The Burden

by Andre Gonzalez

“Thank you for meeting with me today, Mr. and Mrs. Heston,” Linda said as they all sat in her office. Both Robert and Arlene had dark circles under their eyes. Linda doubted they were even aware of their appearance, and she didn’t blame them one bit. “I met with Jeremy yesterday afternoon, and I think it went well, all things considered.”

  Robert sat up straighter, curious.

  “He mentioned schizophrenia runs in your family. Is that correct?”

  Robert rubbed his white goatee, eyebrows raised in surprise. “My grandfather was schizophrenic. It’s in our family’s medical history.” He shrank back into his seat, looking disappointed.

  “I see. We’ll talk more about that in a bit. I’m curious about the last time you saw Jeremy, before all this happened?”

  Arlene’s eyes welled with tears at the question, her lips starting to quiver. “He was at our house the night before the shooting, for dinner. Last Thursday.” She couldn’t contain her tears anymore. Linda pushed her a box of tissues.

  “How was he acting?” Linda directed the question to Robert.

  “Normal. For the most part. We talked sports, talked about work. He didn’t finish his dinner, just picked at it. It seemed like something was bothering him, but he told us that he was feeling sick. We didn’t think anything of it.”

  Linda heard a waver in Robert’s voice and decided to redirect her questioning. “Tell me more about your grandfather, Mr. Heston.” She kept her tone soft and compassionate.

  “Yes,” Robert said. “My grandfather suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. We’ve rarely discussed him—I’m surprised Jeremy remembered that, to tell you the truth. But to make a long story short, my grandfather thought he lived in a different reality and acted out in strange ways.”

  “Ever violent?”

  “Not that I know of. He may have said violent things, but never actually harmed anyone, that I know of.”

  “Do you have medical records showing he was diagnosed with schizophrenia?”

  “No medical records, but I think my grandmother had him admitted into a mental institution. They would likely have records on file.”

  “I would appreciate you tracking those down for me. It may go a long way toward making sure your son is not executed.”

  Arlene, who had calmed down a little, burst out sobbing.

  “We can do that,” Robert said, patting his wife’s back. “What do you honestly see happening in this trial?”

  Linda gathered her thoughts, choosing her words carefully.

  “This is a difficult case. I won’t beat around the bush. There’s a strong chance your son will be sentenced to death. My team is going to focus on not letting that happen. If we can get sympathy from just one juror, his life will be spared. It requires a unanimous vote for someone to be sentenced to death. It’s easier said than done, but it’s possible. The last death penalty sentence was for the man who shot his coworkers at the Chuck E. Cheese in the ’90s.”

  Robert nodded and Arlene sniffled.

  “I’m going to prepare some questions for you both to answer later. Likely next week,” Linda said. “The questions will be focused on Jeremy’s childhood and upbringing. Answer as truthfully, and with as much detail, as you can. Take your time—we prefer complete, accurate responses over quick responses. This will be our first step in diagnosing your son, and will tell us where to go next with the doctors.”

  “Yes, of course,” Robert said. “Please let us know what else we can help with.”

  “Thank you, I’ll definitely be in touch. Don’t forget Jeremy’s next court date is Monday.”

  Linda shook their hands and walked them out of her office.

  * * *

  Monday, March 21, 2016

  Jeremy sat in the courtroom next to Linda. It wasn’t as packed as the initial hearing had been, but there were still a lot of people. The cameras shuttered like before, but calmed down as the judge entered and took his seat.

  “Mr. Heston, will you please stand?” Judge Zamora asked. Jeremy stood, feeling the eyes of the world on him. “Today will be fairly quick. I will read the charges being brought against you by the state, and we will schedule future hearings regarding your case.”

  Judge Zamora opened an envelope handed to him by the court clerk. He peered over the papers, flipping through them as if reading a book.

  “Mr. Heston, the state of Colorado charges you with twenty-six counts of first degree murder, forty-four counts of attempted murder, and one count of inciting violence. To be clear, the counts of first degree murder are broken into two: thirteen counts of murder with deliberation and thirteen counts of murder with extreme indifference. Mr. Heston, you have the right to a preliminary hearing within thirty-five days—do you wish to exercise this right?”

  Jeremy turned to Linda, clueless as to what this meant. She stood beside him.

  “We waive the right for a preliminary hearing, Your Honor.”

  She sat back down in a swift movement.

  “Very well. Due to the nature of this case, I presume your defense will require some time to prepare, Ms. Kennedy, so we’ll plan to reconvene here on the fifth of July for a pre-trial hearing. Please be prepared to have a plea bargain by then, should you choose. Are there any questions from counsel?”

  Linda shook her head, as did Geoff Batchelor across the aisle.

  “Court is adjourned.” The judge banged his gavel and rose from his throne.

  Chatter flooded the courtroom, cameras returned to snapping, and Linda leaned over to Jeremy and said, “This is all normal, nothing to worry about.”

  He mentally tallied the charges: seventy-one in total. Not too shabby. Three figures would have been better, but no point in being greedy at this point in the game.

