The End of Evil

Junie had barely come to live with her new owners when ugly reality intruded on their idyllic world. Her search for a Master had caught the attention of a serial killer and she had barely escaped being his next victim. He was caught and facing trial; but now Junie had to testify. The whole idea of leaving her new home was more than she could bear to think about.

But she had to do it. Not only was there a subpoena, there was Monica. Her new friend, Monica, the only other woman to escape with her life, was a tiny fragile thing. Her body was barely healed from the horrific trauma of her assault and if Monica could be brave enough to face court and the man who had mutilated her, Junie knew she had to do it too, for Monica's sake.

Junie knew she was not going to have to do it alone. Her owners, Bob and Donna, were going to be there with her every step of the way. She knew she couldn't do it without them.

Chapter 11: The Trial

In the morning, as she watched her Mistress backing the Miata out of the garage, she yawned and rubbed her face. Her Master turned and looked at her, cupping her chin and lifting her face to him. "Sweet Junie, you look tired. You have not been sleeping well."

Junie blinked and fought the urge to yawn again, "It's the dream. I keep having that damn dream." Junie had already told him about the dream days ago, the walking from room to room, the same wet carpet, the disturbing sense of being watched. "This time I wasn't so much scared as pissed off, pissed off that I was having the dream again and really pissed off that something or someone is in my house." Shaking her head ruefully, "I remember I was yelling at him to get out."

Bob pulled her to him and stroked her hair. "Junie, you and I both know that your home is a metaphor for you and your happiness. I am pleased you are finding your anger. And while the 'he' you speak of is most likely that Sam Card monster, he is in many ways just a symbol for this disruption in your life."

Junie snuggled tight up against him and sighed, "I just want to go home."

Bob held her close and murmured, "Me, too. But this will pass quickly and, of the three of us, our Donna seems to be in her element. Let's enjoy this through her eyes."

June giggled and nodded, "It's like she can't wait to get back down to that courthouse. I sort of wish I could talk to her about it."

Bob laughed and rocked her back and forth, "She is writing it all down. You will be able to read it once the trial is over. So, little one, we have a whole day in front of us, do you have any plans?"

"I will probably clean the kitchen over again, and just some other light house work. Other than that I don't have much. Is there anything you want from me?"

"I want you to take a nap this afternoon."

"That sounds heavenly."

Donna walked through the busy lobby of the courthouse, her new heels clicked on the marble floor and echoed through the subdued hum of a dozen low conversations. She could not help but notice how eyes seemed to follow her as she made her way to the stairs. For the first time she felt like she looked on the outside like she felt on the inside, like someone who had something important to say. As she approached the courtroom, the hall grew more crowded. Leena had said seating was going to be at a premium and to get there early, but it seemed that there were a lot more people there than would fit in the gallery. Donna saw Agent Durant leaning against the wall near the door, talking on his cell phone. He raised his hand and beckoned her to stand by him. "Good morning, ma'am. Stick with me. The bailiff and I are old friends and he is going to make sure I get a good seat. You come in with me; let these vultures fight among themselves."

Donna looked around the hall, "Vultures?"

"Reporters mostly and a few sensation seekers, the kind of people who would go to the circus just to see the freak show." He stiffened and the corners of his mouth turned down. He pointed to a tired, grim looking old man in a shapeless suit, "He is the father of one of the women that Sam Card is suspected of abducting and murdering. We haven't found her body yet. I didn't expect to see him here. I will be right back."

The FBI agent went over and offered his hand and spoke in a low tone to the man as they shook hands. The older man was urgently asking for something, almost pleading, and Agent Durant was shaking his head. Eventually the old man's shoulders sagged in defeat and he turned abruptly and walked away.

Agent Durant muttered to Donna when he came back, "He wants to talk to Card, but Card's lawyer won't consent to that. Maybe they will after the trial. I personally don't think it would do any good; Card does not have the capacity to understand that man's pain. Appealing to his humanity is a waste of time. He is not human."

A stocky, dark-skinned man in a bailiff's uniform walked up to Agent Durant and they exchanged greetings. Agent Durant turned to Donna, "Billy, this is a good friend of mine. She is a family member of one of the women Card was stalking. She will be coming into the courtroom with me."

