by Jana Janeway
She snorted a laugh, almost scoffing. “Have them ready for your consideration?”
“Yep! If you think I’m going to be okay with you naming our son Dandelion, or some other ridiculous thing like that—”
His playful, joking rant was interrupted when both Jessica and Jeramey busted up laughing.
“Dandelion?” Her mirth subsiding, she huffed as if offended. “I don’t know which is more insulting, you thinking I’d name our child after a weed, or you thinking I need your permission to do so.”
She was teasing him, her fear forgotten for the moment. Wanting that moment to last for as long as possible, he continued their bantering.
“You don’t need my permission, but I’d like to think I’ll get some say in what we name him.”
“Or her,” she corrected, “and of course you’ll get a say.”
“Craddock?” Jeramey, looking remorseful, tapped his watch. It was almost time to head inside.
Dreading the response he knew was coming, he sighed heavily. “Baby, I gotta go.” He could almost feel her mood plummeting through the phone. Desperate to stop it, he kept with the lighter tone he had been using. “Ten names, five boys, five girls, no dandelions.”
She snorted, but it wasn’t the same as before. It was closer to a sniffle. “Just so you know, if something happens to you, if you don’t come back, I’m naming our child Dandelion just to spite you.”
He laughed, in relief as much as in amusement. Of course she was still worried, but maybe it wouldn’t overwhelm her to the point of collapse. It was the best he could hope for, under the circumstances.
“Since I’m coming back, I’m not at all worried about your threat. And I love you, Jess.”
“I love you, too. Please, be safe.”
She was crying now; softly, but he could hear it in her voice.
“I’m safe, baby, I promise.”
Another pause; she was composing herself, Craddock realized. He waited patiently for her to do so.
“You’ll have to say goodbye and hang up. I don’t think I can.”
It wouldn’t be easy for him to do so, either, but he kept that from notice; he pitched his response with a careful blend of compassion and casualness. “What’s that saying? It’s not goodbye, it’s see you later? So… I’ll see ya later, okay?”
She only made a little “mm-hmm” sound in the affirmative. And then Jeramey tapped his watch again. In the distance, he could see a small crowd of people making their way inside the mansion. They had opened the doors.
Craddock gripped the phone tighter, channeling his tangled emotions into that action so that he wouldn’t give himself away. “They’re letting everyone in now, so I gotta go. Love you. So much.”
And with that he ended the call.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Craddock offloaded everything from his pockets into the little basket, a bit overwhelmed by the process of checking in.
He’d been through metal detectors before, but after being given the all clear, his belongings were always returned to him. Here, because of tightened security and policies on sequestering until after the verdict was read, all property on their person had to be checked and stored with the guards.
Having no choice but to trust that his personal effects would be safe, he collected his lockbox key and identifying number, moving quickly to catch up with Marcy, Jeramey, and Wade, who were already being assigned their rooms at the next guard station.
“Mandatory two to a room. If you don’t have someone already to bunk with, you’ll be put in the drawing.”
Wade spun around, seeing Craddock and waving him over. “Hey, you want to bunk together? Otherwise, it’s the luck of the draw.”
Unopposed, Craddock shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”
The guard returned his attention to the computer screen. “Name and number?”
“Craddock Daniels.” Lifting his paper, he read from it. “Six-two-seven-seven-nine.”
After typing for a few moments, the guard spouted, “Wade Cosker, Craddock Daniels, hall B, room four. Next!”
Wade nudged Craddock forward. “Thanks, man. Didn’t want to take a chance on who I’d get stuck with.”
The thought of that wasn’t appealing to Craddock, either. Nodding, he led the way to the next station, just as Marcy and Jeramey were leaving it.
“Name?” the female guard asked him. When he told her, she paused to stare at him before dropping her eyes to the papers on the clipboard she held. “Daniels, witness for the plaintiff, to the right. Next, please.”
Wade stepped up, silently requesting Craddock wait for him by giving his upper arm a tap with the back of his hand. He was given the same spiel and dismissal after stating his name, as expected.
“Your reputation precedes you.”
In response to Wade’s whispered comment, Craddock arched an eyebrow as they both walked towards the hall that Marcy and Jeramey had just disappeared into.
“That’s why she was staring.”
Surprised, Craddock stopped in his tracks, earning him another directional nudge.
“You’re just as famous as Jessica,” Wade explained. “Everyone here knows who you are.”
As unsettling as that was, Craddock didn’t have time to dwell on it. The guard standing sentinel at the mouth of the hallway was an intense, no nonsense hulk of a man. Intimidating.
“No talking once you enter,” the man reminded them, repeating what had already been announced at the start of check in. “Take your seat and wait to be called.”
During one of the many meetings in Idyllwild, protocols were discussed for the benefit of those who had never attended a hearing before, so Craddock wasn’t surprised by the information. He still considered it odd, though, not that he would voice those thoughts aloud. He simply nodded instead, moving with Wade at his side to one of the many bench seats that lined the long corridor.
