AN

Hey ! Shout out ChellyBell for the new cover.  It's pretty siick (: Anyways, ON WITH THE STORY!

Mal POV

My 'office' better known as the table and chair shoved into the small corner on the right side of the back room, was covered in papers.  I had spent the last five hours researching the O'Callahan case, I was coming up with zip.  I knew that O'Connor was guilty.  Obviously.  He was on trial for it.  But the amount of evidence that was piling up against him could be viewed as circumstantial, and I needed something positive to nail him down.  The fact that he was found with her blood all over his hands wasn't even enough.  His plea was non guilty, his excuse that he was trying to stump the bleeding, which could be proved.  Emergency responders arrived at the scene to see him pressing a cloth to her wounds, and pleading for help.  The murder weapon couldn't be found.  Officers believed that he had stashed it somewhere before returning to the scene, that is, if he was guilty.  Which he was.  It was my aunts case all over again, and this time, I wasn't letting the guilty off scott free again.

So far though, I was coming up empty.  Nothing that had been discovered could pin him, the oppostie actually.  Most of it could be used to prove him guilty, but it could also just as easily be flipped by the defense to prove his innocence.  This was getting impossible.  I was beginning to believe I knew how the prosecuters in my aunts case felt.  No matter which direction I turned, I came up blank.  It was beginning to get ridiculous.  I wish we could just say 'he's guilty' and be done with it.

The reports showed possibility of a different killer, using the reasoning that the real murderer could have gotten away long before O'Connor showed at the scene, taking the murder weapon with him, along with his identity, but there were no suspects.  And Ms. O'Callahan's ex boyfriend was found on the scene, covered in her blood, following a very difficult and somewhat violent break up.  It made perfect sense, and he was guilty. He had to be. 

I groaned, smacking my head off the desk like I had done for the past hour or so, when I realized it was almost hopeless.  Nothing was going my way.  Her autopsy got placed on hold because of her family's beliefs, or what was assumed to be her family's belief, according to her boss. 

No one really knew this O'Callahan.  She was very independant, to a T, going to work and returning home without any personal time.  She made no friends, and had no known family, so the Coronor was told to hold off until someone who was a relative could be contacted. The service didn't want to risk a lawsuit.

"You probably shouldn't do that Malcolm."  I turned my head sideways, resting it on the desk to peer up at an amused looking Marc.  "Case isn't going so well huh?"

"I've reached so many dead ends, I don't think I've moved two feet," I moaned, staring hopelessly at the piles of paper in front of me.  "O'Connor is guilty. I know he is."

"This isn't the O'Callahan case Malcolm, you can't treat it as though it is," he scolded, giving me a narrowed look before walking aimlessly out of the room. I scowled at his retreating back.  I wasn't trying to relive her case.  I just knew it was the same.  Cally brought me to this point, and I was going to prove O'Connor guilty because he was.  It was the same situation as back in Jersey all over again.  They can't blame me for seeing this when no one else did.

"I just saw Marc leaving your office.." I surpressed another angry groan and found myself staring straight into the clevage of a somewhat underdressed Linda.  The top two buttons of her dress shirt where undone, leaving little to my overactive imagination.  "I thought you could use some.. company."  If it was anytime but now, when I wasn't up to my eyeballs in paperwork and pissed off beyond belief...Ahh, who was I kidding.

"I'd love some."

***

Analee POV

I was plotting.  Okay, maybe not plotting, because that sounds like I'm some creepy evil genius.  Genius, I may be.  Evil as well, but definitely not creepy.  Nope, not creepy at all.

So far, all I was sporting in front of me was a long list of failures. This shouldn't be this hard! New guy would probably have some killer ideas, and I had NOTHING. Well, actually, maybe that would be giving him a little too much credit. The guy hadn't been seen all day, apparently working up a storm in the office. I couldn't say something about his intelligence, seeing as his book collection was rather impressive, and he DID get an intern-ship at the office. That was impressive on its own.

"This is hopeless," I sighed. I couldn't think of ANYTHING. This called for a walk around the mansion to clear my head.

