Spilled Milk: Based on a true story

by Randis, K. L

  “Will I see him?”

  “Yes, he’ll be sitting right here.” She pointed to the one desk. “Your lawyer will be right here.” She tapped the other desk. “Anyone supporting you that isn’t subpoenaed will be sitting behind your lawyer. Anyone supporting him will do the same. Kind of like when you go to a wedding.”

  “What if I don’t want them to?”

  “If it’s anyone you know, you can let them know it’s uncomfortable to have them in the room while you’re testifying. That’s perfectly fine. Go ahead and sit up there on the witness stand so you know what to expect.”

  My sneakers echoed across wooden floor of the box and I sat facing Heather. “Like this?”

  “Yup. You can adjust the microphone when you get up there if you need to. What do you think you’ll feel like when you tell what happened to you in front of people you don’t know?”

  “Scary. I haven’t even talked to people in my family about it really, and I have to tell complete strangers.”

  Heather nodded and smoothed her suit jacket. “It will be difficult, I won’t lie. You’ll be talking about very personal things. But you can look at your lawyer or me when you’re answering a question if it’ll make you feel better. You don’t need to look at David at all. They’ll ask you to point him out one time, just to identify him.”

  “How come none of my siblings are testifying? He hurt them too. Not in the same way, but wouldn’t that count?”

  The frown on Heather’s face told me she agreed with me. “The police interviewed your siblings, yes. But they’re very scared of him. We wouldn’t want to make them testify if they aren’t able to, we don’t want to do anything that would hurt the outcome of the trial.”

  I was confused. “Why would anything they say hurt?”

  “If a child is unsure they want to testify because they are afraid, sometimes they will say one thing when they feel safe, but when they’re confronted…” Heather pointed to where Earl would be sitting. “They freeze, or they recant what they said, say it wasn’t true because they feel bad, like it’s tattle tailing. It’s hard for people your age and younger to testify against someone who is supposed to love and protect you.”

  “Not even Adam will?”

  Heather shook her head. “You have the weight of the world on your shoulders, I’m sure. You’re the only one who can do it.”

  Heather followed my gaze to where Earl would be sitting. “There will be what’s called a bailiff, most likely two of them, standing near him. They’ll be in police uniform. He won’t get near you, that I can promise. There is also going to be a court reporter sitting right in front of the judge’s stand. It’s their job to write down everything that people say.”

  “There’s going to be a lot of people in here.”

  “Yes, there will be. But this is a safe place. No one is here to judge you or tell you these things didn’t happen. The only one’s doing that will be the defense.”

  I stepped down from the witness stand and gazed up at the fluorescent lighting that lit up the room. The bright lights and people were definitely going to make me feel vulnerable.

  “What if I say the wrong thing, or don’t know an answer.” There was so much to remember, all eyes would be on me. If I mess this up, he could walk free.

  Heather bent at the knees to be eye level with me. “There is no wrong answer when you tell the truth. If they ask you a question and you don’t know, you’re allowed to say you don’t know. If you don’t remember, then say that. The questions the defense will try and ask you are meant to trick you, but if you’re telling the truth, there won’t be anyone to trick.”

  “Okay. And you’ll be here?”

  She squeezed my hand. “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I threw up before we got in the elevator to go down to the courtroom. If my stomach was any indication of how the rest of the day was going to go I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. The waiting room off of the courtroom was packed with people I knew. They smiled encouragement from across the room and whispered among each other as light from the early morning sun blasted through the only two windows in the lobby. There was no elevator music, no self-help pamphlets, not even a fire extinguisher in sight to stare at to pass the time.

  Then they called my name.

  Over fifty pairs of eyes redirected their attention to the white door when I walked in. I made it to the witness stand on auto pilot and recognized the familiar shape of the seat from the day before. Foggy words poured from my lawyers mouth; my heart was in my head. I glanced at the jury. One man smiled. I smiled back. Was that wrong? Can I not smile at them?

  I was sworn in, I raised my right hand and my lawyer approached the bench. Rob cleared his throat, moved his tie to the side. He was ready. “Please state your name.”

  “We’ll start off with small questions. Easy questions. Let the jury get to know you,” Rob had said a day earlier. “It’ll build up your confidence, and we need to establish what kind of person you are to the jury.”

  “What if they don’t like me?”

  Rob smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  “Brooke Nolan.” The microphone screeched and I pulled it closer to my face and cleared my throat. “Brooke Nolan.”

  Was that really my voice? I sound so young.

  Easy questions. Too easy. We flowed through my life; where I went to school, my relation to the defendant, when I moved to Pennsylvania.

  “Can you explain the relationship between you and Mr. Nolan.” Rob raised his eyebrow. Things were about to get ugly.

  “There wasn’t one, really.” I looked at the jury, then down at my hands.

