Brother to Brother: The Sacred Brotherhood Book I

by A. J. Downey

  “How are you doing?” Carina asked.

  “Ready to fall apart at any second,” I said honestly.

  “Don’t be, we’re on your side and good news, we pulled Judge Mathers.”

  “Why is that good?” Archer asked.

  “Judge Mathers is a straight shooter and has a very low tolerance for bull pucky. I think that will definitely work in your favor.”

  Archer looked down at Carina with a faint, amused, smile on his lips, “Bull pucky?” he asked.

  “Ohhh! You know what I mean,” she swatted him lightly in the arm and they both laughed and I just wanted to scream at them. This is not funny! How can you both be so blasé about this!? They’re trying to take our son away from us!

  I didn’t though, I simply held myself rigid and as stoic as I could imagine, because if I opened my mouth, I really was going to start screaming and I wasn’t going to be able to stop.

  “There he is! Hi Noah!” I stiffened and turned slowly, a man I didn’t know stepping between my mother and my son, putting a hand up.

  “That’s far enough,” he stated, “You’ll be able to see him pending the result of the hearing, and that’s if his parents permit you to see him.”

  “Who are you?” my mother demanded coldly, “That is my grandson!”

  I took a step forward, incendiary rage building and threatening to spill from my mouth, but Archer stepped in front of me, a wall of muscle in his off-putting suit; he looked down at me, eyes solemn and murmured, “Easy, Baby. Don’t let ‘em rile you up. Not now; now is the worst possible time to lose your shit and show your ass.”

  I nodded, and breathed slowly, in through my nose and out through my mouth, tuning back into what the man was saying to my mother.

  “…name is Jonathon McNulty and I’m your daughter’s attorney.”

  “Here, Logan. It’s about time we went inside, I’ll take Noah for the time being,” Carina said to Rush, and Rush nodded grimly and handed Noah over to her while Phillip, my stepfather, was reading into my lawyer about what an awful, godless mother I’d been to Noah. How I’d never been home after he’d been born, and how he and my poor mother had done the Christian thing, and had cared for my son when it’d become obvious that I had had no interest.

  I was so angry I couldn’t speak, and I could tell my lawyer was non-plussed by what they had to say, even Carina was looking at Phil like he was off his nut, behind his and my mother’s backs as she went up the steps. Noah was looking at Phil as if he were troubled, and I wondered if he remembered my stepfather. If he remembered the yelling, and screaming, and the threats…

  I closed my eyes and drew strength from Archer, and did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I kept my mouth shut, and walked past my parents as if they weren’t even there. I kept my mouth shut, when what I really wanted to do was burn down their whole world around them.

  We filed into the hearing room and the first three rows of Archer and my side of the hearing room was packed; which made my parents exchange a look when it was just them, and one or two people from Phil’s congregation, just as stringent and hateful as the man himself behind them.

  I stood beside Archer, our hands entwined, as he introduced me to Mr. McNulty, the family lawyer that he’d hired.

  “We have Judge Mathers, that’s good,” he assured me. “Just stay calm, and keep looking like a deer in the headlights, Mrs. Turner.” I felt my eyes widen and Archer suppress a chuckle, and again I suppressed the urge to just scream at them. I’d never experienced anxiety like this before in my life. Never, ever.

  I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted before I even had the chance to get started when the courtroom clerk said loudly, “All rise!”

  I faced forward as an older gentleman in stately black robes appeared from a doorway in the back.

  “The honorable Judge James Mathers now presiding.”

  The older man sat creakily into the big leather chair behind the court bench and banged his gavel, “Sit down, the lot of you,” he ordered and sounded annoyed. I sank into my seat, my hand automatically groping for Archer’s. He gripped it and I felt my heart go into my throat.

  “Not very often I preside over cases quite like this,” the Judge drawled, polishing his glasses on the sleeve of his robe before putting them back on, “and I have to say, after reading through everything presented, I am most heartily disturbed.”