I made it about halfway down the hallway before I heard familiar noises coming out of the room across from mine. New guy. And Linda, if I was hearing it correctly. And then, I was hit with a brilliant idea. New guy would probably get me back for it, but it was so hilarious that I was laughing already, before it happened.

I quickly back tracked to the room across from mine and smirked. Here goes nothing!

I gripped the door handle, and like I expected, they forgot to lock it. Again. At least they made it to a bedroom this time. I slowly twisted the knob, before flinging the door open, making sure to advert my eyes to avoid being scarred. Again.

"FIRE! FIRE! EVACUATE! FIRE IN THE HOLE!" I screamed. There was a scream, and a thump, which I assumed was one of the busy couple falling onto the floor. I slammed the door shut and booked it down the hallway to the hidden stairway. Shutting the door behind me, I allowed myself to burst into laughter.

Priceless.

Long story short, I ended up curled on the floor, tears running down my cheeks, and with a major stomach ache. That was so worth risking my innocence for.

I spent the next few hours walking aimlessly around the floor I was on, and succeeded in finding a brand new passage way to the attic. I KNEW that wall was too thick behind the antique dresser. After much work pushing it aside, I found a doorway that led up another two floors to the attic. This was my father's office. The stairwell was made of stone, much like my other favourite passage, which made my assumption that it was built around the same time, likely.

Well, this would come in handy. I smirked, closing the door behind. I headed back downstairs to my bedroom. I figured it would be safe to go down now, having given New Guy and his play thing a whooping three hours to calm themselves.

Come to think of it, it was probably time for dinner. And I was filthy. A detour to my bedroom wouldn't hurt, I reasoned.

Surprisingly enough, after de-attaching the bucket of water rigged to dump on my head when the door opened, I was safe. There was no other tricks.

I set the bucket on my desk, and was surprised to see a piece of paper taped to the side. I pulled it off, and unfolded it slowly.

Analee,

I figured you'd be smart enough to realise that I'd try something a tad bit immature. And I knew you'd find the bucket easy. What you don't realize, it that I always strike back. You shouldn't mess with me. I always win.

McHottie. [You know who I am;)]

McHottie. Yeah. Right. Sure. I dropped the note in my garbage container, and dumped the bucket down the bathroom sink. I washed my face and changed my clothes before heading down the hallway to the kitchen.

***

New Guy was in my seat. Of course I expected him to be there for dinner. I mean, I hoped he wouldn't be, but I knew he would be. The irritating part was when I was forced to grab another seat and sit in a different spot. He TOOK my bloody SPOT !

I feel immature.

But what would you say if you came downstairs to see a new person in your spot, taking it over and charming your family? I'll save you the thinking. You wouldn't like it.

I pouted in my spot, picking at my food as he charmed the pants off my mother. Not literally, of course, just figuratively. I couldn't even enjoy the heaping plate of mashed potatoes and corn and hamburger that my mother served me.

"...so, I was really hoping that I could meet some people. Go to a few parties and stuff I guess." I froze at Mal's sentence. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.

"Analee, wasn't Samantha having a party on friday?" My mother asked, craning her head to smile over at me.

"Yes, but it was invite only," I answered quickly. That, unfortunately, didn't deter her.

"Oh, but Samantha is such a nice young girl, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you brought a friend."

"I would, but he's not a friend," I pouted. She frowned immediately.

"Analee!" She scolded, narrowing her eyes. The rest of the table, consisting of my father and four brothers, were whipping their heads back and forth to keep up with our conversation. If they kept that up, they'd have some serious cricks in their necks in a few minutes. "You will take him as your guest, and that's final."

"But-"

"No buts. If you keep at it, I have no problem keeping you home and sending him on."

"But Mooooooom!" I whined, shooting a smug Malcolm a glare. "He's OLD!" I'll admit, that wasn't my best thought out excuse.

"Analee!" She warned. "Malcolm is only 19. You cannot tell me that Samantha won't have older college boys there with her brother. Now, finish your dinner. He's going, and there's no way you can change my mind."

I huffed and looked down in defeat. A slight kick to my ankle, though, had my head snapping up to search for the culprit. It was pretty easy, seeing as he was staring right at me. New guy.

"I win," he mouthed, smirking. I glared in response.

Oh he did not.

It was so on.