They neared the steps of town hall, only two blocks down Main Street from the hospital. Rob walked somberly and closely with Kim, releasing his arm around her, then turned quickly when he felt someone running up from behind.
“Rob, get the word out,” Jim exclaimed. “There’s still a murderer out there. George wasn’t alone. It was Jessie who set her up.”
“Whoa Jim hold up. A setup? Amy? Jessie, Starr?” Rob said. “Why in the world—”
“Trust me Rob,” Jim interrupted, panting heavily. “Assemble a security team and have them meet me at JCDC housing. We must find her and everyone should remain on alert until we do.” Rob met Kim’s eyes and she nodded in validation. She and Rob were secret lovers—secret barely—due to the panel’s rules, but many turned a blind eye because of their extreme professionalism. Therefore she likely knew more than she was supposed to, and, she knew Jessie quite well. And if George had done something so atrocious, there was one person that would have been glued to his side like no other—Jessie.
“I’ll alert security,” Kim said. Her face was dead serious. She believed Jim and slapped Rob’s blind face with a strong eye. Jessie’s innocent charm and exquisite beauty had that effect on men, and Kim, and every other woman, even and especially Jessie herself, knew it.
“Okay, Jim,” Rob said. “We’ll organize the search—wait—Jim!”
He sped off. “Just send ‘em at once, eighth floor!” he said yelling back.
Ted saw Jim explode from the hospital and he’d followed as best as his old self could through the dispersing crowd. Now, suddenly Jim was sprinting back toward him.
Speaking quickly Jim slowed but kept his resolute vigor, “Ted, get some men. I’ll be on the eighth floor, Jessie’s apartment.” He thought of Abell and his strength and turned back before entering. “Abell Ted, get Abell and tell him to meet me there, now.”
Jessie and George lived together two floors below him. Jim scorched the stairs swinging up and around leaving a trail of blazing determination in his wake. He arrived at her door, and stopped himself—from pounding on it, or knocking it down altogether. She might try to play it off. Might just open the door if I ring. He composed himself. I mustn't do anything I’ll regret. He lifted a finger, controlled his breathing, then pressed the button. Lifting his head, letting patience calm his rage, he waited. A few seconds. He rang again, and still, nothing. He put his ear up to the door then touched the knob; it was wet. He looked at his finger: blood. Inside he could hear breathing, and faint whisper-like cries. He stood back, ready to kick the door, but once again stopped himself. He knew the doors in his apartment were the some of the strongest in the town and he couldn’t just kick it in, no way. He looked around and saw a bench and thought he could use it as a battering ram when he heard more footsteps coming up the stairs. Perfect! It was Abell. Following behind were three members of town security: Tim, Mitch, and the most recent new member, skinny Joey from Amy’s graduating class.
“Abell, great,” Jim called. “Can you get this door?”
Not saying a word, Abell gave a single firm nod. He knew exactly why Jim wanted the door open and began to rev his thoughts and breathing. He was large and quiet, but not stupid; contrarily he was among the smartest on the team, regarding standard IQ that is. Many who knew him well attributed his laconic silence to deep thought or everlasting meditation, tranquil silence in a world gone mad. He lived directly across from George and Jessie with Lia and her caretaker. He looked around, then left. He opened his apartment door and calmed old Betty who was sitting quietly at the window reading. “Okay,” he said simply putting his hands outward in an assuaging gesture.
The security team wondered if he was ignoring Jim. “Abell,” Mitch said. “Are you—”
Jim hushed them, realizing exactly what Abell had in mind, and said quietly, “The doors throughout these apartments are solid, even for a huge person like Abell to kick in. He’s not gonna kick it, he’s gonna plow right through it. Stand back.”
