Puma

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WEDNESDAY - DAY SEVEN.
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“I, uh, I read the articles.”

Lana looked up at me from her folder. “Did you?” she said. “Good. And when you did, did you…feel anything?”

“Feel?” I said. What, did I wank over it?

Lana nodded.

“Yeah, how did the articles make you feel?”

“I…didn’t feel anything.”

“You’re lying. If you can honestly tell me that you read what those manipulative little journalists had to say about you, what the students and parents thought about you - I'm sorry, Tyler, but that's a load of bull. You can't sit there and say it didn’t affect you.”

”It annoyed me,” I told her, hearing that aggravation make its way up into my voice.

“And why is that?”

“They don’t know me,” I stated like an angsty teenager. “They know nothing about what really happened or why yet they say they all ‘saw it coming.’ Really? And they all made up these…lies, like it happened more than once. They weren’t shocked.”

“It pissed you off.” It was a statement.

“To no end.” Now I felt like Jenna Marbles. ‘To no end.’ I miss the internet. Lana flipped the folder closed and leaned forward.

“Prove them wrong,” she said forcefully, “because you know what? I’m willing to bet that more than half of the jury probably feels the exact same way about you -”

“You’re not making me feel better.”

“I’m not trying to. You need to know what we’re against, what we’ll face in that courtroom. You need to counteract it.”

“How?” I felt eager, like I would go up against Jigsaw if she told me to.

Lana sat back and reached for her notepad she had pushed off to the side.

“Sympathy.” Her pen was poised over a clean sheet of paper. “Why did you do what you did?”

“Why?” I repeated, suddenly forgetting all my motives for everything. Lana nodded slowly.

“Why did you sleep with Rebeca Linares? Why did you sleep with your student? Why?”

“I…” My mind tried to find my intentions but they were nowhere to been found. I couldn’t remember. Why did I? For some reason, “I wanted to,” came out, causing Lana to slouch her posture and she rolled her eyes with impatience.

“Okay, that’s not going to help us. Why, Tyler?” she asked again. “What drove you to commit such a shameful act?”

Why? What was wrong with me? What made me willingly agree to follow Rebeca home that day? What made me go up to her room with her? Why did I sit on her bed? Why did I let her kiss me and then…

Why did I sink so low and ruin my life?

There had to be a reason.

I shrugged.

“I have no self-control.”

“Now is there a reason for this?”

It was all coming back to me quickly, but I didn’t know how to word it – nor did I want to. I didn’t want her to know why I was such a fuck up. But she had to know. We needed sympathy, but what I did doesn’t deserve sympathy.

“Sometimes,” I finally said, feeling a heaviness in my stomach. “I get this…feeling and…I can’t make it go away.”

“What’s that feeling?”

It’s what I was feeling now.

I rubbed my hands hard against my face and gripped a handful of my hair between my fingers. I let out an uncomfortable, uneasy sigh.

“Sometimes,” I said again, “I feel…” I didn’t know. Why was this so difficult? Why was it so much easier to tell this to Carter and Kasler, but a hell of a lot more difficult to get it out to the one person that really had to say in my future? I tried to speak again. “I feel…poorly – about myself, about everything. I feel like I won’t get better, just like I’m doomed for life, and…I need a way to…release it. Make it go away.”

“What’s your release?” she asked, then, “Sex?”

I reluctantly nodded.

“Unfortunately.”

“Run it back to me,” she said, jotting down my confession. “Monday, October 6th. Walk me through that day.”

Ten days ago? It felt like a lifetime. I went silent, having to search my mind for the details of the blasted day.

“Well,” I sighed heavily. “I had woken up that day and just wasn’t feeling up for…doing anything, really. I took a sick day and midway through it, I dumbly decided to take my dog out for a walk. We, uh, went up to Herrlinger park and…she was there.”

“Rebeca?”

“Rebeca,” I confirmed. “She, she, you know, she’s not from here; her English isn’t the best. We got to talking and she asked me if I would give her this, like, ‘English grammar lesson’ to help her out a bit, because she’s in my Speech class – was in my speech class – and her writing is abysmal. She needed tutoring – ever since she’s gotten here, it’s all she asks me about: tutoring her. And…for some dumbass reason, I didn’t turn her down. We went to her house and…it just happened.”

I waited anxiously for Lana to finish paraphrasing my summary into her notepad. Her eyes skimmed the page.

“Whose idea was it to study at her house?”

“Hers.”

“Who came onto who?”

Well, if we’re talking literally, I came on her. Oh, look, I’m making jokes again. I’m back, everybody.

Answering Lana’s question, I hesitated, but said, “She did.”

“And you didn’t reject her advances?”

“I wanted to,” I said. “I really did, but…”

“This is good,” Lana said interrupting me, a small smile on her lips. “She seduced you. Your lack of self-control and need for sex hindered you from denying her proposition. No, this – this is good. She took advantage of you.”

Though Lana made it sound like we hit the jackpot, my face fell at her last sentence.

Rebeca took advantage of me. Holy shit. What a bitch.

