Edge Of Reason Ch 01

Hi,

So I'm back with yet another Lesbian story. You'd think I'd eventually run out of ideas at this rate. This story is in response to several commenters who want me make Heather Franklin a more sympathetic character. In this piece, I take her back to her roots, to the person she wanted to be, rather than the one she became.

Although this is a story that can be read on its own, you can try "How To Catch A Falling Star", "The Day The Music Died" and "Moira" to get a better understanding of the protagonist.

DISCLAIMER --

There is implied graphic violence against a child in this story. It is not described in detail, but it's still there.

A shout of thanks to my editors RuzieD, sexnovella and Bramblethorn.

"Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth."

-Luke 15:10

* *

"Will the defendant please rise," said the judge heavily. There was complete silence throughout the courtroom. Joey Lombardini stood up, looking desperately contrite.

"Madame Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?"

The elderly woman seated on the far right spoke up. "We have, your honour."

"What say you?"

She stood up unsteadily and opened a piece of paper. The eleven other members of the jury looked down, as if ashamed.

"Case number 32656 -- the state of New York versus Joseph Lombardini on the count of murder in the first degree. We the jury find the defendant, Joseph Lombardini, not guilty."

There were audible gasps of relief and shock around the courtroom. The woman spoke up again.

"On the count of murder in the second degree, we the jury find the defendant, Joseph Lombardini... not guilty."

There were louder gasps all around the room. The prosecuting ADA's eyes widened and he stood straight.

"The prosecution moves for a judgement notwithstanding the verdict," he said breathlessly.

"Denied," said the judge. "Mr Lombardini, you are free to go. This case is adjourned."

"Your Honour," continued the ADA. "This man is a killer and he will kill again unless you put him behind bars. Is it fair that he walks free just because he can afford good lawyers? This is a mockery of..."

"That's quite enough, Mr Sczyzmanski," interjected the judge sharply. "One more word and I will find you in contempt. Then you will be behind bars of your own."

The defeated prosecutor gathered his papers, preparing to make a hasty exit. This defeat would need all the Scotch at his disposal to digest.

"Ms Franklin, a private word in my chambers?" asked the judge. Heather Franklin looked up from where she was reluctantly shaking hands with her clients. Another unwinnable case won, just like that.

"Thank you, Heather," said Joey, shaking her hand profusely. "I can't think of a way I could ever make it up to you."

"Disposing of your bodies better is one of the ways," Heather said in a low tone. "Or else, keep paying my retainer."

"You got it," Joey said triumphantly.

* *

Heather walked into the judge's chambers. Judge Giles sat behind a large teak desk, painted deep brown to complement the shelves surrounding them. There were law reviews, journals and case files going decades back.

"The pen-drive, please," said Giles shortly.

"Straight to the point then," said Heather with a smile. She opened her purse and took out a small memory stick.

"Do you have copies?" the judge asked, sticking his hand out.

"Of course I have copies," she replied with a grin, handing him the drive. Giles sighed, twirling the small device between his fingers.

"How many more cases do I have to go through before I earn all the copies?" he asked wearily.

"I'll let you know when you've worked them off," she said with a light laugh. "Did you really think a high school cheerleader was interested in screwing you?"

"I'm a lonely old man," said the judge softly. "That girl seemed like she was really into me. Can you blame me for thinking it was real? Wishing it was real?"

"I suppose not," Heather admitted. "That girl is one of the best. Outwardly, anyone would think blonde bimbo who can't wait to spread her legs. She plays that role particularly well. Inwardly, she's one of the sharpest girls you can hope to meet. Her parents have no idea of her side-job. It's how she wants it."

"So she's your go-to girl when you want to set a honey pot, eh?" Giles chuckled. "How many videos are there? How many judges, politicians and businessmen do you have under your thumb because of her?"

"Are you sure this place is not bugged?" Heather said jokingly, looking around. "I mean, with the NSA nowadays, you never know."

"No it isn't," said Giles, leaning forward. "You're way too smart for that, Heather."

"Still, I think I'll decline to answer," she replied glibly. "For a few thousand dollars, I think I could persuade Carly to go out once more with you. It depends -- how old and lonely are you?"