The smiling guard shook Donna's hand vigorously, a curious look on his face, "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am. You be right here a little while before court convenes and I will make sure you get first pick of the good seats." He turned back to Agent Durant, "Missed you in church last Sunday, maybe you could come this week and bring your friend."

Agent Durant looked at Donna and then back at the bailiff. He looked a little uncomfortable, but he laughed and shook his head, "Billy, not that kind of friend, just a professional acquaintance." Donna laughed and gave him an arch look, "Maybe you should take Monica. I am sure she would enjoy your company."

Agent Durant's eyes turned dark and a stormy look of sadness and anger came over his face. His voice was neutral and guarded, "Ma'am, I would appreciate it if you could stay away from that subject. Monica is a sweet girl, but there is nothing between us." His voice turned steely. "And there never can be."

The bailiff stood looking at the two of them and adeptly changed the subject. "Come on with me. I will let you in the back way."

There were already at least a two dozen people sitting in the gallery. Donna suspected that the practice of cultivating a friend on the courtroom staff in order to gain early entry was a common practice. She sat uncomfortably next to the FBI agent for a few moments and then finally spoke in a low tone. "I am sorry if I overstepped. It just seemed so obvious that you cared for her. And she..."

His hand came up, cutting her off, "... and she is a 24-year-old, young woman with her whole life ahead of her. I am an old man." His voice was low, but implacable.

Donna could not help responding, "Not that old." But he did not answer. The main doors to the courtroom opened and there was a flurry of movement as the rest of the people jockeyed for places on the bench seats. Donna found herself jammed tightly against a man in a rumpled, corduroy sport jacket that smelled strongly of cigarettes. After that there was little opportunity to talk.

Donna watched as the defense team filed in and sat down at their table. She recognized Dan Cavalier. Almost trotting along behind the tall handsome lawyer was a smaller, harried-looking man carrying two huge brief cases. The empty chair next to them was conspicuously empty.

Realizing that R. P. Sanders was not going to be sitting there, Donna craned her neck, scanning the courtroom and quickly spied the author seated immediately behind the empty chair at the defense table. The author was looking around too, and for a brief second their eyes met and the two women stared hard at each other. R. P. Sanders looked away, distracted when Dan Cavalier stood up and leaned over, whispering something into her ear.

District Attorney Mark Freeden and his assistant Lurleen Benson came in talking to each other in low tones and took their places.

A bailiff stood up and the constant buzz of the courtroom died down as he called out in a sonorous voice, "Hear ye, hear ye..." and proceeded to call the court to order.

Everyone in the courtroom stood at the prompt of the judge's clerk and Judge Waldenback limped heavily up the steps to her bench and painfully lowered herself into her large padded chair. Donna thought she looked massive in her black judge's robes.

The judge looked out over the crowded courtroom, her mouth pursed like she had tasted something bitter. Her voice was terse, "Good morning. It looks like we have a very full gallery today. I want you all to know that I will not tolerate disruptions or disturbances. If you have a personal emergency, you are welcome to leave quietly, but you may not come back until the courtroom doors are opened again." The judge paused and looked balefully out at the people in front of her. "If you have not already turned off your cell phones, do it now. If I even see a cell phone I will have you removed and charged with contempt."

Donna fought the urge to double check her phone. Leena had warned her and she knew it was turned off and safe in her briefcase. Even when it was turned on, she never had its ringtone on. Still the judge's apparent hatred of cell phones sent a pang of anxiety through Donna. She could see a number of people fumbling through their bags and pockets, probably doing just that, making sure.

Two armed prison guards walked in beside Sam Card. Donna could feel the tension in the courtroom rise. He was an unlikely looking monster, medium height and build, with receding blond hair and a thin blond mustache. He stopped briefly, looked around the courtroom and to Donna's surprise, smiled. He was wearing a rather plain, blue suit and tie and as far as Donna could see, no restraints. In his hand was a canvas briefcase. He moved to sit at the defense table. The two guards stood back against the wall, their eyes fixed on him.

Last of all the jury was ushered in, a mixed group of men and women of various ages. They looked around curiously at the people in the courtroom.