But calling Rebeca a bitch suddenly felt wrong to me. I remember her crying to me about how much she liked me, how much she just wanted me to like her. She wasn’t really taking advantage of me…was she?

No. She had a crush and did what anyone would do if they had the opportunity. She made the move. The same move I made with Ally when she was my teacher.

If our age difference wasn’t there and if I wasn’t her teacher, what she did would be alright.

But then another detail hit me.

What she accused me of…

What a bitch.

But then she cried to me afterwards…

Still, what a bitch. Who cries rape if it didn’t happen? Bitches, that’s who. What I would give to even be able to bring up rape happening to me - instead I have to go on with my life and pretend like it never happened and even if it comes up, I can't say it affected me the slightest...and she's using it as revenge? How could she do that?

Lana took my attention back, conveniently bringing up what I was just thinking about.

“Now,” she said, flicking through the pages in her notebook. “If I was told correctly, the student’s mother filed a report against you. Is that right?” I could only get myself to nod, but right as she tried to add on, I spoke abruptly.

“But it’s not true. I didn’t…I wouldn’t ever…”

“She made a false accusation,” Lana said, nodding as always. “Rebeca went along with it.”

“She was scared,” I found myself saying out loud. I heard something smack the table and looked up to see that nearly everyone who sat in the lounge was looking right back at us in surprise. Lana was staring at me incredulously, her notepad no longer in her possession.

“You’re not defending her, are you? After what she did – she falsely accused you of raping her.” That didn’t stop anyone from now eavesdropping on our conversation.

“But she took it back.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “She still did it. That’s a horrible thing to do. If she didn’t take it back, imagine where you would be right now. Imagine the verdict the jury would come to. You’d be found guilty and shipped off to prison without anyone thinking twice about it. That false accusation could’ve ruined your life. She can’t get away with that.”

Lana was right, but I still felt uneasy.

I asked, “Is she…going to get in trouble for doing that?”

“Publicly shamed, but, unfortunately there is no real penalty for women who make false accusations of that kind.” My stomach sank. "Maybe we can bring it up and get it to work in our favour..." A moment of silence as Lana scanned the pages of her notepad. She said, “Sympathy. Make sure you mention…” She wagged a finger around the room. “This. We’re going to have to mention what the guilt did to you. What it drove you to do – what her accusations made you attempt.”

I was going to have to talk about…trying to end my life?

Sympathy was a card Lana definitely liked to play.

I nodded.

“Okay.”

“What all did you tell the cops?” she asked seconds later.

“Ahh,” I took another moment to send my mind back ten days. It came back with some information. “Just about what I did that day,” I said slowly, nodding to myself. “Basically all I told you.”

“Did you confess, I mean?”

I looked at her. “Well…yeah. Was I not supposed to?” I asked uneasily.

“Oh, no. No, that’s fine. It’s just – was this before or after you were read your rights?”

“My…rights?”

“Your Miranda Rights,” she clarified. “You know…’You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law’? Ring a bell?”

I already knew which ones she meant, but they weren’t there in any of the memories. I slowly shook my head.

“I…I can’t remember.”

“They weren’t said to you?”

“I can’t remember,” I told her again.

“Tyler, I need you to remember. Yes or no?”

Her tone had raised and I felt anxious, but tried to think back. I remember Metz pulling out the cuffs and saying that I was going to have to make a trip down to the station and give a DNA sample. Did I even give one? No. I confessed way before I got the chance.

But nowhere in there did I remember hearing my Miranda Rights.

At the shake of my head, a smile formed on Lana’s face. And when I said, “No. No, I don’t think they said them to me,” she sat back in her chair and chuckled.

“Well,” she said, “pardon my French, but holy shit.”

“What?”

She sprang forward and leaned her elbows against the table.

“I’ll tell you what – if you weren’t read your rights, and they intended on questioning you, there’s no way they can use your confession in court. It’s inadmissible. You gave up evidence and a confession without the knowledge that you didn’t have to speak. You had the right to remain silent, but there’s no way for you to know that if they didn’t tell you.”

“What does this mean?” I asked, trying to keep myself from getting as excited as she was. “What’s gonna happen now?”

“Basically, your confession is excluded from evidence – however, they do have evidence from her rape kit…and you still have drug charges…” Her excitement had tapered down considerably, but she brought it back up. “No confession means you essentially get to start anew. Listen.” She began to stand up from her seat, shuffling her notepad and all the papers she had gotten out back into her folder. “I need to go. I’ll talk to those idiotic detectives at the station. We’ll see what we can do for your case. I’ll try to come see you either later today or tomorrow morning before the hearing, but if that’s not the case, I’ll send for a police car to come pick you up around twelve; your hearing’s at one. Clean yourself up and look nice, alright?”

She pushed her chair in and smiled down at me.

“Hopefully I’ll see you soon, Tyler.”

She sprinted away before I got the chance to tell her ‘bye.’

Well…shit. Now what?

I sat in my seat for several more seconds until I got bored. I slouched my way over to the nurse’s station and asked Joy if I could get myself a cup of coffee. She poured me a decaf and I drank my sorrows and calmed my nerves, but within five minutes, I had to pee and I skipped off to my room to use the toilet.