"I'm not that lonely yet," he said, pocketing the pen-drive. "Thanks for this, Heather. You confirmed that the lawyers at Griffin, Markham and Wiley haven't changed."

"I think I'll get going now."

"No wait," said Giles. "Sit down. I want to talk to you some more."

"I'm not really in the mood for chit-chat," she said wearily. "Let's not make this any harder than it has to be. It was a business transaction, plain and simple."

"No, I got that," he said. "I just want to talk to you. After all you've done, the least you could do is humour me."

"I guess," she said, pulling up a chair. "Do you mind if I light one up?"

"I've got Cubans," said the judge, opening one of his drawers. "How about we celebrate yet another impossible case that you pulled off?"

Heather reached out and took a cigar. She ran the length of it past her nose, inhaling the musky aroma of the wrapper and the filling. She rummaged in her purse for a while before finding her lighter. A second later, a flame licked the tip of her cigar before she held it out for Judge Giles to light his. They took a deep breath before letting out puffs of smoke.

"Do you know why I ruled the traffic cam video as inadmissible?"

"Because I told you so and because I had a tape of you getting it on with a cheerleader in a seedy motel?" Heather said sardonically, making the tip of her cigar glow when she took a long drag. "I think that's reason enough."

"True," he admitted. "But the bigger reason was, I thought the case was still a surety. The state had Joey dead to rights, DNA evidence, threats made, fingerprints -- you name it. It all pointed to your client. I thought, 'what does it matter if I take out the video? They still have the guy,' and yet you managed to win."

"That's why I get to charge the exorbitant fee," she said, taking out the cigar to create a ring of smoke. "You make my job too easy, really. The prosecution had to prove that Joey is guilty beyond reasonable doubt and all I have to do is find one gullible idiot in the jury who can believe he

may

not have done it. Not that he

definitely

didn't do it, but that he

perhaps

didn't do it. The state's burden of proof is what sinks it."

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Giles said with a laugh.

"Have I humoured you enough now?" she said, stubbing out her cigar.

"Heather," began Giles. "I've been a judge for over forty years. I've seen thousands of lawyers come and go. Trust me when I tell you, you're one of the finest I have ever seen. Your drive to win and legal skill are incredible. You can convince a jury the sun shines at night if you want."

"I'll let you know if I ever need to," she said, rising from the chair. "I had better get going now. It's been a long day and I could really use a lame rom-com to unwind."

"Hold on," said Giles, shuffling through the mass of paperwork on his desk.

"What now?" said a clearly exasperated Heather.

"Here," he said, holding out a file. "There is a new case on my docket. The woman can't afford a lawyer, so I'm asking you to do your civic duty and represent her."

"Get her a public defender," said Heather. "I don't have the time or the energy for a freebie right now."

"The public defender's office is stretched as it is. Besides, those kids are fresh out of law school. They could never handle this case."

"What are the charges?"

"First degree murder."

"You expect me to do a first degree murder case for free?" snorted Heather. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. My firm would never give me the time off."

"At least meet with her once," pleaded the judge. "She really needs someone like you."

"After all I've done, you still think I care about my civic duty?" asked Heather incredulously. "You obviously haven't learned much."

"I know that you like a challenge."

"Only when I'm getting paid for them," she dismissed. "If she can't afford a regular lawyer, I sincerely doubt she can afford me."

As she said this, she opened the first page of the file. Her eyes widened when she read the name of the accused.

"Natasha Belvedere," she said. "Of

the

Belvedere family from Brooklyn?"

"Yes."

"How come she needs a public defender? The Belvederes come from old money, one of the richest families in New York."

"Apparently not any more."

"It says here she shot a man at point blank range in broad daylight with three separate witnesses watching," said Heather, scanning through the thick file with a trained eye. "This lady doesn't need me, she needs a miracle."

"She needs someone willing to fight for her."

"No one can win this one," said Heather, shaking her head. She tossed the file back with the heap.

"The prosecuting ADA is Seth Watkins," said the judge. "Do you really think any one in the public defender's office can match him?"

