Without further ado, I present the concluding chapter of Heather Franklin's biggest case to date. I would like to take this moment to thank all of you who take the time to vote and comment on my stories. As a hobbyist writer, your comments and feedback are all the returns I get for the time I invest in writing.
An extra special vote of thanks to my editor, beta reader and general story advisor, Bramblethorn without whose input, this story would read considerably worse than it does.
DISCLAIMER –
There is mention of graphic violence against a child in this story. Don't read further if such material makes you uneasy. There is also one scene of BDSM.
"Red: Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane."
* *
The room was dimly lit. Three men stood in front of a large machine with several valves and gauges. There was a stretcher where someone lay face up, strapped down. The man in the coat checked his watch once. He turned to his associate and nodded sombrely. The other man took a deep breath and flipped the switch.
All eyes went to the cylindrical vials protruding out of the machine. Gradually, the liquid level went down. They kept looking at it, because it was easier than to look at the still figure beside them. The light cast an oblique shadow over the eyes facing the ceiling. Somehow they still flickered with fear.
The eyes dimmed, gradually letting go of the light. The anticipation ended when the vial of anaesthetic had emptied itself. The condemned was numb and would not feel the slow drip of potassium chloride.
The doctor felt for a pulse. He turned to face the others and gave a silent nod of assent. The people watching from behind the glass pane were still frozen. Some of them said a small prayer.
Heather woke up with a start. Her hands felt clammy and her breathing was ragged. She sat up in bed, trying to soothe herself. It took a few seconds for her to calm her pulse. She looked to her right to see Natasha's luscious naked body curled against the sheets. Her skin looked as white and fragile as porcelain in the moonlight. Her undulating skin rose and fell with every breath. Heather reached out and caressed her sleeping face.
Slipping out of bed, the lawyer grabbed a half-empty Marlboro pack and walked to the open balcony. The cool night air rippled over her skin. She saw the dark emptiness of Central Park, bathed in silvery moonlight. There was something so calming about the interplay of light and shadow.
She leaned on the railing and took a long puff. A thin stream of smoke came out of her lips and gradually melded into the night. There was a sense of a lull to the whole scene, foreshadowing a terrible storm.
* *
"Mr Markham, a word please?"
"Not now, Judy," he said, ducking his head under the dangling microphone. Heather was right beside him, pushing Natasha's face down from the cameras. The two officers with them cut a swathe through the throng of media personnel. The trio made their way to the front row and sat at the defence table. Seth Watkins and his team sat on the other side, whispering among each other in hushes tones. The seating area overflowed with media.
Judge Giles eyed the mob with condescension for a few minutes before he spoke up.
"Let's get one thing clear. This is a murder trial, not fodder for your late night shows. Anybody disrupting the decorum of this court will be found in contempt and thrown in jail. Do I make myself clear?"
The crowd silenced somewhat. Natasha took looked at the table and Heather held her arm tightly. Tom turned in their direction and smiled.
"I've looked into the jury members. You're in luck. You have a working single Mom, a housewife and a retired teacher. They're guaranteed to love children. In fact, the fashionista on the second row also has a soft spot for kids - Cody was as old as her kid brother is now. Those two business types are neutral for now, but you can reel them in. Your main challenge will be juror number six."
Heather glanced over at the surly looking old man. His white hair was neatly combed back and had a crucifix pendant glinting below his neck.
"Religious nut, so what?" Heather asked her boss, flummoxed. He lowered her gaze to her and pursed his lips. She gradually absorbed the hint.
"He doesn't know I'm gay, does he?"
"He will soon enough," Tom added. "The media will make sure of it."
"Still, he's just one guy."
"Probably a preacher, he might influence some of the others if we rub him the wrong way. Tread carefully."
"We will hear the opening statements now."
All eyes turned to the prosecution table where there was an impromptu huddle in progress. Eventually, Seth emerged from the group. He stood straight, drawing himself to his full height before striding to where the jury sat. His ice-cold eyes immediately sought out those of the twelve men and women seated before him.
"Members of the jury," he started. "I stand before you today with a heavy heart. I stand before you today as an agent of the state, out to ensure that the laws are enforced and the guilty are punished. My heavy heart is because following that path requires me to prosecute Natasha Belvedere, the woman sitting over there."
His arm outstretched in the direction of the slumped form. Heather clutched her arm even more tightly now. She didn't even look up.
"My heart is heavy because of what this woman has been through. I know all of you sympathise with her, I do too. But we have laws, laws that you and I took an oath to uphold. The law is explicitly clear that murder is punishable with life imprisonment. The law is blind, it does not discriminate between the rich and the poor; the favoured and the common. It only recognises the guilty and the innocent, and punishes the former. No matter how we try to look at it, the fact is the defendant shot and killed a man. That is the ugly truth."
He turned his eyes to look in the direction of the defence.
"Natasha Belvedere is a woman our hearts bleed for. Give her your sympathy, give her your prayers, give her your tears. but please, give her the apt punishment for her crime. Don't be fooled by the guise of her being temporarily insane."
Quietly, he walked back to his table. The jury sat silently, letting each word sink into them. Heather closed her eyes one last time, thinking about what she was going to say. All of a sudden, the words vanished from her mind, replaced by the picture of Natasha's half-smile. She felt her hand being squeezed under the table and her eyes opened, only to see that same expression. Slowly, she rose from her chair and made her way to the jury. She drank in everything around her and began.
The jury looked on with bated breath. The cameras at the back rolled on, waiting for her to say something.
Only she didn't.
Heather's eyes widened and she stared at all standing around her, stupefied. Her mouth hung open, sullenly refusing to let out any words. The pall of silence faded a bit, giving way to a restless murmur. Something was grossly wrong. Her shifty eyes darted to Judge Giles, then to the curious prosecution, to Tom Markham, before finally settling on Natasha. An alien lump caught in her throat.
"Ms Franklin, can we have an opening statement please?" inquired Giles.
She couldn't hear him, or see him. Her eyes were clenched shut and blood pounded in her ears. Her nerves shackled her in front of the jury. She could feel twelve gazes searching her, like spotlights scanning her face.
