We're All Broken

by O. L. Gregory

  Ryan Zimmer turned to smile in Tamara Peterson’s direction.

  She rolled her eyes in return.

  Jessica Dunlap stepped down, and Victorianna Andrews took the stand.

  “Peter Richards was victim number eight,” Victorianna Andrews stated.

  Zimmer remained standing. “Ms. Andrews, were you related to the victim, Peter Richards?”

  “No, sir, I was not.”

  “And would you share with the court how it is that you knew Peter Richards?”

  She turned her head to look to the judge. “Peter Richards had me duct taped to the back seat of his car.” She turned to Roger, a hand lifting to cover her mouth as she shook her head over the memory. A hand, that Roger noticed, displayed a peacock blue manicure. “I was eight years old, and Peter Richards had just abducted me.”

  Roger’s head drew up and back, stunned.

  “You didn’t see me, Mr. Hayes, but I saw you. I don’t know what the plan for me was and I don’t want to know. All I knew was that I was so happy to see him drop to the ground and not get up. No one stopped him from taking me. No one took notice of my trying to screech around the duct tape as I sat in the car, in the parking lot of the alcohol store. No one did anything to help me, until you. People in this court want to argue over whether or not you saved lives. They want to argue that their loved ones made the drive home safely. I’m here to tell you, it doesn’t matter that they made the drive in one piece. That doesn’t mean they didn’t do anything wrong. It means they got lucky, or rather, the other people on the road got lucky. Peter Richards meant to do me harm. He’d taken me, was already drunk, had plans to remain drunk, and was about to drag me into his lair. As it was, I sat there for six hours, before someone spotted the body on the ground and called the police. After realizing I was there, they asked me if I had seen the murderer. I could only shake my head. A ‘murderer’ was supposed to be a bad guy who did evil things. The only person I saw killed the bad guy and saved me from him. I hadn’t seen a murderer. I’d seen my savior.”

  Roger eyes held happy tears in them.

  “Nobody asked me if I’d seen my savior, so I didn’t give a description. Because I wasn’t a family member, I wasn’t asked to come today. I had to hear about this through the news. I called around and was led to Mr. Zimmer. I explained who I was and told him that I wanted to testify on Mr. Hayes’ behalf. I’d like for all of you to note that no one spoke on Peter Richards’ behalf yesterday. Richards was the evil man in my little scenario. So evil, that not one person who knew him showed up yesterday to defend him. Richards deserved to die. But, at the time of the killings, the police were so concerned about tracking down the Driveway Shooter, my part in it never made it to the news. My kidnapping was overlooked. The news painted Richards as a victim. I’m here today to let all of you know, that man was nobody’s victim, and I resent the way the whole story was portrayed on television. Trust me when I tell you that after today, everyone will know my story. I will be accepting every interview offered.”

  Victorianna was excused as Roger found himself able to take his first truly deep breath since the trial started. Despite all the testimonies of yesterday, Roger couldn’t help but feel proud to hear concrete evidence that he’d actually helped somebody. That he could see the young woman in front of him, and know that she was safe and alive because of him.

  Addison Washington stepped up next. She gave a smile to Roger, and patted her hair with peacock blue nails, before she began speaking. “I, too, have a story that never made it into the news. Covered up by the police in order to keep attention on tracking down the serial killer. My father is labeled as ‘victim number thirteen’, but really, he simply got what was coming to him.”

  Roger sat taller in his chair, confusion on his face.

  “Oh, Mr. Hayes, you haven’t heard my story? You don’t know what you saved me from?”

  Roger shook his head.

  Tears formed in Addison’s eyes and Zimmer quickly stepped forward to hand her a tissue.

  “Mr. Hayes, my father was a registered sex offender, for molesting my best friend on a sleepover. I lost my best friend over it. Hell, I lost all my friends over it. No one would come near me. Worse than that, my older brother warned me about some of things our father had been teaching him. Things like how before a girl gets her first period, they’re too young to touch. But after they start getting it, they’re ‘ripe’.”

  There was a collective gasp in the courtroom from the women, while all the men went silent.

  “That’s when the molestation of my friend began to make sense, because before her, there had never been a problem, at least, not in the house. See, my friend had been the first one, of anyone in my circle, to get it. When I did finally get mine a couple years later, my brother bought me pads and smuggled them into the house, to give to me. I couldn’t keep any evidence of them around, so I had to hide them away in my room. Then had to hide the used ones in plastic shopping bags. It was my brother’s chore to collect trash from around the house, so I’d give him the bag every month for him to stuff into a larger trash bag to take out. We hid my period from my father for over a year and a half.”

  “Ms. Washington,” Zimmer said, “please tell the court what officers found in the house, after your father was gunned down.”