The bailiff stood again and began to read out a long list of crimes that Sam Card was accused of, including kidnapping, unlawful restraint, rape, aggravated assault and attempted murder. Each charge was accompanied by a long legal definition of the crime and the terms used to describe it.

Donna found herself ignoring the droning voice, her eyes drawn to the defendant. From her vantage point, she could see him almost in profile. He did not seem to be listening either. Instead he was busily writing on a legal pad.

Eventually the bailiff stopped talking and District Attorney Mark Freeden stood up and made a show of shuffling some papers together and then turned to the jury. He looked at them seriously, "I want to thank you for being here. It's not easy to give up your time, time from work, time from family, time from fun to do this important thing. It is not easy to hear about violence, to see the evidence of violence, or to listen to the victims of violence, but that is why you are here."

"This case is about the most horrible kind of violence." The big florid lawyer turned toward the defendant's table. His voice grew louder, "During this trial, I will show you evidence that that man," he pointed and accusing finger, "Sam Card, knowingly and intentionally tricked Monica Bond to come to his hotel room. Once he had her alone, he tied and gagged her and took a knife and proceeded to cut her to pieces, attacking her sexually, slicing and stabbing at her very womanhood. He did this while she was awake, screaming and pleading for mercy. There is no question that the wounds he inflicted on her were mortal. It is a miracle that Monica Bond is alive today."

Mark Freeden pointed at the defense attorney, "This man is going to try and convince you that this was some kind of accident, some kind of bizarre, kinky sex scene gone wrong."

The District Attorney whirled to face the jury again, "Don't let him trick you like Sam Card tricked that little girl. Don't let him fool you into thinking that dozens of wounds some inches long and carved deep through skin, muscles and nerves, dozens of wounds, some deep to the bone were an accident.

Again he pointed dramatically at the defendant, "That was no accident. He was killing her, cutting away at her screaming, twitching body, watching the life drain out of her. He knew she was dying and he did not stop. If he had not been interrupted, Monica Bond would have been dead now. Against all odds Monica Bond did not die. She lives. You will hear about the extent of her grievous injuries. Doctors will tell you about her surgeries and her permanent disfigurement."

"Your responsibility is to listen to the facts and not get distracted by stories of kinky sex and bizarre fetishes. If you just look at the facts you will see the truth and hold that man responsible and find him guilty. You will see that Monica Bond gets justice." Mark Freeden stopped and clenched his fists, his florid complexion turning even redder, breathing heavily.

Donna found herself caught up in his speech and when he stopped abruptly, apparently caught up in emotion, she leaned forward, sharing his distress. It took her a moment to realize he was a superb actor putting on a show. She thought to herself, 'this man is good'.

Mark Freeden went to the prosecution table and poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. The whole courtroom as so silent Donna could hear him swallow. When he spoke again, it was in a quiet voice. Looking at the jury again, he spoke only to them, "So again, I want to say thank you for taking your time to do this important thing. Help me, help Monica and find Sam Card guilty. Make him pay the price for his crimes. Give us justice."

The courtroom seemed still and silent for minutes after he sat down, but Donna was intensely aware of the pent up tension that made the very air seem to vibrate.

When Dan Cavalier stood up and began clapping, Donna had the irrational urge to join him. She actually heard someone in the back of the courtroom start to clap and instantly stop when they realized what they were doing. The defense attorney turned a dazzling smile on the jury. "That, ladies and gentlemen, was an amazing show. District Attorney Freeden thanked you and I must agree that you are truly performing a service for your community. But I must also thank District Attorney Freeden for that spectacular speech. I was very entertained and I am sure many of the rest of us were as well." He gestured to the observers in the gallery.

"He is correct; I am going to paint a very different picture." He held up a beautifully manicured hand, "Don't get me wrong. Bad things happened here, very bad things, violent things. There is no question that Monica Bond was horribly injured, or that Sam Card was the man holding the knife in his hand. But murder? Kidnapping? How can it be kidnapping when the victim willingly walks into the room? Is it rape when the woman says she wants to be forced to have sex? Is it assault when it is agreed upon, mutually agreed upon by both parties, that they want it violent, they ask to be taken by force, that they find the use of knives erotic?"