I dropped onto my bed and sighed up at the ceiling, seconds later slanting my eyes at the phone bolted down onto the table. I know it’s only nine-ish, but…

I grabbed the telephone and pushed myself up onto my elbows, dialling her phone number with my free hand. I fell back onto the mattress and held the phone against my ear, heart skipping beats every time the dial tone sounded.

I choked on my heart when the noise stopped and I instead heard, “Hello?”

I took a deep breath and let it out, saying, “Hi.”

A pause, then, “Tyler?”

“Ally?” I said mockingly back.

“It’s not four,” she said.

“Yeah. I know that. I have a clock near me.”

“Are you allowed to make calls if it’s not four?”

“Do you not want to talk to me?” I asked.

“No, no. Of course I do. It’s just…” Silence but then she laughed. “Hi.”

“Hello,” I laughed. “How’s it goin’?”

“Kickin’ Moblin ass, so I’m pretty good. How about you?”

“Just got done talking to my lawyer lady.”

“Yeah? How’s that going?”

“Alright,” I said with a shrug, though she couldn’t see it. “Ah, apparently there may be a plot twist about to happen. When the cops were, you know, arresting me, they never read me my Miranda Rights, so my confession may not be usable in court.”

“What does this mean? What’s gonna happen?”

“Dunno,” I said unhelpfully. “All I do know is that Lana is gonna try to talk to the detectives and see what’s up.”

“Lana’s your…?”

“Attorney,” I nodded.

“Ah. Well…this is good?”

“Maybe. I mean…I don’t know about this stuff. So, uh, you, Shelby and El are gonna try to be there, right?”

“Of course,” she said. “They might need people to speak up for you, right? Like, talk about what you’re like?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I’ve seen that on TV, so…”

“That’s what I’m basing it off of, too.”

I chuckled at her and dreaded when her line went silent. I knew she was still there and I wanted to tell her something.

“Ah, Ally?”

“Hmm?”

This feels pointless, but – I swallowed my nerves and said, “I really am sorry about…all this.”

She was quiet for a few seconds.

“I know you are,” she said. “I believe you. I promise. Don’t beat yourself up over it, okay?”

“Can I just say again,” I sighed, “that I will never understand you?”

Ally laughed. “As long as you’re being honest…Hey, so what’s the dress-code for tomorrow – it is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately. I don’t know what I should wear, let alone you.”

“Do you need me to bring you some clothes?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That might be useful. For you guys, though, maybe just whatever you wear to work, honestly. Nice clothes.”

“Great. I’ll try to stop by later today, okay? And bring you clothes?”

“Alright. Thanks.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ally? What’s gonna happen…if…?”

“You’re not going to jail,” she said like it was a fact. “I swear. I told you I wasn’t going to let them take you.”

“That doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“Still, if I can’t keep you out of there, Shelby sure as hell will.”

Oh, geez. Shelby would annihilate somebody if she has to. I laughed to Ally, mumbling in agreement. My laugh faded quickly, another question coming to my mind.

“Ally? I asked again. “What…what about us?”

“What about us?” she asked back.

“Like what the fuck is going on? I know we’re not…’together,’ but…”

“We can’t date anymore, Tyler. We’re no good.”

Even though I knew she was going to say that – and hoped she would to clear my conscience (conscious?) about Carter – it kind of made my heart feel sad to hear her confirm it and I couldn’t get myself to say anything back to her. I only sighed. She did, too.

“I still love you, though,” she said. “Do you still love me?”

“You’re killing me, woman.”

Ally laughed out. “Consider it payback.”

I scrunched up my mouth.

“Touché.”

I stayed on the phone with her for probably twenty minutes more. We didn’t really talk much more; it was mainly silence, but it was still nice. I asked her if she thought naming the polar bear ‘Grace Helbig’ was alright and, hearing my reasoning, she couldn’t agree more with the name.

But alas, soon, our call was over.

Hearing her line go dead, I clicked the phone back into its cradle and dropped my head back onto my pillow.

Whhhhyyy do I still love her? I’m not dumb, I know that just because I heard her confirm that we were over, that wasn’t going to automatically make all that love go away, but come on. That guilt was still there – about Carter, mostly. Rebeca guilt was never going away.

Grrrrr. I hate…me.

I yanked myself up into a sitting position and put my head into my hands. I fell asleep like that, thankfully falling back at some point and managed to look like a normal person sleeping in their bed when Debra came in to tell me it was lunch time.

How do I sleep so much? Shit.

I forced myself to get up and follow her out into the hall. Lana never came back to talk to me and when four o’clock came around I was handed a set of clothes by some random nurse and not Ally.

I wanted to ask ‘what the heck?’ but she walked away before I could. Back in my room, I inspected the clothes and recognised them as my usual ‘work’ uniform. Jeans and a plaid button-up. Trust me, it’s a lot classier than it sounds.

It’s enough for people to identify me as a teacher rather than a student.

I folded the clothes and shoved them into my locked cabinet with a sigh.

-

Falling asleep that night was the worst. It was taking hours. All I could think about was everything single possible outcome that could arise tomorrow and the effect they could have on my life. Ally’s.