Abell trudged to the end of his apartment and rotated like a planet. His face turned to that of a raging bull and burned with red. He focused on Jessie’s door and let out a deep growl that reverberated through the room. Betty edged back. “FOR—AMY!” Abell launched through his apartment: a freight train; the men’s eyes rounded and they stepped back. He plowed forward, rotating like a curve ball, a mighty asteroid, and, it looked like he was going to miss the door. So much power, a top-fuel dragster, tires spinning, launching wildly, uncontrollably. His trajectory straightened after the power stabilized. The gentle-eyed man became fierce and focused. He was a bowling ball and straightened himself out for a center strike. He rotated to make the hit and blasted across the hall colliding with the locked door detonating a double-discharge snap. The door burst, CRACK! It rebounded crushing the kitchen counter and cabinets in a second CLAP. Abell was inside. He stopped, huffing, letting his calm return so he could see straight once again. Jim and the others hastily followed.
All shades and makeshift drapes were closed, sealed-like; it was a dark and musty—more like musky—a cave. The odor of flesh and—it smelled like a bedroom of pubescent teenagers, raging with hormones. Darkness, but all eyes went right, sensing the woman; a quiet breath fluttered, followed by a faint diminuendo of a weep. Jim ran over and ripped the curtains off the rod, light flooded in. Jessie was lying on her bed daze-like, hardly able to acknowledge the intrusion. Her eyes didn’t even squint after bright light suddenly filled the room. She could barely utter anymore cries, and her breathing was slowing. The sheets were blood-soaked; she had slit both wrists.
“Get the docs!” Mitch yelled approaching the bed. Joey took off coughing and running and Tim opened the shades on the far side by the kitchen letting more light in.
“No,” Jim said callously. The docs are busy treating Amy. “We should just let her—”
“What?!” Mitch objected. As did Tim nervously.
Likely they didn’t know to the full extent what was going on, and they clearly didn’t understand Jim’s rage. His face was still red and his body tense like steel. He had an uneasy aura about him, as if to say, contradict me and I’ll kick your fucking skull in.
“Fuck.” Not wanting to lose the two Jim said, “Okay quick make a tourniquet.” With an apparent sudden change of heart he grabbed some clothes from the floor and began ripping. Then he annihilated a wooden chair making it break to pieces. Tim and Mitch were on pins and needles with his volatility.
The room was in complete disarray: clothes, stuff, trash thrown everywhere. It was apparent, George and Jessie were quite the unorganized couple, downright messy, slobs. There was food left out, and the floor was a minefield, and the stench, not of rotten food as the obvious clearly revealed but that of locker-room sweat, pungent sweet nostril-burning sex, and most pertinent for the moment, blood.
He came around the window side of the bed with two wooden daggers in his hands, shards from the obliterated wooden chair. He lifted her arm and wrapped it above the wrist with the cloth scraps. He tied it loose and inserted the wood then wound it tight. “Not another drop of blood is going escape from your shell,” Jim uttered. “Poor excuse for a human being. You won’t get off that easy you fucking bitch.” Angrily he cranked the tourniquet even tighter. A pop could be heard coming from her wrist as he wrestled the last possible twist. “Tim, come here. Hold this. Use another scrap and tie the wood straight to her forearm.”
Recovering from the hit, shaking his head a little, Abell stood behind Mitch who sat on the right side of the bed. “What’s going on Jim?” Mitch asked timidly and slow.
“It was her—” Jim said pulling her right arm across, wrapping it the same. “—and George. They both tried to kill Amy.” He laughed, a short sadistic chuckle brimming with schadenfreude. “But, she saw Amy wasn’t quite as small and weak as she thought.” He cranked it destructively tight. The bleeding stopped instantly. “I think she ran after witnessing Amy tear out that bastards throat. Maybe, yeah, she k
new she’d be next.”
Jim put two fingers on her neck. A part of him hoped there would be no pulse, but, it was there, stronger than Amy’s had been. He got up and went over to Abell.
Mitch couldn’t help himself but to stare at her. Tim stood behind him. She was petite, but not too, helpless damaged and limp, white with a shade of purple, but still, her beauty had the mesmerizing allure of a sleeping princess. “Is she stable?” Mitch asked looking up to Jim.
