As I watched Officer MacRae lead McCain down the street in the direction of the hospital, I lightly touched my cheek where she had hit me and winced in pain. I was seething. Of all the nerve... I thought. That was the second time she had hit me, only I believe it was the worse of the two.

Of course, I was sure why she'd slugged me: because I'd said her name in front of Jack and Race and she'd gotten soaked because of it; because I was at the police station and she thought I'd betrayed her; and because, well, when McCain was in a bad mood, she would hit anyone if she felt like it. And she'd definately felt like it then.

I caught my reflection in the window of the station and winced. I was a mess. My hair was tousled and tangled, flying every which way. There were dirt and grass stains all over my - McCain's - clothes. Quickly, I checked the pockets to make sure that I hadn't lost anything, and was relieved to find everything intact. Before removing my hand, however, my fingers grazed something cold. I pulled McCain's knife, which I had missed earlier, out of the pocket. Quickly, I replaced it, not knowing what I should do about it. Finally, I decided that I would give the knife back to McCain on a day when she wasn't angry at me.

Turning, I stepped back through the door of the police station. MacRae had kept me there so as to coax the whole Jack story out of me, but so far he hadn't gotten around to it. He had been busy with some prisoner in the back cell for the few hours I had been at the station. Now, the sun was setting and I was sure that I'd be made to spend the night there. Groaning at the thought, I stood there and wished for the thousandth time that I had never left the school in the first place.

No officers were present in the station. There were only two prisoners being held, and one was sleeping in the cell adjacent to the police cheif's desk. The other, whom I hadn't seen, was locked up in the back of the building.

Exhausted from the day's events, I wandered back to an empty cell and lay down on the cot, closing my eyes. I had just started to drift off when a loud voice awoke me.

"MacRae!"

It was a male voice. One of the prisoners?

"Hey, Officer! Ya out there?"

The voice was definately coming from the back cell. Slowly, I stood up and quietly made my way down the dark hallway. The man continuted yelling for MacRae. Finally, I mustered up enough courage to step up as close to the bars as I dared and squeak, "He's out."

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could make out a shadow sitting on the cot. He stood and made his way over to the bars. The first thing I noticed was that his arm was in a splint. As soon as I noticed that, my eyes shot up to his face to make sure...it was.

"Marconi!"

He squinted. "McCartney?"

I nodded, barely holding back the urge to laugh out loud. Greyson just stood there, surprised. "How..."

"I didn't know you were here!" I exclaimed.

He raised his arms slightly then dropped them back down to his sides. "Well, you know now."

Marconi stood there, expressionless. He looked at me, his eyes pleading. I could tell that he'd gone through a lot - too much - and he was hoping for something, anything, that might give him hope of returning to his own life. It was a long time before I could speak, for I didn't know exactly what to say. Finally, I said, "Marconi...I'm going to get you out of here."

His head dropped. "No. You won't."

I stood there for a moment, puzzled, before he continued. "Tomorrow is the last day of my trial. I know what they've already decided. They think I'm guilty, and it's obvious. I dunno what to do, nobody listens to me."

"No, no, Marconi, listen - I can get you out. I know who killed Galloway."

His eyes widened. "How? And...who?"

I spent the next few minutes telling him how I ended up in Central Park. "I sat down underneath this tree to rest, and I heard someone talking behind me. I listened for a minute, and it was Renzo and - "

"Renzo?!"

"Uh-huh," I answered, "but let me finish. He was talking with Jack Kelly. Marconi...Renzo hired Jack to murder Dirk and frame you for it."

I thought Greyson might actually pass out. He took hold of the bars and rested his head on them. "How will you get them to listen?"

For a moment, I stood there. "I don't know. But they will listen. They will."