On Rebeca’s…

I was anxious about Lana not making a second appearance today. Why? Why hasn’t she told me what was going on?

I hated not knowing.

The most terrifying thing I thought that night was that if I do get sentenced to jail…I wouldn’t hesitate to kill myself.

It’s only a year, I tried to reason with myself. I can manage a year in jail. It’s nothing worth killing yourself over. There is so much that I haven’t done yet with my life. There’s so much more to do and I’ll get my life back after that year is up.

This isn’t the end of me. I won’t let it be. I can’t do that to Ally again – or my sister, anyone. I was hurting them more than I was hurting myself.

I can manage a year.

I didn’t let myself consider that I might have to cope with more than a year. That one year was the minimum.

I didn’t let that possibility enter my mind. I was better off thinking the other way.

I must’ve dozed off at some point because the next I knew it was morning. Debra came in to wake me. I took my time getting up, hoping to stall this day as much as I could, but I was made to hurry when 8:30 rolled around everyone was ready for the first meal of the day.

Carter and I met up with Debra and went down to the first floor with her, joining Ann at our usual table, Lily at her side. Lily poked at the tiny egg omelette some genius decided was going to be our breakfast.

The smell was revolting and I bypassed it for the applesauce, knowing my stomach would not be having that.

“So, Tyler,” Ann began to speak, slicing her omelette into equal sized bites. “I hear you’ve got court today. Good luck.”

I gave her a smile.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Lily asked, “Ya have to dress up? They made me dress up.”

“What’d you do?” Carter asked for me. Lily’s eyes went to him and she popped her shoulder up as a shrug.

“My baby,” she said, and that was all. That was all we needed her to say for us to get that it wasn’t a pleasant situation. That was all she was okay with saying before she frowned and sniffled. She gave her attention to her food, struggling to take a sip of the orange juice Ann grabbed for her.

“Oh,” Carter said. “Sorry, sorry I asked.”

“It’s fine,” she shrugged again, setting her drink down. “What’d you do, Tyler?”

My guard went up.

“Drugs,” I said, mimicking her shrug.

“Wow," Lily smiled. “Which kinds?”

I glimpsed at Carter. He appeared to be interested, but not for the same reason as Lily.

“Heroin,” I told her, “and weed.”

“Eh. You’ll be fine. My brother got busted for ‘Possession of Cocaine’ and all he got was bail and maybe two nights in jail. Can’t remember. ”

“Jail is what I’m afraid of,” I said with a laugh, having to heave my tray up when one of the lunch guys came over to our table, wiping a damp towel across its surface. He got my spot first, then went over to Ann.

She lifted her tray and Lily said, “It’s not too bad. Had to do it a couple times.” Lily picked up her tray and set it down seconds later.

Unfortunately, she didn’t move her drink and the guy didn’t bother to avoid it.

His hand collided with the bottle, knocking it onto its side, sending a bucketful of OJ sloshing across the granite table.

We all jumped back to keep it from getting on us.

The worker mumbled a, “Sorry,” but didn’t attempt to clean up the mess. He finished wiping around Carter’s tray and moved onto the next table. More than half of Lily’s drink poured out before she snatched it into the air.

“Uh,” Carter said loudly, eyes following the worker. “Do you mind?” he continued once the guy turned his glance to us. He looked where Carter was gesturing and rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbled, quickly doing a shit job at cleaning the mess he made. The residue of Lily’s drink was going to piss someone else off today when they sat down in her spot and got their tray stuck to the table. The guy didn’t care enough.

He left our table with haste again to give his half-hearted attention to the tabletops that surrounded us.

Under his breath, Carter sneered, “Fucking asshole. What was that all about?”

Ann answered him.

“He’s new,” she explained, “and doesn’t want to be working here.”

“Then why is he?” I asked, trying to keep my tone from matching Carter’s. She shrugged, though she knew the answer.

“His father owns the place, and he just turned sixteen and needed a job, so this is what he was given. Plus, he gets paid extra just because he’s in the kin.”

Carter asked, “Does his dad not give a damn if his son does a shit job?”

“Haven’t heard what he’s thought yet. He just started working here today.”

“You should write a letter,” I told Carter, smiling, “to his dad. Let him know his angel needs to maybe be switched to cleaning bathrooms.”

“I’ll hand deliver it to him,” Carter grinned back.

“You guys ready to go?” Ann asked us, peering up at the clock. We mumbled ‘yeah’s and ‘I guess’es, getting up. I walked at Carter’s side to dump our trays onto the washing station and just as we were about to head towards the entrance of the dining hall, Carter snatched something from his tray.

I got half-ass look at what it was, but from the plastic prongs, I placed it as…a fork, maybe.

I gave Carter a confused look and he only forced a smile at me. I was about to interrogate him but he shoved the fork into his pocket and dragged me against my will to follow Ann and Lily upstairs.

Uhm, okay?

-

I put on my ‘fancy’ clothes and sat on my bed in wait. Any moment a nurse would knock on my partially closed door and stick her head in to tell me a police officer was here to escort me back into town.

