There is a trial depicted in this work. I am NOT an attorney, nor have I played one on TV. What I know of legal proceedings was garnered from Perry Mason and Night Court (the first one). If I have offended someone in the legal field, it isn't the first time (don't ask). Please take this for what it is. Fiction.
I just wanted a quiet life. To be left alone, well with the exception of my girls, six year old twins. They were the only ray of sunshine in my otherwise clusterfuck of a life. We'd moved here over five years ago when the girl's human incubator left us in the middle of the night. She never wanted kids and the accidental pregnancy was something she never got over. I offered to marry her, she laughed. She told me I wasn't even close to marriage material, just a fucktoy. I wasn't surprised she ran, honestly. Moving here got us out from under meddling family and friends and once final custody had been determined (I got full custody, she didn't even fight) gave us an opportunity to heal and recover.
The girls loved it here and made friends easily. At six years old, they were coming to grips with the reality of being unwanted by their 'mother'. I did my best assure them I loved them with all my heart telling them I didn't understand why 'she' didn't, but that I was 100% sure it wasn't their fault. As they grew older, I had hope they would believe me.
There was a distinct downside to being the only single dad in a grade school full of single moms. I was a target. Barely a week went by that one of them wasn't trying to get me to come by and look at something or another. Hell, the more blatant ones just asked me if I'd fuck them. I know, get a real problem, right? The thing was, I just wanted to raise my girls and make sure they weren't permanently damaged by being abandoned. I didn't have time, or even the desire, to date or anything else for that matter. I'm not a casual sex kind of guy and trying to maintain a relationship, especially in my current frame of mind was, at best, unwise.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
One spring Friday afternoon, I left work early, I don't even know why. I just needed to pick up my girls from school. Not something I did on a regular basis, but I did it from time to time as the urge hit me. I was parked at the curb of the school at the base of Harper's Hill talking with Terri Ryker, who was leaning on my truck door offering me a look so deep down her cleavage I'm pretty sure I could see her shoes.
Trying NOT to look and at the same time be reasonably polite, I glanced away, up the hill, briefly. Then blinked and looked again. SHIT!! Coming down Harper's Hill was Deke Morgan's dump truck and it was moving WAY faster than it should be. Deke was one of the first people in town to befriend me. He was a lovable old curmudgeon but his driving skills were unmatched. Something was wrong. I quickly scanned the windshield looking for Deke's signature bright pink ball cap and initially didn't see it, or anything else for that matter. There appeared to be no driver. As the truck bounced off a parked car, I caught a brief glimpse of pink. Deke was in the truck, but was seemingly unconscious. If the truck continued on its current heading, it would plow into the crowded school yard.
It was then I saw my girls. There was no way I could get them to safety. Quickly I turned to Terri and pointed. "Runaway truck, RUN!!" I honked furiously and gestured uphill hoping somebody would see the oncoming disaster, then did the only thing I could think of at the time. I fired up my truck, floored the accelerator and spun around pointing the nose directly towards the oncoming behemoth. I don't know why, but at that moment an old Physics equation ran through my head. Force = Mass x Acceleration. Deke's truck would weigh at least 30,000 pounds loaded, my pickup, maybe 5000. My only thought was I hoped I had enough force to stop, or at least deflect Deke's truck. I didn't have the mass so I opted for acceleration. I never let up on the gas pedal.
They would later tell me the ensuing collision was heard for several blocks. I didn't stop Deke's truck, but I did change its trajectory. Straight into a telephone pole, using my truck for a cushion. It took them almost an hour to cut me from the wreckage.
Fleeting moment of light and pain the likes of which I hope never to experience again flashed through what little consciousness I had until, at long last, I emerged from the darkness.
My eyelids felt like they weighted tons, but I managed, barely, to get one to open, even if only slightly. The brightness poured in and I immediately slammed it shut again and groaned.
"Mr. Jessup, can you hear me?" A voice asked.
"Ugggh." I responded.
I felt someone take my hand. "Squeeze my hand."
With Herculean effort, I just managed to squeeze hard enough that it registered to the voice.
"Good." They said. "Welcome back, you've had us rather worried."
"W-wh-aa-t?" I croaked.
"You're in the hospital Mr. Jessup. Do you remember anything.?" The voice asked.
"Deke...OK?" I rasped hoarsely.
"No." They answered. "He suffered a massive heart attack. He was probably dead before you even saw the truck. I know he was a friend. I'm sorry."
"Girls?" I wheezed.
"They're fine." The voice assured. "Missing their daddy, but otherwise OK. They've been staying with friends. You need to get some rest. We'll talk later."
At that point, I faded back into the darkness, probably with the help of pharmaceuticals.
At some later time, consciousness again returned. This time I felt a little less like I'd been hit by a truck, even though, in reality I had been and a rather big one I might add. I found it strange that I was so weak, but never having been seriously injured, I guess I really didn't have a point of reference.
The voice was again present. "Hello again."
"Water." I croaked.
Feeling a straw on my lips, I latched on and sucked glorious, cool liquid into my arid mouth. In that moment, I could think of nothing else that came even close to tasting that good.
"Take it slow." The voice chided. "You haven't taken anything by mouth in quite a while."
"How long?" I asked.
"We'll talk about that when you're stronger." The voice said.
Several days later, I was strong enough to sit up a bit and the voice had resolved into the face of one of my nurses. Janet Riggins. She was attentive and professional in every way, but absolutely refused to answer most of the questions I asked, deferring to my doctor.
"When can I see him?" I inquired.
"Never." She grinned playfully.
"Why is that?" I asked rather gruffly.
"Because Dr. Cortright is a woman." She giggled. "She'll be in sometime later this afternoon."
"Not going anywhere." I growled. My sense of humor had not yet returned.
Lying there connected to all sorts of wires and tubes with machines wheezing and beeping is certainly not he best way to spend time, but I did have to admit, even begrudgingly, it beat the alternative. I was beat up and in pain, but I was alive. After thinking about what I did, honestly, I was amazed.
"When can I see Lynn and Amber?" I asked.
"After you see Dr. Cortright." Janet answered. "She needs to tell you a few things."
"Sounds ominous." I observed.
Later that afternoon Dr. Cortright made her first appearance into my little slice of purgatory. After introducing herself, she sat down in a chair near the bed. "You have questions. I have answers."
"How long have I been here?" I started. "And why am I so weak? I can't even do much more than move my head. My arms feel like lead and my legs... tell me I'm not paralyzed."