The handsome man turned around looking at the courtroom and shrugged, his hands held out in front of his body in a 'go figure' gesture. "Yes, I find it hard to believe too. But it is true, thousands of people engage in this kind of sexual fetish play every day. Sam Card found this kind of sexual fetish very intriguing and was curious to experiment, with a willing partner. He believed Monica Bond was that willing partner and had agreed to this. The tragedy was that he was inexperienced and did not know when to stop. He did not know how much blood was too much blood."

"So yes, Sam Card is guilty, guilty of misinterpreting Miss Bond's wishes, guilty of taking a scene he thought was consensual too far, guilty of accidentally injuring another person. But is he guilty of rape? Sam Card never had sex with Monica Bond; he did not even take off his clothes. Is he guilty of kidnapping? She agreed to meet him and came willingly to his hotel room. Is he guilty of assault? Sam Card believed she liked it rough, craved to be forced, liked being tied up, enjoyed pain and wanted, yes wanted, to be cut. Is he guilty of attempting murder? He did not know what he was doing was potentially lethal. If he wanted to kill her, he had the opportunity and means to stab her in the heart or cut her throat. But he didn't. He just ran away, cowardly perhaps, but not murderous."

"District Attorney Freeden speaks of justice. That is a good thing. But, wait, listen, hear all the facts. Do not be hasty because of the grievous nature of Monica Bond's injuries. Do not rush to judgment. That is not justice. Sam Card deserves justice too."

When Dan Cavalier sat down the courtroom was not silent. It practically buzzed as everyone began whispering. Donna looked at Agent Durant; his face looked like carved granite, but she could see a muscle flexing in his jaw.

Donna looked at the defendant, but he was leaning, whispering to his lawyer and she could not see his face.

Judge Waldenback banged her gavel and looked fiercely at the gallery. The room fell silent once more. The judge's eyes were snapping and her voice was sharp, "We'll adjourn until 1:00 p.m. That should give you all the time you need to calm down. Come back ready to sit quietly."

The courtroom was soon a mass of people, all seeming in a hurry to leave. Agent Durant stayed seated, staring straight ahead, his face stony. Donna cleared her throat, and then spoke, "David, thank you for getting me in. It is nice to have someone to sit with. Are you going to be back at 1:00?"

He turned and looked at her and, for an instant, Donna felt like he was surprised to see her sitting there. He shook his head and his eyes seemed to clear, but his voice still sounded distracted, "What? Oh, it wasn't much. Don't thank me, thank Billy." He stood up and looked at her, "Let's grab lunch. Do you like Vietnamese?"

Nodding Donna picked up her briefcase and followed after him. It was before the lunch rush and there were a lot of empty tables. They found a quiet table near the back and, as they waited for their orders, Donna asked carefully, "Was it the opening statements?"

Agent Durant looked up at her, his face grim, "I guess for the first time I am realizing that this is going to be a damn freak show and that Monica is going to be the main attraction." A wave of sadness turned his mouth down and for an instant Donna was convinced that his eyes filled with tears, but just as quickly the gruff man got himself in control. Donna had the impulse to reach across the table and touch his hand, but resisted it, suspecting he would just be offended. "Do you think Monica will be able to do this?"

"This? If you mean the trial, being a witness, yes. But afterwards, living with the notoriety, damn I don't know. That lawyer is going to do everything in his power to make her look like some kind of sexual freak-job that wanted everything that happened to her." No longer able to contain his rage, he lashed out, his voice low and angry, "She is not like you. She isn't like that."

Refusing to take the bait, Donna replied in an amused tone, "Is that what you believe? That I am a sexual freak-job? And Junie, too?" She laughed softly, "Well, maybe you are right. We definitely are not in the majority. If what we like is different from the 'average', perhaps we are freaks." Her voice turning serious, "But it does not take away our humanity or our pride. And do not fall into the trap of thinking that Junie, Bob, or I are anything like the image that defense lawyer is trying to paint."

"You guys confuse the hell out of me. You seem like down to earth people with values, I start to forget about the," he paused seeming to grope for words, "...stuff you do. Then that lawyer starts trying to make Monica into..." again he groped for words.