I had the same thought process I had last night: possible outcomes and their affect, Lana, Miranda Rights, and suicide. Only this time I didn’t come back with reasons to combat my self-inflicted death.

Maybe I could get Carter to help me.

I had finally begun to calm my mind when the clock hit two minutes to twelve and a knock hit my door.

“Tyler, honey.” It was Georgie. She reminded me so much of Ellie. The thoughts of suicide left me entirely from guilt. She said, “A couple men from the station are here to get you.”

I forced myself up from my bed, prayed to the God I may or may not believe in – I haven’t decided yet – and left my room to be taken down in the lift to the first floor by Georgie. Out in the lobby of floor one was two officers, unfamiliar to me, but they talked casually to receptionist Kara Sommers.

Upon seeing me in their peripheral vision, their conversation stopped. I was handed over to the gentlemen and led out the front doors of the UVMC. It was cold out today, but the sun was bright and blinded me momentarily. One of the officers dunked my head so I could safely get into the backseat of their patrol car without giving myself a concussion.

The drive was quiet and gave me anxiety.

I honestly felt like I was going to pass out.

Before I knew it, their car had reached Dayton, Ohio and stopped completely outside of a large building. Thankfully, there wasn't a huge flock of people out there made of new reporters and journalists.

I remembered Lana telling me there was one guy that would give his life if he could just follow my story beginning to end.

But I didn't see anyone waiting out on the steps. I felt myself relax.

The car door on my side was pulled open and I stepped out into slightly warmer air.

Inside the daunting building, I was led up, up, up until we came to a huge open archway. On the other side – gulp – was the courtroom. It was silent and mostly empty, but a lot smaller than I expected. Nothing like you see on TV.

Up front, the judge’s bench was empty. Behind it were two flags: an American flag and the Ohio flag. Three rectangular tables were equally spaced across the front of the room and facing the judge’s bench. Two back-to-back computers resided near where the judge would sit.

A lone woman was seated at the far right rectangular table. Her straight blonde hair ran to her shoulders. She wore a perfectly pressed grey suit.

“We’re here early,” Lana said to me once I was in her view. "I hope you don't mind. It gives us time to get situated." She pulled her briefcase onto the tabletop and unzipped it. I was sat on her left.

"No. I don't mind."

There’s a laminated sheet taped to the table.



Well, my script is pretty much planned out for me. Next, I read the gold nameplate on front of the wooden structure that is the judge’s bench:



Women really do have a lot of power nowadays. My psychiatrist is female, my attorney is female, the author of this story is female, and now my judge is female. Y’all ladies are gettin’ it. I’m proud of you. I really am.

Eventually, two more women made an entrance through a side door and took a seat opposite each other in the two back-to-back computers. They look all business but right away, once seated, begin spinning around in their chairs, giggling to each other in amusement.

My nerves calm, but not for long. A man entered through the same door the two ladies did, Rebeca trailing behind him. He scolded the ladies, then continued his march to the centre table where he plopped his suitcase down and then himself, straightaway going to arrange the files from his suitcase onto the table in front of him.

Files about me. ugh.

As he skimmed through them, Rebeca tried to make eye contact with me, but I averted my gaze to my hands. I hated thinking she looked nice today. Her long black hair was up in a bun, strands of it hung loosely on the back of her neck, some bits long enough to touch her shoulder blades. Her skin was bare in her open back dress. A white, lacy dress. Elegant. Beautiful. Perfect for a happier occasion. Today wasn’t a happy day.

My eyes fixed back on her neck at the sight of two faint blemishes plaguing the skin that covered her right collarbone.

Hickeys.

Did I…?

I looked away.

More people begin filling the room, bringing low conversations in with them. Coughs. Phones beeped as they were turned off. I could feel their gazes on the back of my head. I resisted the urge to throw daggers at them. I resisted checking to see who the people are.

Ally had to be one of them. My sister and her girlfriend two others.

I thought Shelby would let me know they’re there. She would’ve screamed a hello at me, but was probably told to shut up by Ellie, just to be safe.

I was stunned when somebody was suddenly right beside me, and I frowned when I looked up to see a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair giving me a smile, a microphone in her hand, and a cameraman to her left, as they made their way to sit at the unclaimed table to the left of Rebeca and her attorney.

The sight of a camera made me feel even queasier and I began to get a little PTSD.

My anxiety went through the roof when she smiled at Rebeca, but thank God, she didn't really give her much else. She turned to face her cameraman and I heard her speak.

"Thank you, Jamie. Yes, I am here at the Federal Building in Dayton. Me and my cameraman - and everyone attending the trial today - are all here waiting for the judge to come in and start the hearing between sixteen year old Rebeca Linares and her twenty-one year old teacher Tyler Williams. Their hearing will discus their illicit sexual encounters and the teacher's possession of heroin and marijuana."

Great. Thanks for that.

She seemed to be done after she said, "...We'll check back with you in five, but for now, I'm Gabrielle Enright reporting for News Center 7. Back to you, Jamie."

Oh, man. It's going to be live on the news???

And will be starting rather soon, I think.

I watched a stream of people now walk through the side door. They were escorted and told to sit quietly at the third unoccupied table to the left - in the jury’s box. Twelve individuals piled in and sat down.

