[ WP ] You are a reputable lawyer who moonlights as a serial killer . One day , you receive a client who has become the main suspect of your crimes . You have to frame him such he is incarcerated while still maintaining your reputation as a competent lawyer .

If I have feelings I think this one would be called anxiety. The thing I was supposed to feel when I started at a new school in the fourth grade or when I was asking Jennifer to prom. But I didn ’ t. People told me I ’ d be a great lawyer due to the way I behaved under pressure and this seemed like the ultimate testament to that statement. 
 
 
 I watch the file as it ’ s flipped through, photos scattered on my pristine redwood desktop. I look at them stoically, because I ’ m a lawyer and that ’ s just what I do. Stare at the pictures, stare at the file, stare at the man in the seat across from me. Then I draw in a breath and say “ yes ” or “ no ”. No, it ’ s hopeless. Or boring. Yes, I ’ ll take this case. I ’ ll throw myself into the world of these gruesome murders and help the man or woman accused to walk the streets another day. Because that ’ s just what any good lawyer would do. And I ’ m the best. 
 
 
 The only symptoms of my anxiety are my beating heart and the tension in my throat. Each time I swallow, the muscles contract and force the spit back up before conceding and doing their job. And, even as my heart taps so aggressively against my chest wall, I ’ m excited to see her face again in such a personal setting. 
 
 
 Hello, Nancy. 
 
 
 Of course, I ’ d been watching the news. They show her face there every day. Each day since they found her and then even more so when they caught him. The man responsible for the recent slew of missing women. These poor, innocent, beautiful girls. Poor and wrongfully killed Nancy. 
 
 
 “ Yes, just leave the file, ” I state. 
 
 
 The man thanks me and writes down the name of an officer and a phone number. Then he leaves. In the few seconds before the door closes, I am on edge in an almost erotic way. Waiting, waiting, waiting for that click. And then I can breathe again. I can breathe and look at those terribly awful pictures of her horribly disfigured face. Her broken body and the just horrific way this heathen of a murderer left her. According to the news, that is. 
 
 
 Despite my best efforts, he will be found guilty. Sorry to ruin the ending. But it ’ s just not in my best interest to win this one. 
 
 
 I spend hours with him, talking through the details of his alibi and finding the obvious flaws in the prosecution ’ s case. It ’ s not hard given the fact that this man is innocent. We talk and he cries. He tells me of his wife and child and how much he loves them. Those nights that he was out were spent in a hotel room with a married woman. A woman who won ’ t come forward to testify for him. 
 
 
 Sad for him, really. Even more unfortunate for her. 
 
 
 She wasn ’ t even my type but sometimes it ’ s not about the fun. It ’ s about survival. And right now I'm not playing the hunter but the trickster. 
 
 
 In the end, it was simple really. Go to his house and retrieve a few receipts that proved he was a few miles away from the hotel at the time of the murder. Leave a little something for his dear wife to find. Then wait. 
 
 
 “ That ’ s not mine, ” he says to me, crying with such intensity that he can hardly catch his breath, as they pull him from the courtroom. 
 
 
 A guilty verdict is hard for any innocent man to hear. But evidence can be so damning and keeping trophies is what gets us all in the end. The necklace from Julie. The ring from Amanda. The brow piercing from Katie. And, of course, the locket with a picture of Nancy ’ s little daughter on one side and a missing picture of Nancy, herself, on the other. You just shouldn ’ t keep those things lying around. As I walk out of the courtroom, I run a finger up the small glossy photograph of Nancy in my pocket. 
 
 
 I ’ m a great lawyer. The best. If I had feelings, I ’ d say I am thrilled and just a teensy bit sentimental.