"Not my problem," shrugged off Heather and began walking to the door.

"Heather," said the judge, his voice trailing off. "Please. Give her a fighting chance."

"Look, the best I can do is try to convince Seth to get the charges down to murder two. With that, she at least has hopes of parole sometime in the future. I say try, because there's no way he'll let something as sure as this walk away. What was this woman's motive?"

The judge took a deep breath and said. "The man she murdered was Lance Whittaker. That man raped and murdered her six year old son and was found not guilty because the search of his home was on a bad warrant. My guess is, she simply snapped watching him walk out a free man."

"Doesn't the prosecutor have discretion when not to charge?" Heather said, her interest piqued.

"You know Seth," said Giles. "Do you think he'll ever drop a case as watertight as this? That too in the year he's making a run for the District Attorney's office."

"Wait, so the prosecution's poster boy is rail roading a grieving mother to score political points? And I thought we were the bad guys."

"You and Seth are very similar, Heather. Neither of you can stand losing."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"You may not admit this, but I think there is a human being somewhere inside you," Giles said. "Very deep inside. Despite all you've done, I think you went to law school with the genuine intention to help people. Somewhere along the way, you lost that idealism. We all did. I suppose I'm trying to remind you of that person."

"I doubt that person still exists," said Heather.

"You'll never know unless you take this file. Think of what it could mean for your reputation if you win."

Heather looked at the judge for some time, then looked at the door. Her gaze went back and forth while intricate wheels turned behind her eyes.

Silently, she picked up the file off the desk.

* *

Heather Franklin lay on her back, resting against the cushioned headboard. She held her Galaxy Tab in her hands and searched through several news sites. It took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice between her legs.

"Work," she said, without looking up. "That wasn't an excuse for you to stop."

"Sorry," said the voice. Once more, Heather felt a slippery tongue bathe her thighs and the outside of her lower lips. Ever so subtly, it snuck inside her for a brief instant. She continued browsing the net, unperturbed.

She looked through the news articles relating to Natasha Belvedere's son Cody. He was reported missing a few hours after his friend's birthday party. A week later, his body was found in a shallow ditch outside the Park Slope area in Brooklyn. Her eyes clenched and she cringed inwardly at the description of the body.

Heather followed the links to more articles. The DNA tests came back and a match was found to a known sex-offender Lance Whittaker. He had recently been granted parole. The police searched his house and found the implements he used as well as several videotapes he had made of his time with Cody.

Her brow furrowed when she read further. Even though the evidence against him was overwhelming, he had two technicalities on his side. There was a problem with the chain of custody in handling the initial forensic evidence and the search warrant missed a few clauses. Heather sighed, knowing how she had often used such reasons to get people off.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it felt like to be Natasha Belvedere on the day her son's killer walked free. Nothing came close.

But then again, Heather was not one for emotions. She had long since eschewed that weakness. It helped her sleep better at night not feeling for the people she worked with.

"How was your day?" asked the voice, lapping at her cunt earnestly.

"Good, I suppose," she replied. "I won the case. Your Dad didn't look too happy with the result, though."

"I can guess," came the reply. "He's locked himself in his room with all the bottles he could find."

"Shouldn't you be there for him right now?" said Heather, running her fingers through the mess of black hair around her thighs. "He needs his family more than ever."

"He'll be fine," said the voice callously. "It's not the first case he's lost and it won't be the last. I think the best thing he can do is drink this one away and get a fresh start tomorrow."

"I've been a bad influence," muttered Heather. "Be careful or your Dad might wonder why you suddenly have so many extra SAT classes."

She held the eighteen-year-old vixen's head down. The talented tongue made long licks all the way down her slit before making an agonizingly slow movement upwards. Heather groaned and bent down to kiss the back of the girl's head, nuzzling her hair. Her hair smelled of lavender and jasmine.

"After we're done, can I pick your brain on law schools?" asked the girl. "All the magazines have different rankings. Some say Harvard is the best, some say Yale, some say Columbia. I really don't know where to apply."

"Here's a little secret, Lynette," said the lawyer, unbuttoning her shirt and unclasping her bra while she spoke. "It doesn't really matter. All that an Ivy League college does is give you a head-start. After that, it's all about you. If you suck, no degree can save you."