  She nodded. “The police wanted to know if my father possibly had anyone who would want him dead. See, even though he fit perfectly into the Driveway Shooter’s profile, they couldn’t just assume that’s what happened. They had to go through the motions of an entire investigation. My father had an office in the basement, which he kept locked. My mother didn’t have a key to it, either. She’d never even been in the room. The police cut the lock, opened the door, and were met with a stockpile of child pornography. Pictures, movies, black market magazines. You name it, he had it. And that didn’t even cover what he had saved on the computer.”

  Zimmer stepped forward. “And could you please tell us what the evidence gathered in that room proved?”

  “It proved that he was responsible for the rape of at least thirteen pre-teen girls. He used to tell us he was going away for the weekend, for work. What we learned, was that his little business trips were his side-hustle of kidnapping young girls and selling them into a sex-trade market.”

  “Thank you, for sharing your story. We know dredging this up could not have been easy for you.” Zimmer said.

  Addison Washington nodded to the lawyer and turned her head to Roger. “Mr. Hayes, I don’t care what any of these people came in here and say. Your random act of killing a drunk driver saved many lives that day. He’d already sold thirty-seven girls from seven states, and had gotten away with it. There’s no way to know how many others you saved that he would have taken. You saved additional young girls from being raped. You saved me, as I’m sure it would have been a mere matter of time. I cannot thank you enough. And, for the parents of those thirty-seven girls, whose daughters disappeared without a trace, you gave them answers. Answers as to who was responsible, answers as to what had happened. And, from the records Dad did keep, busts were made on others who were a part of that sex-trade network. So many other girls were spared because of you.”

  “You brought guests with you today, as well, is that correct?” Zimmer asked.

  “Yes. Mr. Hayes, if you’ll turn around. Ladies? If you three would stand…”

  Three ladies in the third row of the courtroom stood, hands linked at their sides, all three wearing peacock blue dresses.

  Roger turned to look at them, as did everyone else in the courtroom.

  Addison’s voice rang through the courtroom. “I know that three is a paltry number in comparison to thirty-seven, but these three ladies were tracked through the records that my father, and the men he sold them to, kept. These three women were recovered from their hell, and returned home to their families. Mr. Hayes, you saved their futures.”

  Roger broke down in tears as he nodded to the women. He turned and mouthed �
��thank you’ to Addison.

  Addison shook her head. “Do not thank me, Mr. Hayes. Thank your daughter. She had access to all the cases. When she called me and spoke to me, daughter-to-daughter, we realized what we had to do. At the time, I understand, what you really needed was mental help. And I also realize that what my father needed was to be ended. And that’s what you did for me, for my family, for his future victims, and for these three women. You ended it. Those three ladies and I will be giving many interviews, once we leave here, mark my words. Our story will no longer be swept under the carpet.”

  Penny leaned over the railing and gave her Dad’s shoulder a good squeeze as Addison was excused from the stand.

  Roger cupped his hand over his daughter’s, took in the color of her blue nail polish, and found himself unable to form words.

  Holly Burns took the stand next. “Mr. Hayes, victim number seventeen was my son.”

  Roger slumped in his chair again with a sigh.

  “No, Mr. Hayes, what you need to understand is that my son was a mess. He had schizophrenia and depression. My son’s life was haunted by mental illness and getting drunk was the only thing he found that could help him cope. And every time he would go out, I would worry. I worried that he’d harm someone else. It didn’t even make a difference to me if he’d have harmed someone from a schizophrenic episode, or from being inebriated. And I need you to know that I did everything I was advised to do, everything I could think to do. I had him into counselors, therapists, in-patient, out-patient, half-way homes, he tried all kinds of medications, he tried yoga and meditation, anything that was suggested, it was tried. He just kept getting worse, and alcohol was his only escape. Mr. Hayes, my son lived in Hell, and I feared for his life every night. I thought for sure, if nothing else, he’d reach the point of suicide. I also worried about his future, if he didn’t die, what kind of life would he continue to lead? And what about when I became too old or too worn down to help him anymore? Who was going to help him then? Do you want to know what I felt after I got over the initial shock of his death? I felt relief. I felt immense relief in knowing he was finally free from the burden of his own mind. He visits me in my dreams now. And in those dreams, he is happy, healthy, and mentally whole.”

  Roger had kept his eyes on the woman, meeting her gaze, feeling and connecting over the mutual torment that can only come from feeling as thought you’ve failed your own children.

  And then he noticed the blue feather in her hair.

  “I’m not going to sit here and thank you for killing my son. But I will give you credit for lifting the burden of mental illness from my son. I actually do not want you to be punished for my son’s death. For I know far too well that you’ve suffered enough, through your own mental illness. I can only hope that my son would have eventually won the battle and turned his life around, but I also know that after all the effort we put into it, it likely would never have happened. I wish for you nothing but good things in your future.”

  Holly Burns was excused from the stand and Michelle D’Angelo took her place, wearing a peacock blue blouse.

  “Ms. D’Angelo, you’re not related to any of the victims, are you?” Zimmer asked.

  “No, sir, I am not,” she answered.

  “Can you tell us why you are here, then?”

