Maybe you have another bottle of poison somewhere."

She stood up. "I'm wearing a dress," she said indignantly. "I have nowhere to hide it." She opened her parasol and closed it, showing that there was no bottle attached, and emptied out the contents of her purse onto the table. "See?"

It seemed crazy to me that she wouldn't have anything up her sleeve. I looked down at my coffee mug and then at hers. Mine was half-finished but she hadn't touched hers at all. "I noticed you haven't had any of your coffee yet."

"It's still too hot," she said.

"No. No, it's not," I replied firmly. "My coffee is getting cold now so yours would be about the same temperature. Mind taking a sip?"

"No," she replied hesitantly. "Now it's too cold to drink. I don't want it anymore."

"Right, of course." Well, there was my answer. I was going to ask her about the type of chemicals at Doug's lab when she opened her parasol, tilting it sideways to block the view to her left. I glanced over and saw a guy looking around the room in confusion, walking towards us.

He looked at Dahlia's parasol with perplexity, and then turned his attention to me. "Excuse me, sir," he said deferentially. "Do you know how to get to the courthouse library?"

I looked him up and down. He was in his early 20s, wearing jeans and a yellow raincoat, and had his hair gelled so much that it was spiky. He didn't look like he belonged at the courthouse. "Uh, law student?" I asked.

"Not yet, but hopefully soon!" he said enthusiastically. "I was hoping to bump into an old friend of mine here, but I haven't seen him. Figured while I was here, I might as well get an early start on my studies."

I just nodded. He asked a simple question, so I don't know why I pressed him for his life story. I tried to get my bearings; it had been a while since I needed to use the court library. I got up to lead him in the right direction before quickly heading back to the table. I had left my coffee unintended in front of Dahlia. I looked at her cup and then mine. They looked the same as when I left, hers was full and mine was half. I grabbed my mug and took it with me as I gave the poor sap directions. He thanked me and walked away, and I returned to the table.

"Where were we?" I asked.

"I don't know," she replied distantly.

"Right, the chemicals. So is there one in particular that caught your attention?"

She paused. "Well Dougie did tell me about one... it was so upsetting. Completely taste-free and lethal at only two teaspoons."

"Upsetting because you can't get your hands on more of it?" I asked.

She smirked. "Upsetting because you just drank some of it."

I looked at my empty mug and her full one. "But the poison was in your cup," I said fervently.

"You looked away. I topped your cup up with my coffee and then swapped them."

I was at a loss for words. I only walked away for five seconds. How did she have enough time? How did she even have the wherewithal to do that? I stood up to leave.

"Where are you going?" she asked tauntingly. "Even with a teaspoon or so, you won't be able to drive home."

I ignored her and started walking to the bathroom to throw up. When I made it inside the men's washroom, I clicked off the recording device I was using and slipped it back into my jacket pocket. My insurance policy. I don't know if Dahlia knows this, but it's legal for me to record her in all six states of Japanifornia without asking. I forced myself to vomit, but I didn't know if that would be enough to save me. I needed to make it to the car to hide the recording device.

I started walking towards the courthouse steps. My car was parked on the street a block away. It was so close that I would make it. I kept repeating that to myself so I would believe it. I wanted to think that she was just lying, but I could feel myself getting weaker and my vision getting blurrier. Every step that I took required an unbelievable amount of work.

"Mr. Lawyer, are you okay?" Dahlia cried out with concern, following me to the door. There were a couple other people around, so she resumed her sweet-as-pie act. I ignored her again and kept walking.

I made it outside. Only two flights of stairs and a street block to go. I walked down the stairs carefully, but I wasn't careful enough. My vision was even blurrier now, the rain was still pouring, and I misjudged my steps, slipping and falling down. It wasn't that bad of a fall. The regular me could have gotten up. Then again, the regular me wouldn't have fallen in the first place. I tried to stand up, but I didn't have the energy.

Dahlia had caught up with me outside. Her normally decorative parasol was open and being used as a rain umbrella. She knelt beside me and held the umbrella over me. She started digging through my pockets. I couldn't believe she'd be so bold but, with the pouring rain, there was no one else around. The closest person was down on the sidewalk and not paying attention to us. I tried to swat her away multiple times, but she easily pushed my hand away.

She found the receipt for the coffees that I had crumpled into my pocket earlier. She threw it into a puddle. She reached into my wallet, grabbed several bills, and stuffed them into her purse. Then she found the recording device. She didn't know how to work it at first, accidentally playing the recording and then frenziedly turning it off multiple times. She was cunning though and figured it out eventually, deleting the recording and returning the device to my pocket.

"Somebody, please help!" she wailed. She ran away from me and back up the courthouse steps. "Can you help this man?" she asked desperately. It sounded like she was crying. "Please watch him. I don't have a phone. I'm going to go inside to get help."

"Sure thing, miss," the man she was speaking to replied confidently. I could hear him running down the steps and he knelt beside me. I tried to wave my arm to greet him, but it barely moved. "Shit," he said panickily. He pulled out his cell phone and called 911.

While he talked to the operator, I had tuned him out completely. It was like I was in a fishbowl, and I could only hear the sounds but not the words. I thought of Mamá and how much this would hurt her. I thought of Mia and Maya, sitting on the bed in the hotel room, watching a movie together and laughing. Mia was going to wonder where I was, but I had no way to tell her.

"The ambulance is on its way! You're going to be okay!" the man said loudly, reassuring me.

"No. I don't think I will be," I said softly. I don't remember anything else.