  I felt my heart sink, and saw my mother and Phillip sit up straighter in their seats. The Judge’s mouth set into a thin line as he looked from my side to my parent’s side. He looked over to the little box off to the side of the older courtroom where Carina Washington sat bouncing Noah. The Judge smiled fondly over at my son and I felt some of the tension in my chest ease. The very real, very kind look that he bestowed on my son telling me silently, that this man did, indeed, have my child’s best interest at heart.

  “I’m not usually one to drag things out unnecessarily in here, but I am curious, so I would like to hear character witnesses, starting with you,” he said indicating my mother and step-father’s lawyer. Phillip was, of course, called up first.

  He had a lot to say about how difficult I’d been in high school. How I’d been caught skipping class, sneaking out, and how the one time I’d been dragged out of a party drunk and reeking of marijuana when I was seventeen, which was ten years ago. He went on to say about how reckless I was, getting pregnant in the first place and by a biker and felon, no less.

  I sat biting my lips together, eyes glued to the Judge who had his glasses perched on the end of his nose, holding a file out in front of him, scanning what was written there, half listening to what Phil was saying. He dropped the file flat to his desk and peered down his nose at me.

  “Mrs. Turner,” he said.

  “Yes?” I asked and my attorney gave me a gentle shove. I got to my feet, awkwardly, and felt like I was gonna faint.

  “Now I know I’m not supposed to ask a lady her age, but how old are you ma’am?” I blinked.

  “I just turned twenty-eight this last April,” I said.

  “Twenty-eight,” he said thoughtfully, nodding to himself. He turned to say something to Phil, and turned back to me, “You can sit down now,” he said and I dropped like a stone.

  “Do you think you can get to anything she’s done lately, sir? I do believe I said I don’t like dragging things out unnecessarily.”

  Phillip stammered, and a lot of what he had to say after that was just so unfair that it was just about everything in my power to stay seated and keep my mouth shut. I gripped Archer’s hand under the table and was squeezing it so hard my knuckles were mottled red and white. He didn’t protest, or pull his hand away, he simply endured my panicked GI Jane Kung Fu grip in silence as if nothing at all were amiss.

  The Judge listened to everything Phillip, my mother, and her cronies had to say and sat back, fingers set in a steeple in front of him.

  “Right, okay, Mr. McNulty, I think I’d like to hear from your character witnesses now.”

  “Of course, is there anyone in particular that you’d like to begin with, Your Honor?”

  “You said the child’s current physician is on your roster?”

  “Yes Judge.”

  “Let’s start there,” the Judge leaned back and Doc went up and was sworn in.

  “When did you first meet Noah Beswick?” the Judge asked.

  “He was brought into my emergency room with a minor head laceration,” Doc answered and the courtroom on my parent’s side broke out into murmurs. It was like every bad courtroom television drama and I felt my gorge rise.

  “What did Mrs. Turner say happened?”

  “She was in her kitchen making dinner, and Noah was running through the apartment they lived in at the time, she was tending hot food on the stove and before she could get to him, Noah tripped and his head hit the sharp corner on the strike plate of her bedroom doorway. You know, the thing that the little tab on the doorknob’s side fits into.”

>   “I know what a strike plate is,” the Judge grumbled. “Thanks for explaining anyway. How bad was the injury?”

  “It required two stitches.”

  More murmurs and I was terrified that as well-meaning as Doc was, he was making the situation worse and not better. I started to pray.

  “And you don’t consider stitches serious?” the Judge asked, scribbling notes.

  “No, not in my line of work.”

  “Fair enough. How was Mrs. Turner behaving?”

  “Honestly, she was a right mess. Crying, scared for her son, and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was frazzled, like any good mother would be.”

  “Objection,” the lawyer on my parent’s side stood up. “The doctor can’t judge whether or not someone is a good parent based on one emergency room visit, let alone one where the child was clearly injured due to his mother’s negligence.”