  “During the length of time you lived in New York, did Mr. Nolan ever rape, sexually molest, assault, or inappropriately touch you?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t look towards my supporters in the room because Earl would be in full view. I didn’t want to look at the jury because I was so ashamed I didn’t think I could hold it together. I silently begged Rob to keep eye contact with me.

  “Please give the jury your details about any incidents in New York.”

  “He molested me. He would come into my room before bed and-” I trailed off and looked up at the fluorescents. I didn’t even know if I was allowed to say body part names in the courtroom. The words seemed vulgar. “He put his hands down my pajama bottoms.”

  “Did he penetrate you?”

  I looked at the judge. It seemed so inappropriate to be saying these things in front of so many adults. All eyes were on me, waiting to hear what words I would use.

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell the jury what he penetrated you with.”

  I closed my eyes. “His fingers.”

  “During the length of time you lived in Pennsylvania, did Mr. Nolan ever rape, sexually molest, assault, or inappropriately touch you?”

  “Yes. Twice.”

  “Brooke I know this is very difficult for you. So when you’re ready, please give the jury information about those two incidents.” He paused, cleared his throat. “In as much detail as you can.”

  There were more than two times. Way more. The legal system all came down to what you could prove and what you couldn’t. If you don’t have a witness, some DNA, or a video recording it was hard to prove. Heather told me we were taking a gamble, we had none of those things. We had my word against his. My truth and his.

  “First time was in the summer…”

  I went through the motions and tried not to listen to my own voice as I recalled every painstaking and humiliating detail. I laid everything out on the open floor darting my eyes between the jury, my lawyer, and the judge. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be talking to because everyone seemed to be listening.

  My lips started to tremble and bounce so furiously when I tried to say the word penis that my lawyer asked if I needed a break. Instead I washed my face in my own tears and gritted my teeth when I was done explaining.

  Rob nodded and
hung his head for me. “No further questions, your honor.”

  The defense lawyer wasted no time. Her black heels paraded across the floor as she bolted out her first question. “Brooke, isn’t it true that you were angry at your father for not buying you a car?”

  “A car?” I didn’t mean to repeat her, but the question was so out of left field I wasn’t sure I heard her right.

  “Yes, a car. Isn’t it true you were angry because he wouldn’t buy you a car when you got your license?”

  “No.”

  “No?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Do you recall an argument, the summer you claim you were raped, where your mom wanted to put a car on your fathers insurance?”

  “Yea, I think so.”

  “So you admit there was an argument?”

  “Yea, but not from me. From my mom. I knew my dad couldn’t buy me a car, so when I got my own my mom put me on their insurance. It was easier and I just paid her the money.”

  My answers clearly were not going in the direction she wanted them to so she changed lanes. “You mentioned before that you were an honor roll student in high school, is that correct?”

  “Yes. I was.”

  “Your Honor, I’d like to present the witness with records from the high school.”

  The judge nodded. “Proceed.”

  She whisked a piece of paper in front of me. It looked like the report cards we would get when I was in high school.

  “Brooke the highlighted section of those grades correlates with the dates you claim to have been raped. Could you please read off the grades to the jury?”

  I moved my finger across the page. “98, 96, 99, 92.”

  “Those grades would qualify you for distinguished honor roll, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Brooke please tell the jury when you started your first menstrual cycle.”

  I could feel the heat in my face flare up as my lawyer shouted out. “Objection, your Honor.”

  “Sustained. Next question Miss Lourdes.”

  “The night of the second incident which you claim you were raped, isn’t it true you had an argument about sleeping at your boyfriend’s house?”

  “I wanted to sleep there, yea.” I felt like she was backing me into a corner, trying to unleash a motive I couldn’t understand.

  “So you were mad at your father for not letting you sleep at your boyfriend’s house, and you coincidentally were raped that night?”

  “No. It’s not like that-”

  She held up a hand. “Simple yes or no will suffice.”

  Panic rose in my chest. This lady was trying to make it seem like I was a pissed off materialistic teenager with daddy issues. Her next question didn’t skip a beat.

  “Do you recall when social services came to your school to talk to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they tell you that anything you said would be confidential?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “And what did you tell them, when they asked if your father ever did anything sexually inappropriate with you?”

  “I told them I had a dream he did.”

  “Thank you. No further questions your Honor.”

  Once again I panicked, she never even asked me to explain why I said they were dreams. I cringed at how easy it was for them to twist answers to fit what they were looking for.

  Rob stood up at the redirect. “Brooke, please explain to the jury why you told social services they were dreams.”

  “I was scared, I never told anyone before. I thought they would put us in foster care.”

  “Did they tell you they would keep your conversation confidential?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did social services send to your house two days later?”

  “A letter, saying I told them about the dreams I had, and everything else I told them.”

  “Not very confidential was it?”

  “No.”

  “And didn’t Mr. Nolan confront you about the letter that was sent home?”

  “Yes.”

  Rob looked up at the jury and held up his hands as if to say Good thing she didn’t tell them she was being raped, huh? “No further questions at this time.”

