The night before the State rests, it’s me and Billy again in my dream. Only this time, I’m the one backing away; it’s me who’s about to fall. My mouth is filled with grime, pieces of garbage and dirt that I scrape off my teeth in handfuls. Billy is holding my T-shirt, but not tightly enough, so I lose my footing. I suspect he pushed me. I don’t want to believe this even as I know it’s true. Meanwhile, I’m screaming Elmo, stop, but my mouth is too full for him to hear me. Besides, it’s too late. My brother has already turned away, and I’m spiraling in midair.

* * *

On Thursday morning, the prosecution presents its final witness. Anderson announces her name in a game-show baritone. “The State calls Diana Angelina Holly.”

Excitement ripples through the gallery. She’s here? Heads swivel to Anderson, over to DeFiore, back to Anderson. Where? Where is she? Will we see her on video or in person?

“Your Honor,” Anderson says. “I beg the Court’s indulgence for another minute.” Apparently, his celebrity witness is MIA, because he’s gesturing to Fleming, who’s bent over her phone, texting like mad. “Excuse me for a second,” she says to McKay, pocketing her device as she speed-walks out. “I’ll be right back.”

While we wait, Anderson plods over to the defense table, where he blocks the jury’s view of Billy, as if building suspense. Since day one, DeFiore has reinforced the need for Billy to stay calm, especially when Diana is nearby. “The jury wants you to go ballistic. They want to see you melt down. If you do, it makes their job easier. I am begging you, Billy. Keep your cool, no matter what anyone says to you or about you.”

“Be a Sphinx,” Felicia Drake added. “Do not react.”

Billy has followed these instructions to the letter. Day after day, he listens intently and takes notes. He looks so engrossed even I forget he’s medicated. Every morning as we leave the hotel, he swallows a high-grade sedative. If not for the pill, he’d tap his pencil, squirm in his chair, and shift back and forth. Today, when he leans back, he looks serene, if semi-comatose. He has the faintest grin on his lips. I’ve seen this smile before, during races, right before he makes one last push and snaps the tape. It’s Billy’s tell, the way he unconsciously signals he knows he’s about to win.

The door swings open. Diana Holly appears. Backlit by the mid-morning sun, she strolls down the aisle like a pageant queen, escorted by Fleming. The courtroom is still. We hear the rustle of gauzy fabric and the squeak of patent leather as Diana approaches the bailiff and raises her right hand.