“Yeah,” Jim said shortly. “She’s gonna live.” His surge was abating and he felt as if he was, logged in: the same drained feeling he got after terminating several DC’s. He thought of heading to work, logging in, and mutilating everyone he could find. He thought of his years with his old partner Lion, how they’d fuck ‘em up good. Get it all out of their system. How he yearned for that release, day after day, a purge. It felt good, fucking wall-liberating good. But without Amy, no. Things will never be like that again. Done, I’m done. And again he was purposeless, back to remembering, and hurting inside.
“Abell. Pick her up and take her to the hospital,” Jim said lowly. “She’s stable. Moving her won’t be a problem.” He looked back to her one last time, the two goons staring at her, and he shook his head slowly.
Mitch wiped away some blood while Tim stood back. Tim didn’t like blood, but he did like Jessie. He found himself drawn to stare at her, yet disgusted, and sick to his stomach at the same time. Hoping, they rolled her onto a large blanket on the dry side of the bed. They hoped, both of them together with a mutual gaze, that what Jim said wasn’t true. How could it be with such a delicate and innocent looking creature?
Abell carried her by himself, like he was so used to for years with Lia, draped her over his shoulder. Escorted uselessly by Mitch and Tim he brought her to the hospital. She was placed in the room across from Amy and two nurses tended to her. Jim met with Hilda, head of security, and advised, demandingly, that it would be wise to keep a guard on the room. Hilda agreed with an iron fist and made it happen.
For much of the town, the hospital staff, the Docs, security, especially the lenders, for everyone really; the day was an awakening. The monotony of life could be broken. The hospital, besides mending a few gashes and broken bones from scrap-pile climbers, had a critical task. Security had renewed purpose—shit can happen, and will—and room for reform. Friends, family, lenders, had pain. The team was torn apart and a life hung in the balance. And the future was uncertain.
Exhausted, Jim rested on a waiting room chair across from Bertha who filled two. Her eyes were swollen, almost shut, and she didn’t talk. There were still many people, waiting, concerned, sobbing. Amy had quite an influence on the townspeople, and it was apparent that it wasn’t just her special gift at the lender facility. She’d impacted everyone she met, not just those she had logged in with. In a tiny town in the middle of who knows where, where everyone cared for one another like family, and participated as an equal part for the good of survival—George and Jessie were the exception, the result of hate, and a choice gone horribly wrong. He watched everyone. Things became cloudy, and he fell asleep.
Several hours later, the sun descending, Jim and many others were awakened by Old Doc. “How is she Doc, please?” Bertha asked. He had quite a bit of blood on him and he appeared fatigued, and sad. He struggled to get the words out. Bertha pleaded again, anxiously, “Doc?”
“She is stable.” He sighed for a moment. “But—”
“Oh God! What is it?” Bertha gasped. Jim took a stand next to her. The waiting room came alive with trepidation.
“We have her stabilized, for now,” Old Doc said, as professional as one can be, but reeling with his emotions. Bertha wailed and Jim tried to calm her. “But unfortunately she is in a coma because of the sudden blood loss, and—she might have lower body paralysis.”
“Go on Doc,” Jim said.
“Well, she has three knife wounds. I’m very sorry to say, a knife did graze her spinal cord. But we won’t know the extent of paralysis, if any, until she wakes. And with our limited technology any paralysis will be irreversible. Her other back wound is not life threatening, the knife was lodged vertically in between her back ribs. The angle at which it was thrust, likely saved her life. The third and most life threatening wound was in her leg. The knife severed her femoral artery and the tremendous loss of blood put her into a coma.”
Bertha's knees gave out and she broke down. She could bear it no longer. Moments later the bison of a woman showed physical weakness for the first time ever; she fainted.
The dark side of Jim, perhaps, with its new depth, was glad. Better for her, to sleep, he thought. Rather than torment herself any longer—and everyone else—with her wailing.
There was no short supply of help for Bertha and people were able to break her sudden fall. It took several to roll her off the young man she nearly crushed with her weight.
“She’ll be okay, she needs rest,” Old Doc said after a quick check. “Let’s put her feet up.” Everyone came together to offer any help needed. A pillow was placed behind her head.
Before Doc could head back Jim pulled him aside, keeping himself composed as best he could. “Doc, I want you to give it to me straight.”