Her nipples finally free, Heather pinched and tweaked one. The tactile tongue in her pussy probed deeper, making her moan, and her vision went blurry around the edges. She lifted her hips off the bed, pushing her sopping wetness towards Lynette's mouth. The teenager took the hint and impaled her tongue as deep as it would go into Heather. She drew it out and thrust it back in like a well-oiled piston.

Heather continued manipulating her nipple. Her other hand left Lynette's hair and found her own clit which she rubbed in fast circles. Her erogenous zones were red hot with sensation. The familiar feeling was beginning within her. Her breathing became more shallow. Her pupils dilated and her muscles contracted around the tongue.

The intensity was too much now. Every nerve ending tingled and scorched with the sheer anticipation of climax. Heather felt her nipples harden to protruding points against her breasts. It was unreasonably hot. Sweat plastered on her forehead, glistening in the slanted light.

Her body stood on the edge of meltdown, the heat having reached her very core. She closed her eyes to see a fireworks display. A riot of colours unfurled in her vision. Sparks of red, blue and green flew in different directions and scattered before blinding her in an incandescent glare.

Heather slowly became aware of the room again. Lynette meticulously continued lapping away at the nectar dripping from her lover's orifice. She kissed every crevice and nuance of Heather's labia before her head rose. She planted gentle kisses on the breasts in front of her before her eyes met the lawyer's.

The lawyer smiled when she saw Lynette's face painted with her ejaculate. It shone and was even more prominent when she brought her face closer and shared a deep kiss. They tongued each other slowly, like a waltz, in contrast to the fiery tango earlier. Heather liked to taste herself on someone else's tongue.

"Wash up and go home now," said Heather. "You have enough for a cab, I presume?"

"I do. Heather, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," said the lawyer, lighting up a Marlboro from her bedside.

"My Dad comes home every day and rants about how defence lawyers use all sorts of unethical strategies to free clients they know are guilty. Is that true?"

"He's just sour graping. It happens when you get frustrated after seeing so many cases. Don't worry about it."

There was a pause. Heather sat patiently, studying Lynette's expression. It was obvious that something bothered her. She quietly picked up her trail of clothes from the hallway and went to the bathroom. Heather finished her cigarette by the time she walked out once more. Lynette stood at the entrance to the bedroom, looking down.

"Is something bothering you?" Heather asked dryly.

Lynette looked up, pursing her lips. Her well rounded face was taut with confusion and her large, elliptical eyes shimmered with a hint of moisture. When she spoke, it was so soft that Heather had to crane her neck towards her.

"Will we ever tell my parents about.. this?"

"That's not a good idea, Lynette," said Heather calmly, blowing a stream of smoke upwards. "Your Dad might not like the idea of you... sleeping with the enemy so to speak."

"But how can I keep hiding this?" said the moody teen. "I think I'm falling in love with you. It's getting harder to hide from everybody."

Heather put her cigarette down and held the girl's face between her hands.

"You're barely an adult, Lynette. Do you really want to complicate your life with things like love and commitment right now?" she said. "This is your time to explore, to learn and to build a solid career. All that love stuff can wait."

"What about you, Heather?" Lynette asked softly. "Do you have any feelings for me?"

"Not really."

Lynette seemed scandalized that two such words could have been spoken with such little emotion and introspection. Heather looked at her disinterestedly.

"Look, honey, you knew what you were getting into. I never said I was going to be in a relationship with you. Our arrangement is good for what it is, fun," said Heather. "If you don't like that, you could always not show up like a love-sick puppy."

The teenager seemed to be on the verge of tears. Heather rolled her eyes and kissed her again. Their lips melded together and she carefully used her tongue to caress hers. By the time, she detached her face, Lynette felt better about herself.

"Same time next week then?"

They kissed once more and Lynette left with her satchel. Heather watched the door close. She waited, in case Lynette had forgotten something and returned for it. After she was reasonably sure she had left, she opened her medicine cabinet. She retrieved a half empty bottle of Ipecac syrup and carried it to the toilet.