Savage Delight
Page 24
“Jack. When you were gone, he was so different. I know I said that the day you came back, but – but he really, really changed. I’ve never seen him look that bored. It was almost like he was dead.”
“No one to call you names does that to people.”
She shakes her head and sighs. Leo’s eyes catch mine once, and I mime cutting my own throat to get the point across. He doesn’t look at me again.
“For once, your threats are deserved.”
The voice belongs to Jack, who slides into the seat next to me. He’s wearing a midnight suit – crisp, with a porcelain blue tie that matches his eyes. His hair’s slicked back with gel, cheekbones defiant and profile haughty and regal as ever.
Kayla gives him a cursory glance. “Hey, Jack.”
“Kayla.” He nods at her. Their exchange two months ago would’ve been so different, but now it’s almost…mature? I shudder. Gross.
The image of his hand in the email picture won’t fade from my mind. He might’ve killed someone! Like, dead! Like, not-breathing or eating! Not-eating sucks because A. food is fantastic and B. food is fantastic! And here I am talking normally to a guy who made people unable to eat. He could be a regular Ted Bundy for all I know, because I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him, except what my fragmented memories tell me. And it makes me feel like screaming. Or puking. Preferably not both at the same time.
“Your mother looks better,” Jack leans in and murmurs. “She was wasting away when you were gone.”
“From the sound of things, so were you.”
He tenses minutely, his suit straining in the corners. Before he can open his mouth, the guard calls out “All rise”, and everyone in the courtroom stands. The grandma-y judge settles in her chair, and tells us to be seated.
“The honorable judge Violet Diego will be presiding over case 109487, Blake vs. Cassidy, on this Friday the 7th of February, 2012,” The guard reads from a clipboard. “Mr. Gregory Pearson and Mrs. Hannah Roth will be representing their respective clients. Mr. William Fitzgerald is acting court stenographer. Your honor.”
The guard nods to Judge Diego, and retreats to the corner. Diego clears her throat.
“It is my understanding this trial is to address Mr. Leo Cassidy’s alleged breaking and entering and assault and battery of Mrs. Patricia Blake and her daughter Isis Blake, on the 4th of January, 2011. Prosecutor, if you’d like to make your opening statement now.”
Mom’s lawyer, a pretty blonde lady, stands and takes the center of the room. She makes a speech about Leo’s ruthlessness, about Mom’s history with him and how she left Florida to escape him. She presents the restraining order Mom got against him before she left, my cranial x-rays, and the photos the police took of the ransacked house. Our house. Shattered glass and a blood smear on the wall and –
I flinch. A metal baseball bat. Kayla grabs my hand and squeezes.
The defense attorney argues Leo was in a fugue state, and suffering from the effects of PTSD from his time in Vietnam as a medic. I lean into Jack.
“You’re a nerd, right? You know big words.”
He snorts. “Verily, forsooth.”
“What’s a fugue state?”
“It’s similar to the dissociative amnesia you have for me,” he murmurs.
“Aw, stalking my medical records? You shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t stalk, I understand basic psychiatric indications. Regardless, the argument of a fugue state in his defense is idiotic. It’s a rare occurrence, and he showed no symptoms of another outward personality. If the judge buys it, I’ll be very surprised.”
“Aren’t you a witness?”
He nods. “They’ll call for me shortly.”
The defense suddenly asks for Mom to take the stand. She looks back at me, once, and I smile as encouragingly as I can and give her a thumbs up. She grins, wanly, and walks to the stand. The guard swears her in on the bible, and the defense attorney starts to grill her – where she was that night, what she was wearing, where I was, what Leo looked like, what he sounded like. Mom’s resolve wavers – her hands shaking and her lip bitten – but she doesn’t break. She keeps talking even though she looks like glass is ripping up her stomach from the inside out. When the defense is done, her own lawyer comes up, and Mom gives a full account of the story with the lawyer’s urging. I gnaw my mouth to stay calm and think about unicorns, but even rainbow-pooping horned horses can’t distract me from the way Mom’s voice trembles as she describes the attack. I want to clap my hands over my ears, or leave, but she needs me. She’s looking at me the entire time she’s talking, so I keep eye contact with her. I’m her anchor.