  “Well now,” the Judge said, tapping his name plate on the desk, “I do believe I will be the judge of that. Mrs. Turner?”

  I stood up, “Yes, Your Honor?”

  “Were you being negligent on the day in question?”

  “I… I honestly don’t think so, Judge. I was home alone with Noah and trying to make sure he had dinner. I told him to stop running, but how do you get a one and a half year old who is excited, laughing, and having a good time to stop doing something that makes them happy?”

  The Judge huffed a laugh, “I’m not the one whose parenting is being called into question.” Ouch. God damn it Melody. “I’ll assume you were being rhetorical though, and answer your question, and the answer is: you don’t.” I nodded and he gave me a nod indicating I should sit down.

  “You didn’t report the incident as abuse or negligence, did you doctor?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because, in my professional medical opinion, there was no negligence or abuse. Mrs. Turner, who at that time was Ms. Beswick, was beside herself and completely distraught. That’s not how an abuser, or negligent mother acts.”

  “And what do you base that opinion on?” the Judge asked.

  “Over thirty-three years of being a medical professional, fifteen of which have been spent in one of the area’s busiest emergency departments; I’ve seen a lot of negligence and abuse cases in that time, and I can tell you right now, Melody Turner’s case wasn’t one of ‘em.”

  “Okay, thank you. I think I’ve heard everything I need to. Mr. McNulty, who’s your next witness?”

  “Carina Washington.”

  The Judge looked over to where Ms. Washington held my son who’d fallen asleep and said, “Well, I don’t see a problem with you giving your testimony from right there, Ms. Washington. I’ve had you in my courtroom before, why don’t you tell me how you became involved in this.”

  “Your Honor, my office, the department of children’s health services, received a call from the plaintiffs in this matter stating that Noah Beswick had been kidnapped from their care and was currently with his mother, Melody Beswick, who was supposedly negligent, abusive, and according to the call, a substance abuser.”

  “And you went to investigate I imagine?”

  “I did.”

  “And for the record, what did you find?”

  “I found Ms. Beswick and her son moving out of a one bedroom apartment that very day. Ms. Beswick informed me that she was now Mrs. Turner, and not only offered to take any drug tests we asked for, but asked me if I would like to see the home that she and Mr. Turner were moving their son Noah –”

  My mother got up shrieking, “My grandson is not that man’s son! That boy’s father died! How dare you, madam!”

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  The Judge banged his gavel and glared at my mother, “How dare you, madam. Sit down! Mr. Price, one more outburst like that from your client, I’ll hold her in contempt. Do I make myself clear?”

  My parent’s lawyer stood up hastily, “Understood, Judge. My apologies to you and the court.”

  He sat down and started whispering furiously to my mother who practically wailed into my stepfather’s shoulder. Archer gave my hand a squeeze as Phil just glared at me like this was somehow all my fault. My mind, not for the first time, was absolutely boggled.

  “You were saying Ms. Washington?” the Judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor, as I was saying, I took them up on their offer and I have to say I was suitably impressed. Not only had they completely baby proofed the house by having child locks on every cabinet, they also had socket covers installed in every electrical outlet. The boy’s uncle, Logan Fisher, had even constructed a rather impressive race car shaped bed from one solid piece of wood citing that there would be no nails or screws for the child to become injured by, nor were there any parts of the bed joined together to pinch little fingers or toes.”

  “Ha,” the Judge said in disbelief, “Now that’s dedication.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. There should be photos included in that report of the steep measures taken to keep Noah safe in the home. Quite frankly, I wish every household adhered to the same example.”

  The Judge swept through the files in front of him and took long moments pondering over both notes and photographs.

  “So I take it you found the allegations the plaintiffs alleged to be false in one visit?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, however, to be safe I asked Mr. and Mrs. Turner for a return visit inside a three month window.”

  “And how did they respond?”

  “Favorably, Your Honor, they invited me to come into their home whenever I liked.”

  “That’s different,” the Judge muttered.

