"Winning almost seems worthless," Stevfan groaned opening the envelope he received through the mail back at the camp. He pulled out the cheque for ten-thousand dollars he'd won from the contest and glancing down at it with a glare in his eyes. He shoved it back into the envelope, tucked the flap inside and put it in the pocket of his trousers. He leaned forward, propping his forearms on each of the chair's armrest he was sitting in. "After the police were done interviewing me, I felt like I'd been in the wash for far too long."

"They don't think you're a suspect. There's no evidence of that," Pricilla added.

"No evidence to the contrary, either. Violynn's alibi seems bloody insane. But I'm sure there's a recording of me on the phone with emergency, saying there were two dead at the scene."

"You could've been mistaken. That doesn't prove anything. It was an intense moment, I'm sure," Kevyn stated.

"There were no sucker marks on the body I could see," Stevfan recalled, raising a furrowed brow. "Violynn is innocent. I'm the likely suspect."

"Why are you so hell bent on being the suspect?" Pricilla asked, her voice a bit pitchy.

"I'm not. I don't see any other alternative. I could've done it and not remember a thing. I was diagnosed with REM sleep behaviour disorder since childhood. I'm not in control of my body or its violent actions when I'm in that state," Stevfan jumped up from the chair and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Mikcari? Could you get access to The Great Qualinan Baking Kind of Show's video database?" Andar asked.

"No, Andar. I don't have that capability."

"Maybe someone else I know can help," Pricilla intervened.