They are the ones who really are in control of my future.

“Now we’re just waiting for the judge to arrive,” Lana said beside me. She leaned over to me, looked down at my clasped hands and asked, “You doing alright?”

I tried to not glare at the newswoman and her camera man. I nodded.

“Just fine.”

“All rise!” a voice suddenly barked. Lana nudged me up and everyone got on their feet, eyes on the judge as she entered in a black robe. She mounted the steps to her bench, took her seat then waved her hand in the air.

Everyone sat down. I almost instantly heard Gabrielle speak lowly to the video
camera.

“Hey!” a raspy whisper snapped from behind me. I jerked my head to scan the faces that sit behind me and made eye contact with Gill Cole as she waved her hand wildly in the air at me. Ally, Shelby and Ellie are at her side, faces in their hands as they laughed.

I give them all a two finger salute, feeling my anxiety diminish. It of course came back when I caught eyes with a woman who very obviously was native to America. Tan skin, black hair, and a glare of death.

Damn. Rebeca’s mum stared at me until I turned my attention back to the front of the room.

The judge spoke.

“This court is called to order,” she announced. “We’re here today for a hearing in the case of Linares verses Williams.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Good grief, Charlie Brown. I was not prepared for this.

“You’ll be fine,” Lana whispered to me. “Just breathe.”

The judge looked up and squinted around the room.

“Is that your understanding, Counsel?”

The man sitting at the centre table nods. “Yes, Your Honour,” he said quickly.

Lana nodded to the judge.

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“Good,” the judge said. “Let’s get things rolling. Opening statement, Mr. Fletcher.”

“Yes, Your Honour.” He began his speech, coming around to stand between our two tables. “This case, Your Honour, is one that is entering our court system too frequently. It seems like daily we are called to court to determine the outcome for the same classification of individuals: student and teacher, and the predicament being statutory rape. The teacher being a twenty-one year old, fresh out of college – perhaps still stuck in his frat days, still used to getting whatever he wants from whoever he wants – not making any efforts to refrain from going after a student not much older than sixteen. Sixteen,” he stressed. “Just barely old enough to give consent to sex. Much less give consent to her own teacher."

Ah, geez.

"Picture this," he continued, "Imagine if she was your own daughter. You come home from work and it seems like such a normal day, but out on your porch is your daughter crying into her hands. You ask her frantically what’s wrong – ‘What is making my baby sad enough to cry?’ - but she’s too shaken up to respond. Eventually she does, and she tells you that her teacher took advantage of her. Took advantage of her naivety. All she wanted was a tutoring session, but he walked away with her innocence.”

Wait…she wasn’t…a virgin, was she? No. She couldn’t be.

“Your Honour,” - I tensed when his finger was jabbed in my direction. – “This so-called ‘man’ (ouch) has a history of sexual misdemeanours (you mean one?) – ‘June 5th,’” he reads from a yellow notepad, “’2011, a Tyler Williams was picked up by a patrolling officer. He and his girlfriend at the time were caught having sex in one of the gazebos sitting right outside of the public library.’”

I sunk into my seat. Did I leave out that the gazebo was outside of the library? Oops.

He continued.

“All the two got was a ‘public indecency’ warning and that was it. Months later,” he said dubiously, “Mr. Williams was busted for marijuana possession. What did he get as a result? Another warning. I’m tired of these warnings, Your Honour. Give him the punishment he deserves. Stop letting his crimes go with impunity, because one day, he may strike again and others are bound to follow in his footsteps. It is a disgusting and truly inexcusable act, Your Honour, and I will be damned if I’m going to let this man walk away innocent.”

Poop.

Even I was against me by the end of his speech. I felt like I should applaud his performance, but when others didn’t, I just watched him nod to the judge – “Thank you, Your Honour,” - and settle himself into his chair.

“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.” The judge nodded to Lana. “Defence?”

She slowly stood from her seat and I glimpsed up at her. She had a very small smile on her face.

“Your Honour,” she began, voice calm and measured like always, “I’m not going to stand up here and give you reason after reason in hopes you’ll put the odds in my client’s favour, because honestly, I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it. All my client asks is that you’ll see his potential – and I can tell you, just from spending these past few days with him, that’s something he has a lot of. This is his first offence of this nature and he will surely die before he makes the same mistake twice. Thank you, Your Honour.”

What? That was it?

I, along with Mr. Fletcher, looked at Lana incredulously while the judge matched her smile.

“Thank you, Alana. Finally, someone grasps what the word ‘brief’ means. Alright, next up – Mr. Fletcher, would you please call your first witness?”

“Yes, Your Honour,” he said with a slight nod. Okay. The witness will not be on my side. I braced myself for what they could say, but my heart flat-out forgot to beat when Fletch stood and gestured behind him.

“Mrs. Linares, if you would.”

I expected Rebeca to stand, but instead, it’s her mother who walks down the aisle way, passing to the front of the courtroom to swear with her right hand over a Bible. She seats herself in the witness stand.

Fletcher walked the span to lean his elbow against the corner of the wooden enclosure.