  “Agreed, Judge.”

  “And you made a return visit?”

  “I did, Judge.”

  “And how were things then?”

  “Much the same if not further improved, Judge. Mr. and Mrs. Turner maintain a beautiful home, and I found Noah to be one healthy and very happy little boy.”

  “You have anything you’d like to add, then Ms. Washington?”

  “Yes, Judge. In all my time as a social worker in this county, I’ve never seen anything quite like this. I truly believe that the plaintiffs in this case are using the system to terrorize Mrs. Turner with the threat of taking her child away as a form of some kind of twisted punishment because Mrs. Turner doesn’t hold the same family views as the plaintiffs. I see absolutely nothing wrong with how Mrs. Turner is raising her child, and I feel sick watching the fear and agony she has had to go through as a result of this debacle.”

  “Alright, thank you, Ms. Washington.”

  “You’re welcome, Judge.”

  The Judge sat back and I swear, I felt the first ray of hope peeking through the clouds since I first took Noah and ran from Arizona. He turned to my lawyer and said, “I think I might like to hear from Mrs. Turner herself, now,” his steely gaze shifted to me, “Mrs. Turner, would you come up here please?”

  I rose, shaky, and with feet that felt like lead, I plodded to the witness box, and climbed the two steps. I woodenly went through the motions of swearing in and what have you and sank into the chair, focusing on Archer and studiously ignoring my parents. I was giving it everything I had just trying not to hyperventilate.

  “Mrs. Turner, why did you leave your parent’s house?” he asked me, “Why did you pick up in the middle of the night and drive all the way here, across several states, without having any assurance that you’d have a place here for you when you got here?”

  I looked over to my sleeping boy and the fractured ache in the center of my chest throbbed anew, “Because I could see it,” I said and sniffed, unable to stop the tears from slipping free. I looked up at the Judge, and said, “Because they were killing my little boy’s spirit just like they did mine and he wasn’t even out of diapers yet. He still isn’t. Because I realized the longer that we stayed there, the more they would just keep emotionally beating me down and keep stripping my little boy’s sparkle
and shine away.”

  “Was there something specific that happened to make you leave?”

  “Phillip hit me, in front of Noah. It was bad enough they were screaming at me in front of my son, but when he back handed me, I was done. I didn’t want my son raised in an environment where he thought that that was okay or normal. I want my son to grow up to be like his father now, like Archer – excuse me, Charles Turner, my husband.”

  Archer’s look softened as he gazed at me from across the room and I sighed. The Judge asked me a lot of questions, and I told him everything. About how I’d been trying to save money. About how my parents kept changing the rules mid-game and how it was impossible to keep up. I told him how I’d brought Noah into this world alone, and how I realized that if I could do that, that I could take care of him myself too.

  I told him about how when I arrived, it was to find out Noah’s biological father had died. I told him the truth, all of it, and then I tearfully begged him not to give those monsters my baby.

  The Judge thanked me quietly and let me get up to go back to my seat. When I got there, Archer stood and pulled me in tight, kissing the top of my head while I bawled all my bitterness and fear onto his nice but so-wrong-on-him suit. He got me into my seat and rocked me back and forth while the Judge called a recess to deliberate.

  It took me the whole fifteen to twenty minutes to calm down and get ready to hear his decision. When he came back, it was with a grim expression on his face. He sat down and waved all of us down to sit, too. I sank into my chair and watched him.

  He scoffed and took off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes and then the rest of his face. He sighed before saying, “I’ve been in family law for almost fifty years, and I’ve been sitting on this bench for more than thirty-five of ‘em and I have never seen anything come across my desk like this right here.”

  He looked over at my parent’s table and leaned heavily on his bench in their direction, “First off, your case for kidnapping has no legal standing whatsoever as your daughter is your grandson’s custodial parent. Always has been, and to put her mind at ease, I’m telling you right now, she always will be.” I sagged into Archer, the wind sucked clear from my lungs, gasping to reclaim it.