“And then Jack –” Mom inhales. “Isis’ friend from school, Jack, came in. I saw him over Leo’s shoulder.”
“Did Jack have a weapon on him that you could see?” The lawyer asks.
“Objection, your honor, visual confirmation of the weapon at the moment isn’t relevant –” The defense starts. Judge Diego shoots him a sharp look.
“Overruled. Continue, Ms. Roth.”
“Thank you, your honor.” Mom’s lawyer nods. “Mrs. Blake, did he have a weapon you could see?”
“Yes. A baseball bat, the one we keep in the closet downstairs.”
“And then what happened?”
“Jack hit him, and Leo tumbled off me and onto the floor,” Mom’s voice gets stronger. She looks at Jack, and he nods, staring back at her with those icy eyes. “And Leo got furious, and swung at him. He tried to punch him, but Jack hit him again.”
“How many times would you say Jack hit him?”
“Four. Five, maybe. Each time Leo tried to get up, Jack would keep him down, on the floor.”
“And then what happened?”
“Jack held me. I was crying, and shaking, and Jack held me and told me it was going to be alright.” She smiles. “And I believed it.”
I look over at Jack. He’s looking at Mom, his gaze fixed, but something about it is softer than normal.
“And then he went downstairs, to where Isis was, and I went with him, and I started crying again when I saw her body so still. I was afraid. Terrified. You don’t know how – oh god –” Mom cuts off, and the lawyer looks to Judge Diego.
“That’s all, your honor.”
I get up to help Mom to her chair, but Kayla pulls me back down and I watch the guard do it instead. Mom smiles a watery smile at me once she’s seated at the table, and gives me a thumbs up. She’s isn’t okay. But she’s not afraid. I can see that much.
They call Jack to the stand next. The defense attorney is startled at his lack of expression – it unnerves him. I smother a laugh. Welcome to the club, bucko.
“Did you, or did you not, break into the Blake’s house without permission?” The attorney asks.
“Yes,” Jack says in a monotone. “I broke in. Through the open door your client left.”
A murmur goes around the courtroom. Kayla pumps her fist and squeals.
“Oh, he’s gonna kill this guy so bad.”
I twist my mouth shut. She has no idea.
“And what did you witness when you walked in?”
“No one to call you names does that to people.”
She shakes her head and sighs. Leo’s eyes catch mine once, and I mime cutting my own throat to get the point across. He doesn’t look at me again.
“For once, your threats are deserved.”
The voice belongs to Jack, who slides into the seat next to me. He’s wearing a midnight suit – crisp, with a porcelain blue tie that matches his eyes. His hair’s slicked back with gel, cheekbones defiant and profile haughty and regal as ever.
Kayla gives him a cursory glance. “Hey, Jack.”
“Kayla.” He nods at her. Their exchange two months ago would’ve been so different, but now it’s almost…mature? I shudder. Gross.
The image of his hand in the email picture won’t fade from my mind. He might’ve killed someone! Like, dead! Like, not-breathing or eating! Not-eating sucks because A. food is fantastic and B. food is fantastic! And here I am talking normally to a guy who made people unable to eat. He could be a regular Ted Bundy for all I know, because I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him, except what my fragmented memories tell me. And it makes me feel like screaming. Or puking. Preferably not both at the same time.
“Your mother looks better,” Jack leans in and murmurs. “She was wasting away when you were gone.”
“From the sound of things, so were you.”
He tenses minutely, his suit straining in the corners. Before he can open his mouth, the guard calls out “All rise”, and everyone in the courtroom stands. The grandma-y judge settles in her chair, and tells us to be seated.
“The honorable judge Violet Diego will be presiding over case 109487, Blake vs. Cassidy, on this Friday the 7th of February, 2012,” The guard reads from a clipboard. “Mr. Gregory Pearson and Mrs. Hannah Roth will be representing their respective clients. Mr. William Fitzgerald is acting court stenographer. Your honor.”
The guard nods to Judge Diego, and retreats to the corner. Diego clears her throat.
“It is my understanding this trial is to address Mr. Leo Cassidy’s alleged breaking and entering and assault and battery of Mrs. Patricia Blake and her daughter Isis Blake, on the 4th of January, 2011. Prosecutor, if you’d like to make your opening statement now.”