  When I was told I could step down my legs threatened to melt into puddles beneath me. Tunnel vision masked my way out and the jury fell behind me in a blur. By the time I pushed open the white door my eyes were so blurry I reached out to the first person who grabbed me and hysterically fell to the floor.

  ***

  Mom testified next. I curled up on one of the hard wooden chairs next to Gina and put my head on her shoulder. I remembered what Heather told me about my mom’s testimony. “We can’t paint the picture that she knew there was abuse in the house.”

  “But she did know,” I insisted. “She was just in the other room when Dad would throw someone against a wall or go tearing after us up the stairs. Maybe she can say she didn’t know about the sexual abuse, but she had to know about the physical abuse.”

  “We can’t use it. If we paint it like she knew, they would deem her an unfit mother or accomplice. Your siblings would be pulled from the house, I could guarantee it.”

  “So what can she testify to?”

  “Your father’s temper, your relationship with him, things like that. The fact that she’s disabled helps. It shows she couldn’t intervene even if she wanted to.”

  “What about Gina?”

  “She’s a star witness. You called her to pick you up from school the day after, remember? We have school records of the time you left, and we have her as a witness that you could barely walk up the stairs when she brought you home. Plus she’s seen your fathers temper first hand, as an outsider, when she would drop you off.”

  “And my mom’s friend Ellen, what can she say?”

  “David called her right after you guys fled to New York. He said on the phone ‘Brooke must have said’ then hung up. It’s very incriminating that he pinpointed you as someone who said something when he didn’t even know what was going on yet or where anyone was.”

  “My Aunt Jean. She was the one I told first, when I went to New York, so she’s going to testify about what I told her?”

  “Exactly. And how you acted when you were there, your demeanor, that kind of thing.” Heather nodded. “I know I said it would be an uphill battle, because we have no DNA, no witness that was right there in the room with you, it’s your word against his.” She closed a file that was sitting on her desk. “But you have a damn good voice, and we’re gonna make it sing.”

  Evidence was presented for two days before both lawyers made their closing statements to the jury. Rob met us upstairs when he was finished and the jury had been given their instructions. Throbbing pulses raced through my temple and I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I fought to stay awake. Rob checked his watch. “Now, we wait. Anyone hungry? There’s a pub on the corner.”

  I ordered a sandwich just to have something in front of me since everyone was concerned about me not eating. There was no way I could stomach food right now, and it made it easier to listen to Rob talk to Heather as I pretended to eat.

  “I hope they have an answer soon,” said Mom.

  “We don’t want them to call us back too early, it’s not a good sign.” He whispered and munched on a chip. “Short deliberations usually come back with an innocent verdict. It’s the lengthy jury deliberations that have the guilty verdicts. It takes them longer to justify sending a man to jail then it does to set them free.” Heather nodded in agreement.

  Rob’s cell phone rang just as we paid. His raised his eyes in surprise and flipped his phone shut. “The jury is back. Verdict is in.” I checked my phone. The jury had only been deliberating for three hours.

  Everyone was allowed in the courtroom when they read the verdict and I sat between Mom and Gina. Heather and Rob stood in front of us and mumbled whispers continued until the jury filed into the courtroom. Two women in particular stared a
t me without blinking for several long seconds. They didn’t smile or offer any signs of encouragement. Gina squeezed my hand. “This is it,” she said when the judge walked in.

  The judge never smiled or looked up. She moved her cloak over her chair and shifted papers around on her bench.

  “Has the jury come to a unanimous decision?”

  The foreman of the jury stood up. She towered above the podium and I thought she looked professional in her blue skirt. I targeted the piece of paper floating in her hand that revealed what twelve people thought should happen to a man they didn’t even know. “We have your honor,” she said.

  Her focus remained on the judge, and never once lingered to Earl sitting only a few feet from the jurors. His focus remained on his thumbs. The tipstaff handed the paper to the judge and she looked it over. After a minute’s pause she looked at the foreman.“And you’re sure that the jury has made every reasonable attempt to reach its verdict?”

  “We have your Honor.” The foreman, for the first time, looked at me.

  “Very well. It is with great regret that I inform the court that the jury has remained deadlocked and issues a verdict of a hung jury. Unable to agree upon a verdict after an extended period of deliberation and unable to change its votes due to severe differences of opinion, it is issued from this court that the trial be classified as a mistrial and any re-trial will be done at the discretion of the plaintiff.”

  While the judge thanked the jury for their time and gave them their dismissal instructions, Heather and Gina rushed me from the room. I couldn’t see through the tears and even though I didn’t completely understand what had happened, I knew they didn’t say guilty, and for me it meant my world was ending.

  “We’ll do it again, we’ll just have to come back at them again. It’s okay Brooke, we’ll do it again if we have to.” Gina tried to wipe the mascara running down her face.

  Heather lead me into her office. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It means the jury couldn’t come to a decision, so we’ll re-group, patch any holes, and next time…”