The muted sounds of activity outside the hallway could still be heard, but otherwise it was eerily silent, save the occasional cough, or the guard reciting the rules to someone new upon them entering.
Then there was nothing to do but wait in the suffocating awkwardness. Marcy had said that the mandatory silence was partly for the sake of keeping the peace, but mostly it was a head game, to put those in attendance in a proper frame of mind.
He glanced over at her, to his right, but she was already in agent mode, stiff and serious and preparing for battle. Jeramey looked like he was napping, his eyes closed, head back against the wall behind them. Wade seemed at ease, too. Taking his cue from the guys, Craddock tried to relax as well. Not so easy to do, with the tension as high as it was.
Nearly twenty minutes later, the door at the end of the hall opened, a man stepping out, clipboard in hand. “Elsa Craig.”
As she stood, Craddock caught the poignant look that passed between her and Kiffen. It was starting.
One by one, as names were called, the bench seats emptied. At first, the names were called quickly; they were the ones who would remain in the courtroom for the duration of the hearing. Among them were Kiffen, Marcy, Jeramey, and Wade. After that, it was nearly thirty minutes between one name to the next.
Two hours later – two hours of nervous thoughts, of mentally going over his testimony and missing Jessica – Craddock’s name was finally called.
Entering the sparsely furnished room, the man shut the door before gesturing to one of the two chairs that sat in the middle of it. As Craddock took his, the man took the other.
“Craddock Daniels, born Matthew Fisher, currently Alexander Wilson?”
Craddock nodded. “Yes sir.”
“No ‘sir’ is required. And you prefer to go by Craddock Daniels?”
“Yes.”
“Noted.” The man marked the page in front of him, then moved it to the back of the stack. “Do you, Craddock Daniels, swear under penalty of perjury, that the testimony you give today in these proceedings will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
“Yes.”
“We received your affidavit before today’s date; please verify that this is yours – that this is your signature at the bottom.”
Craddock took the stapled papers being handed to him, thumbing through. He recognized them, and his signature. “Yes, it is.”
Taking the document back from him, the man asked, “At any time, did you feel threatened, or were you in any way coerced into making the statements held within this affidavit?”
Craddock shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“And you’re here today of your own free will?”
“Yes.”
“The twelve in chairs have read your statement. You will not be asked to recite it. You will be asked questions to fill in any gaps, or for clarification, by the director, the representative for the plaintiff, and the representative for the defendant. You are not on trial, but a witness. It is within your rights to refuse to answer any question posed. You are to be respectful at all times; it is not necessary to raise your voice or use foul language. Do you understand all that I have explained to you?”
The rapid-fire fashion in which the man delivered his spiel made it obvious that he had said those very words a million times before. Taken aback, Craddock only nodded at first, clearing his throat before answering. “Yes, I understand.”
“Do you have any questions, before I hand you off to the bailiff?”
Craddock felt like he had a dozen, at least – his head was splitting with them – but he couldn’t voice a single one, too overwhelmed for them to even form within his thoughts.
It was as if he was in the middle of a courtroom drama, though the stakes were considerably higher than an innocent or guilty verdict.
According to Pardaze Ahme, his and Jessica’s story alone held the weight of about half their case against the Registry. It was a lot of pressure, and it was resting heavily upon his shoulders.
Shaking his head, he answered, “No, I don’t think so.”
It was then that the man finally gave him his actual attention. “You’ll do fine, Mr. Daniels. Relax.”
Craddock dropped his gaze to his lap, nervously wiping his palms against his slacks. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” he admitted.
The guy chuckled a little. “Obviously. But it’s not like what you see on TV. There won’t be some sudden Jack Nicholson-esque outburst. You’ll answer their questions, and then you’ll be asked to wait in the lounge until the end of session.”
His throat suddenly dry, Craddock swallowed harshly. “There’s just so much riding on this. My testimony.”
He had no idea why he was confiding in this man, but he was nervous, and those he trusted, who he considered friends, were unavailable.
“You’ll do fine,” the man repeated, standing.
Assuming that was the end of their conversation, Craddock stood as well, following him, but he didn’t go to the door as expected. Instead, he went to a mini-fridge in the corner of the room, where he grabbed a bottle of water that he then handed over to him.
“It’s cliche,” he said, “but you know the saying, the truth will prevail.”
There was something significant about the way he’d said that, Craddock noted. In the way he now stared at him, pointedly.
Of course he wouldn’t say it out loud – they were probably being recorded, and it was his job to remain neutral – but it seemed that this guy was on the side of the plaintiff. At least, that was what Craddock deduced from their odd stare-off.
Giving an upnod of acknowledgment, Craddock twisted the cap off his bottle, averting his eyes as he took a long drink. Water had never tasted so good before.
“You can take that with you.” The man gestured towards the second door, on the opposite wall from the one he’d entered through. “Ready?”
He wasn’t, but he knew he couldn’t say that. Steeling his nerves, he bobbed his head, once only.
The bailiff was an older man, small in stature but weathered and buff.
“Craddock Daniels?”
“Yes sir.”