Mom’s lawyer, a pretty blonde lady, stands and takes the center of the room. She makes a speech about Leo’s ruthlessness, about Mom’s history with him and how she left Florida to escape him. She presents the restraining order Mom got against him before she left, my cranial x-rays, and the photos the police took of the ransacked house. Our house. Shattered glass and a blood smear on the wall and –
I flinch. A metal baseball bat. Kayla grabs my hand and squeezes.
The defense attorney argues Leo was in a fugue state, and suffering from the effects of PTSD from his time in Vietnam as a medic. I lean into Jack.
“You’re a nerd, right? You know big words.”
He snorts. “Verily, forsooth.”
“What’s a fugue state?”
“It’s similar to the dissociative amnesia you have for me,” he murmurs.
“Aw, stalking my medical records? You shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t stalk, I understand basic psychiatric indications. Regardless, the argument of a fugue state in his defense is idiotic. It’s a rare occurrence, and he showed no symptoms of another outward personality. If the judge buys it, I’ll be very surprised.”
“Aren’t you a witness?”
He nods. “They’ll call for me shortly.”
The defense suddenly asks for Mom to take the stand. She looks back at me, once, and I smile as encouragingly as I can and give her a thumbs up. She grins, wanly, and walks to the stand. The guard swears her in on the bible, and the defense attorney starts to grill her – where she was that night, what she was wearing, where I was, what Leo looked like, what he sounded like. Mom’s resolve wavers – her hands shaking and her lip bitten – but she doesn’t break. She keeps talking even though she looks like glass is ripping up her stomach from the inside out. When the defense is done, her own lawyer comes up, and Mom gives a full account of the story with the lawyer’s urging. I gnaw my mouth to stay calm and think about unicorns, but even rainbow-pooping horned horses can’t distract me from the way Mom’s voice trembles as she describes the attack. I want to clap my hands over my ears, or leave, but she needs me. She’s looking at me the entire time she’s talking, so I keep eye contact with her. I’m her anchor.
“And then Jack –” Mom inhales. “Isis’ friend from school, Jack, came in. I saw him over Leo’s shoulder.”
“Did Jack have a weapon on him that you could see?” The lawyer asks.
“Objection, your honor, visual confirmation of the weapon at the moment isn’t relevant –” The defense starts. Judge Diego shoots him a sharp look.
“Overruled. Continue, Ms. Roth.”
“Thank you, your honor.” Mom’s lawyer nods. “Mrs. Blake, did he have a weapon you could see?”
“Yes. A baseball bat, the one we keep in the closet downstairs.”
“And then what happened?”
“Jack hit him, and Leo tumbled off me and onto the floor,” Mom’s voice gets stronger. She looks at Jack, and he nods, staring back at her with those icy eyes. “And Leo got furious, and swung at him. He tried to punch him, but Jack hit him again.”
“How many times would you say Jack hit him?”
“Four. Five, maybe. Each time Leo tried to get up, Jack would keep him down, on the floor.”
“And then what happened?”
“Jack held me. I was crying, and shaking, and Jack held me and told me it was going to be alright.” She smiles. “And I believed it.”
I look over at Jack. He’s looking at Mom, his gaze fixed, but something about it is softer than normal.
“And then he went downstairs, to where Isis was, and I went with him, and I started crying again when I saw her body so still. I was afraid. Terrified. You don’t know how – oh god –” Mom cuts off, and the lawyer looks to Judge Diego.
“That’s all, your honor.”
I get up to help Mom to her chair, but Kayla pulls me back down and I watch the guard do it instead. Mom smiles a watery smile at me once she’s seated at the table, and gives me a thumbs up. She’s isn’t okay. But she’s not afraid. I can see that much.
They call Jack to the stand next. The defense attorney is startled at his lack of expression – it unnerves him. I smother a laugh. Welcome to the club, bucko.
“Did you, or did you not, break into the Blake’s house without permission?” The attorney asks.
“Yes,” Jack says in a monotone. “I broke in. Through the open door your client left.”
A murmur goes around the courtroom. Kayla pumps her fist and squeals.
“Oh, he’s gonna kill this guy so bad.”
I twist my mouth shut. She has no idea.
“And what did you witness when you walked in?”