“State your name for the record, please.”

“Olivia Linares,” she told him, accent very, very thick.

“Thank you. Can you recount to us the events that took place Monday, October 6th?”

She took a deep breath, giving a look to her daughter; I looked fleetingly to see Rebeca staring down at her hands. I glanced back up and nearly shat myself. Her mother was glaring at me.

“Yes,” she said. “I will. Rebeca took the day off from school, because she had a doctor’s appointment around ten. We went in and after, I took her for McDonald’s, then we drove back to town. I gave her the option of either going back to school or staying home, and she chose to stay home. We came home and did our separate things for about an hour before I left to make a trip to the grocery store.”

I thought she was at work? What did Rebeca tell me? I couldn't remember.

Fletch asked, “This was around what time?”

“Twelve, I think.”

“Go on.”

“I came back home around one and…” Her breathing hitched, causing Fletcher to take a break from pacing the floor. He rubbed at his chin, then nodded to Mrs. Linares as she fought back tears.

“Take a second, if you need. It’s alright.”

“Thank you. I came back home and…Rebeca was crying out on the porch. I saw him,” – her tone had changed drastically and I could feel her eyes on me. “I saw him leave. He left her crying outside. She didn’t have to tell me anything for me to know he had done something to hurt her.”

“What did your daughter tell you, Mrs. Linares? About the ordeal?”

“When she got around to it – it took so long for her to say something –” She changed the subject. “All she had on was this big hoodie, no underwear. I knew he hurt her.”

“What did she say?” he asked her again. She took another heavy breath and composed herself to finally answer his question.

“She didn’t really say anything. All she did was cry. She kept blaming herself. I took her down to the police station to tell them what he did. He got brought in shortly after and confessed – not after making my baby cry again and again.”

Lana stood up.

“Your Honour,” she said brashly. “That confession is inadmissible seeing as my client was never read his Miranda Rights before his custodial interrogation.”

“Understood,” the judge said with a nod. “She is right. That confession is out of the evidence. Go on.”
Mr. Fletcher took a moment and looked at Rebeca’s mother, but she shook her head.

“I have nothing left to say,” she told him. Fletcher nodded.

“Alright. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Linares. You may step down now.”

“Actually,” Lana had stood and looked between the three in front of her. “Mind if I ask a few questions of my own, Your Honour?”

“Go right ahead, Ms Wooten.”

Lana thanked the judge and traded places with Mr. Fletcher.

She said, “Now, I understand that before my client was brought into the police station for questioning, you filed a report against him. Is that true?” Mrs. Linares shifted her eyes to me and she nodded.

“Yes, I did.”

“Would you be so kind as to tell us what the charge was?”

She hesitated and didn’t show any signs that she was going to say what she accused me of. Lana looked at her expectantly then sighed, beginning to pace in front of the witness stand.

“Mrs. Linares,” she said, “would you please tell the court what you falsely accused my client of doing to your daughter?” No response. Lana rolled her eyes impatiently and faced the jury. “Mrs. Linares here jumped to conclusions. She took her daughter to the police station to tell them that my client raped her daughter – need I say again – falsely accused him of doing so. There’s no evidence, just a crying girl who later comes clean about the whole situation and retracts her statement.”

“What would you have done,” Mrs. Linares snapped at Lana, “if you thought your daughter had been raped by her teacher? Wouldn’t you want to fix everything?”

“But you falsely accused him,” Lana shot back. “They had consensual sex that evening. No matter how much you don’t like it, don’t cry rape without any proof. That is a dirty crime; you shouldn’t wave it around like it isn’t.”

Well, so much for my confession being not open for use in court. Lana just confirmed it anyway.

“She’s young,” Rebeca’s mum began to weep. “She has no idea what she wants. She’s not old enough to give consent.”

“Your daughter is on her way to womanhood. She is right at the age of consent that our state has set. Even if she wasn’t, she can’t come up here and deny that she consented to sex. I’ll even go to tell you that I’m one-hundred percent sure she initiated it.”

“No.”

“Objection!” Fletcher declared, standing. “Your Honour, she’s badgering my witness.”

“Alana,” the judge warned. “Watch where you’re going. You’re treading on thin ice right now. Stop provoking her; she's got enough on her plate to deal with. Unless you have proof her daughter came onto your client, get back on track, would you?”

“All I’m saying is,” Lana sighed, “don’t you think he’s learned his lesson? My client got the worst case scenario out of it all. Tyler,” she addressed me suddenly. “Would you mind showing the people your arms?”

And since I sure did, I went, “Uhh…”

“No, let them know what it drove you do. Come on.” She didn’t wait, but she thankfully did drop it and carried on, verbally telling them about my stupidity. “My client felt so distraught with guilt that he attempted to end his life as soon as he got home from the police station. Does that sound like something a stone cold repeat offender would do? Can’t you see what the guilt made him do? He’s not a bad person. Don’t you see that?”

I reckon the jury did. They murmured to each other with frowns on their faces. The sympathy card was working.

“Alana,” the judge said. “Are we done with Mrs. Linares?”

“I believe we are. I have no further questions for her, I suppose.”