“Jim, we are doing the best we can. She is a very strong person, you know this. I’ve known her ever since she arrived as a child. If anyone can pull through this, she can. You saved her life by applying that tourniquet so quickly. Had it been even a split-second later—she would not be with us now.” Jim put his hand on Docs shoulder, and his head fell. He couldn’t contain himself. He’d never felt such a depth of emotion. His time with Amy; he was a new and different person. And he knew it was for the best, he could feel that much—to the depth of his soul—but, it hurt like a son of a bitch. “Jim, we have the blood and her wounds have been sealed; now only time will tell.”
“Thank you Doc,” Jim said, eyes glossy.
“I think you should go home and get some rest,” Old Doc said. Jim turned away slowly. “Oh and Jim, the other patient, Jessie, she’s going to be just fine. Young Doc is tending to her right now. We should be able to release her in a couple days.”
“She’ll be released alright,” Jim said. He turned and walked out of the hospital.
37. Trial
The old hinges creaked and the doors flung open. The courthouse, an old neglected building, stood next to town hall. Long ago it was used quite often to settle petty quarrels and differences among the citizens of the town. Before that it was also the commonplace for prayer—used in place of a church that’d been cut off from the boundary of the wall. As the years passed—and the violent storms ceased—participation dwindled among the faithful, and petty differences and arguing became rare. People accepted life, inside the wall, and made the best of it. And it was eventually sealed off, the door wrapped with chains. Things were handled outside, in the consistently nice weather, at the park, or in the larger town hall building, without a reminder of religion or surrounded by the judgmental walls of the court. The outside of the white structure fought time well with its built-to-last colonnaded design. Cob webs and dust covered its aging and neglected wood interior which ultimately fell into desuetude. But today infamy had returned to Jewel City, along with an almost unheard of thunderstorm. The Atmowater Generators would get a rest, but Jessie Star would not. The old great room was dusted, mopped, and cleaned within margin of its old historic lackluster, and once again court was in session.
She was escorted inside by town security officers Mitch and Tim, and for today, both wore the least faded of their old blue uniforms. Mitch was an average size dark-skinned black man, and Tim was his doppelganger—except for being Albino. They’d been partners and best friends for years but had yet to encounter such a foul and vicious act within the wall.
Her cuffs were loose and low because of the bandages and under an old button sweater Jessie wore nothing but a hospital gown and sandals. Tim folded the wet umbrella and Mitch escorted her to the front.
The old floor boards creaked and a sardined crowd pressed her with angry eyes. Her tears joined wet footsteps and she looked right to see Bertha sitting in the front row. Jim sat on Bertha’s right and had instructed Abell to sit on her immediate left at the isle—for reasons apparent in her suffocating glare. And for once Abell was worried; there could be nothing and no man that could stop determined Bertha, as he had already witnessed a sample of her power unleashed.
Jessie was escorted to the witness stand and shortly after, Rob, wearing in his normal attire under a black robe which was too short for his tall frame, entered as the acting judge. It was to be a quick procedure; the evidence was clear. Still, a unanimous decision had to be agreed upon by the eleven members of the town panel and one randomly chosen citizen after hearing the evidence. Most had already made up their minds, including Rob and even Jessie’s good friend, first position in the twelve seat jury box, botanist Kim Mills. Furthermore any objections or comments, from any in attendance, regardless of standing or occupation, would be heard with consideration.
And that was about as formal as it got within the wall. Most disputes and arguments were settled with good old common sense, expeditiously, although, and everyone knew, this was not a simple matter. It had been three days since the atrocity and Jewel City had an accused murderer inside the old and unshackled courtroom.
Jessie, was now on trial. She sobbed uncontrollably and she looked more petite than her normal made-up strutting-tall chin-up self. She sat facing the town for the proceeding. Her beauty was always so dominant it never needed makeup or fancy clothes, but today people saw through it.
Rico was there, as was anyone even remotely involved with Amy’s rescue or the incident. Assisted by David, Chang was holding down the fort in the control room and Ron and the twins were managing the BROCC with a full staff of previously low-level lenders.
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