  She turned to look at Roger. “Your last victim, victim twenty-one, he was my captor.”

  At the gasp of an audience member, Tamara Peterson, professional personified, closed her eyes and slid down in her chair. In fact, no one at the table for the prosecution was looking too enthusiastic today.

  “Could you state, for the record, your captor’s name, and why he kept you?”

  “Sebastian McNeil. I was his sex-slave, as he attempted to brainwash me.”

  Silence in the courtroom rang.

  “And could you give us a little background on Sebastian McNeil?”

  “Oh, he had a history of doing this to young women, usually teenagers. He got away with it for a while, until one escaped and got him arrested. Other women came forward during that trial, and they got him put away for years.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He got out, and snagged me to repeat the process. He kept me in his basement, with no lights, a bucket for a bathroom. His method was to wear a girl down, convince her that nobody loved her, and then start convincing her that he and he alone loved her. He kept calling me Amelia, trying to convince me that it was my name. My new name, for my new life. Sebastian wasn’t much of a drinker that I knew about, but he was muttering about having trouble tracking somebody down from his past. He was obsessed by someone named Erica. He’d thought he found her and it hadn’t panned out. He stomped out of the house and slammed the door. Seems he went out drinking at a bar, and Mr. Hayes followed him home. I didn’t even know what happened until police came in, searching the house, unlocked the basement, and found me. Mr. Hayes, my life was saved that night, along with my sanity. And, as I later found out, ‘Erica’ was most likely in reference to the girl he’d taken, who’d gotten him caught. I firmly believe you saved her, too, from becoming his victim all over again.”

  “And why didn’t we hear about this in the news?” Zimmer asked.

  “They said it was to protect me from ridicule. Really, I think it was to cover for the fact that McNeil played them for suckers and got out, only for him to do it again, because there was no rehabilitating him. And no one had warned Erica that he was out, either. They dropped the ball with McNeil. Instead of celebrating the ending of his reign of terror, they focused on his unknown serial killer. Mr. Hayes, thank you for ending my living nightmare. And, Penelope, thank you for calling and giving me this opportunity to speak out, I should have done it long ago.”

  Zimmer cleared his throat, “Penelope Hayes also tracked down and found the mysterious Erica. Erica, would you please stand?”

  All eyes went to the woman now standing next to Penelope, in the row directly behind Roger, wearing a peacock blue bracelet, as she leaned forward to take hold of Roger’s hand.

  Erica caught Roger’s eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  People in support of Roger began clapping their hands.

  All Roger could do was nod.

  The judge banged his gavel three times to call the room to order, before excusing Michelle D’Angelo.

  Logan leaned toward Roger, as Erica gave Roger’s hand one final squeeze. “This case would not have come together like this, if it weren’t for Penny. She worked her way through every file, looking for the good you created.”

  All Roger could do was to blink back more tears before looking back at his oldest girl and giving her a wink.

  Penny winked right back.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sentencing

  “Mr. Hayes,” the judge began, “I must congratulate your team of lawyers for the case they’ve mounted in your defense. When I read that you had agreed to let the son of one of your victims lead your representation, I thought this was going to be a quick and easy case of guilty, as charged. But then to have family members of additional victims come forward and ask that you not be punished for those individual murders is something I’ve not witnessed before, to quite this degree. And your agreeing to let your case be used to gain momentum in changing laws and sentencing for drunk drivers is admirable.

  “But all of this leaves me unsure as to how to handle this sentencing. To be excused by reason of insanity means that you have to prove that you were insane at the time of the crimes. So, all present in the courtroom listened as prosecution took us back, through your evaluation at the time you were caught for an attempt on what would have been your twenty-second murder. You were found to be gravely mentally ill, but not necessarily insane.

  “You have stated that all the therapy at the time wasn’t doing you any good in relieving your grief, and killing these individuals did, which leans me even more towards your insanity plea. Also, given that after five years of imprisonment within
a mental healthcare facility, you were able to turn your life around so completely, only serves to further how far gone you were during this the timeframe of concern. However, you have no way to prove it. None of your therapists or psychiatrists, who had daily contact with you at the facility, listed you as insane. And, no, I do not believe that you suffered twenty-one bouts of precisely-timed temporary insanity, and neither did the jury. And that is why, at the end of your trial, you were found guilty on all twenty-one counts of murder in the first degree.”

  “So, what to do? On one hand, you are already serving a life sentence for the double-homicide involving your daughter’s abusers, so even if I had thrown these twenty-one murders out, you’d still live out the remainder of your life in prison. On the other hand, finding you guilty for all of them, stacks up twenty-one life sentences on you and sends you to a maximum-security prison, to let you rot in a cell, in an environment that I’m told will drive you to insanity. Then there’s my third option, I can save the taxpayers some money and sentence you to death. Or, my fourth option, is to find a sort of compromise between those whose lives you made worse, and those whose lives you’ve made infinitely better.