“Great. You may step down now, Mrs. Linares.” Murmurs overtook the small courtroom momentarily until Rebeca’s mum sat back down and the judge took back over. “Mr. Fletcher, another witness?”

He stood up, nodding to her. “Yes, yes, I do. The state calls Mr. Anthony Metz to the stand.”

Oh, shit. Metz? A cop. Definitely not on my side.

I watched him march up to the front of the room and raise his right hand. He nodded to the judge’s inquiry and was told to have a seat.

“Please state your name for the record and your occupation.”

“Anthony Metz. I’m a police officer at the Troy Police Station and a detective with the Special Victims Unit. We deal with sexual based offences.”

“Do you recognise this man?”

Metz eyes land on me and I want to disappear. He nodded sadly.

“I do.”

“Run me through that day,” Fletcher encouraged. “Starting from the moment you met with the victim and her mother to the interrogation with the respondent.”

“Well,” Metz sighed. “Around one that afternoon, the two women came running into the station, both crying a considerable amount. Officers ran to assist them and began questioning what was wrong. The mother immediately told us that she thought her daughter may have been raped. Once we got the suspects name, we jumped on him. We got to his apartment within ten minutes after the accusation was made but he wasn’t home. Luckily, we got a call from one of our officers that ran a background check on him; they were able to inform us that he had recently began seeing a therapist down the the Upper Valley Medical Center. We raced to get more information on him – anything to pin him to the crime. We got there, maybe a little before two. She filled us in on the suspects, uh, ‘illness,’ she called it -”

“Now what is his ‘illness’?” Fletcher asked Metz, an annoying smidgen of sarcasm there when he said ‘illness.’

Metz answered, unfortunately.

“She informed us that he, you know, he’s a guy.”

“Expand on that, please.”

I mentally shook my head at Metz. Please don’t. But after a chuckle, he did.

“Really likes sex.”

“So…” Fletcher looked at Metz, clarifying, “Sex addict?”

“That’s what his therapist wrote in her notes.”

Fletcher turned to face the small crowd, a smile forming on his face. “What do we make of that? The respondent seemed to know of his ‘illness’ years prior to choosing his profession as a teacher yet he still took the job. Some would say it was only a matter of time before the decision came back to haunt him, and that’s what it did exactly eleven days ago. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? Who’s to say he didn’t plan this?”

He gave another smile to Metz and said, “Thank you, Mr. Metz, for taking the time to answer my questions. That’s all from me for now, Your Honour.”

I tried not to glare at Fletcher as he sat down in his chair. I met eyes with Rebeca, regretted it, and stared down at the laminated paper taped to the top of the table.

“Defence?” the judge said to Lana. “Have any questions for our witness or shall we move on?”

I looked to Lana urgently, but she shook her head.

“No, Your Honour. No questions for right now.”

Catching the news reporter's eyes, my throat tensed and I couldn’t stop myself from whispering to her desperately, “Lana, please. Please don’t let them think I’m some…sick-o. Please.” I could feel the tears push into my eyes. If she doesn’t go up there and counteract what was said there’s no way I am going to win.

Lana’s eyes looked impassively into mine but she frowned.

“Tyler,” she said soothingly. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

“No,” I whispered back. “Fix this. Please. Now.”

Instead, Lana sighed up at the judge.

“Your Honour? May I have a moment to talk to my client in private?”

Judge Ovington checked her watch then glanced at Fletcher.

“Okay. Court adjourned for a ten-minute recess. Return to the courtroom at one fifty, please.” Her gravel sounded, startling me and as she departed from her seat, people rise from theirs.

Lana snapped at me to stand and pulled into a conference room that was outside of the courtroom. She shut the door and dropped her notebook onto the round table.

She motioned to the padded chair and said, “Sit.”

I plummeted into it.

Lana pulled an identical chair over and sat facing me. She leaned forward, cupping her hand over her chin.

“Tyler,” she said sternly. “I need you to calm down, alright? You can’t break down in the middle of your hearing.”

“But -” I tried.

“No. I understand that you’re scared, but you can’t do that. I know I told you we need sympathy, but I, first, need you to breathe, okay?”

“I’m going to jail, aren’t I?” I asked her tearfully.

She looked at me gravely.

“It’s too soon to tell. Relax. Who knows? Maybe your breakdown will help us.”

“By making me look like an idiot?”

“A guilt-wracked idiot. Hopefully the jury will take this as proof that you truly are sorry for what you did. This is good,” she decided, nodding. “Really good. Think you can go up there and talk?”

“Hell no. I can barely sit in the sidelines without feeling like I’m going to hurl.”

Lana clicked her tongue.

"I noticed,” she mumbled. “But maybe at some point? If you change your mind, I understand, but I think getting you up there to defend yourself will really sell us.”

I thought about it. Public speaking and my life really depends on how well I do? Oh, geez. That’s a lot.

But I found myself giving Lana a slight nod and her demeanour relaxed.

“Good. Thank you, Tyler. This really might help us. I’ll let you know if I feel like I’ll need your assistance.”

“Alright.”

“Ready?”

I looked at the door. I nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Let’s go.”