The guy ‘hmphed’, jerking his head in the direction of the corridor to the left. “This way.”
Craddock glanced back at the man he was leaving before following the obviously annoyed officer, his anxiety climbing as they approached the large double doors at the end of the hall.
“They’ll call for you shortly. Wait here till they do.”
Left alone, or as alone as the length of the hallway allowed, Craddock shifted his weight from one leg to the other, examining the facets of the marble flooring beneath his feet. Luckily, he only had to wait for a little more than a minute.
When the door opened, he could hear murmuring from just beyond it. The woman standing in front of him smiled.
“They’re ready for you, Mr. Daniels.”
Shuffling his way inside, timidly, his eyes swept the room, catching with Marcy’s where she sat at a long table alongside Jeramey, Wade, Elsa, and Kiffen. He tried to get a read on her mood, but her expression was void of emotion. There wasn’t time to attempt the same with the others.
“Mr. Daniels, come in, son.”
His head whipped to the right, his gaze landing on the man who had addressed him. Horace Rathbone, but he only knew that because of the nameplate in front of him. His demeanor was pleasant but businesslike.
The smiling woman led him to the witness stand – a small booth with a single chair inside of it – and gestured for him to take his seat.
“Nervous?” Horace asked, once Craddock had settled in as best he could; it was hard to get comfortable, given the situation.
Raising his eyes to meet Horace’s, Craddock nodded.
“No need, no need.” Horace picked up the papers in front of him, tapping the stack against the table to straighten them. “How’s Jessica?”
The casual, almost friendly manner in which the question was asked surprised him. “Um, fine, sir. Still recovering.”
“Yes, yes, recovering…” Horace flipped aside a few of the pages in Craddock’s affidavit, his finger scanning across the words, “from the gunshot wound she sustained while fleeing the Westport, Connecticut Registry office. A bit Mission Impossible, it seems.”
It wasn’t a question, so Craddock wasn’t sure if he should answer. He did anyway. “Yes sir.”
“You say here that one of the guards in the lobby helped you. You didn’t catch his name?”
“No sir.”
“He wasn’t wearing his name badge?”
Craddock glanced at Marcy. “Um, maybe? I kept my distance, because my makeup wasn’t believable close up.”
“But you were able to catch the name of the man you claim shot your wife?”
The question would have seemed antagonistic, except the tone he’d used was not.
“The guard who helped us said his name,” Craddock answered.
Horace hummed in response, jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad that sat just off to the side. “Okay, son, let’s back up a bit. You say that five Purists entered Jessica’s apartment back in New York; did they identify themselves to you as Purists?”
He was sure his answer would be detrimental to their case, but he wasn’t about to lie. “No sir. We just assumed.”
The woman sitting next to Horace passed him a slip of paper, which he read silently before asking his next question. “Why did you go with them, to what they referred to as their headquarters?”
“We didn’t feel we had a choice.”
“Did they threaten you? Brandish any weapons?”
“No sir. But they were… intimidating. And there were five of them, and only four of us.”
Horace steadily moved on. “At the rock quarry, you state that Liam Becket arrived with a handful of agents, which stopped your execution. Had you ever met Liam Becket before?”
“No sir.”
“Seen a picture of him?”
“No sir.”
“Then how did you know it was him?”
Craddock tried not to look in the direction of the defendant’s table, where Liam was seated with four others, but his eyes cut towards him, anyway, despite the effort. “The man he was talking to, who he called Carter, said his name. Both Liam and Becket, a few different times.”
“And do you see the man you believed to be Liam Becket in this courtroom today?”
With the question, Craddock looked right at the individual responsible for his chaotic life, almost defiantly. “Yes sir.”
“Point him out for me, son.”
He figured Horace didn’t mean that literally, so he described his position instead. “He’s sitting at the table to the left, the defendant’s table, second one in from the right. Wearing the blue suit.”
“That’s fine, son. Thank you. Now let’s jump ahead, to your year spent in the house arranged for you by the Registry, in Abdonville, California. You state that…” He shuffled through the pages, looking for the passage. When he found it, he read directly from it. “‘After about three months, it started feeling more like we were prisoners. We weren’t allowed to get jobs, so anything we needed or wanted had to come from them.’ Meaning the Registry,” he clarified. “‘We had to put in requests for everything, even just a little pocket change, so that we could buy some things ourselves – things Jessica was embarrassed to ask them for.’” His eyes left the paper, finding Craddock’s. “What things was she embarrassed to ask for?”
Craddock cleared his throat. “Feminine products, for one. More recently,” he glanced at the defendant’s table, “a pregnancy test.”
“And did they give you the money you requested?”
“Not always, and they always asked for a detailed list of what we planned to buy with it, which sort of defeats the purpose.”
Horace chuckled low in his throat. “I suppose it does. Did they give you the money for the pregnancy test?”
Craddock shook his head. “No sir.”
“Then how did you buy it? Presuming you did, since you state later in your affidavit that Jessica took a home pregnancy test to confirm she was with child.”