  He could hear people conversing behind his back, wondering about his mental state, his motivation—and others wishing him dead. But that just reassured him: this case could change the world.

  This must be what it feels like to be a star.

  7

  Chapter 7

  Monday, March 28, 2016

  The day had come for Jeremy’s biggest test, and the biggest threat to his experiment. He would meet with Dr. William Reed, a forensic psychiatrist from Delaware, hired by the prosecution to interview Jeremy, over the course of one week, to gauge his mental state.

  Dr. Reed had worked as a forensic psychiatrist for two decades, doing work with the FBI and CIA, and on criminal cases around the world. Jeremy wouldn’t be able to bullshit his way through a week with Dr. Reed.

  Lay the groundwork. Stay insane.

  Linda had informed him that there would be two sets of interviews, with two different psychiatrists, one for the prosecution and one for the defense.

  “Just stay truthful,” she told him. “Dr. Reed is being hired to prove that you’re legally sane. Answer honestly. These interviews will be recorded and shown in court. Your answers need to be consistent with those you give to the doctor we hire later on.”

  Jeremy waited in an interrogation room, a lone light hanging above. The walls were white and a square table stood in the center, with a chair on each side. Jeremy sat in the chair that faced the door and a camera mounted on a tripod. The small space reminded him exactly of the interrogation rooms he’d seen on TV where two officers typically play the game of good cop, bad cop.

  New walls to look at is always a big day. Just stay relaxed and stick your story. NO PREMEDITATION!

  The door swung open and an old man entered. He wore a black suit with a yellow shirt and black tie. His white hair clung to the sides of his head, a few stragglers on top.

  “Hello there, Mr. Heston,” he said in a friendly voice, pushing his glasses to the top of his nose. “My name is Dr. William Reed. I don’t mind at all if you call me Bill.”

  He sat down in the chair across from Jeremy and opened a briefcase to grab a thick folder of papers.

  “Alright. We’ll be meeting every day this week for five hours. I’ll be evaluating your mental state
. The end goal is to determine your state of mind at the time of the shootings and the events leading up to that day. So I’ll ask you a question, and all you need to do is respond with your honest answer. Is that clear?”

  Jeremy nodded. Here we go. Remember, you snapped, nothing was planned. Nothing was planned. Nothing was planned. He drilled the thought into his mind, knowing one slip up could ruin his life.

  The interview dragged for hours as planned. Jeremy wanted to pluck his eyeballs after a couple of hours hearing the monotone of Dr. Reed.

  “Mr. Heston, did you have many friends as a child?” the doctor asked bluntly.

  “Yes. I’ve always had a good circle of friends.”

  “Did you have close friends at the start of 2016?” The doctor looked at Jeremy, emotionless, while a hand continued to write notes.

  “Yes. Some of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

  “When you were a child, say around age seven, did you ever have a fascination with bugs?”

  “Bugs?”

  “Yes, did you like to play with bugs outside?”

  What the fuck do bugs have to do with anything?

  “Sure, I played with bugs.”

  He quickly realized the game plan for the week. Ninety percent of Dr. Reed’s questions today focused on Jeremy’s childhood, and he didn’t once bring up the shooting. He figured the week would progress through Jeremy’s life, with Friday being the day he’d be grilled on the actions of March 11.

  What was this called? The M’Naghten test? He remembered learning about it in school, during a Forensic Psychology course.

  “Did you ever kill the bugs?”

  There it is.

  “No.”

  Jeremy responded with quick and short answers, not elaborating on anything unless the doctor asked him to. The less detailed he was, the less likely a statement could come back later to bite him in the ass.

  The doctor’s voice droned on throughout the afternoon as he weaved questions about 2016 into the plethora of childhood questions. They even shared lunch together while the process continued. Jeremy wondered what would happen if he reached over the table and tried to head-butt the uptight doctor. He would have loved to strangle him with his shackles, but those were chained to the ground. Best-case scenario if he harmed the doctor, Jeremy would spend life in prison doing work for an angry warden, counting the days till he died. The world would move on and his name would be a footnote in a long history of mental health and gun violence.

  “Thank you, Jeremy. I think today was very productive,” Dr. Reed said at the end of their first session. He stacked his papers inside the briefcase and clasped it shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow to continue. Have a good rest of your day.”

  Jeremy waited in the interrogation room for a few minutes before an officer arrived to take him back to his cell.

  His brain burned from the five hours of questions. Just a couple weeks of not using his mind and he’d already lost some of his sharpness. He’d need to mentally prepare for the rest of the week. And then Linda had mentioned more interviews would be lined up within the month. Now that he had an idea of how these interrogations flowed, he could better prepare for the upcoming days and the next doctor. He longed for a notebook to help keep his thoughts organized, but would have to make do with his trusty mind.

  He thought the first session with Dr. Reed had gone well, but he couldn’t know for sure. Jeremy’s basic knowledge of psychology paled in comparison to Dr. Reed—who would have obtained a medical doctorate after years of studying and a residency.

  Jeremy lay down for the rest of the day and slept through the dinner placed in his cell.

  8

  Chapter 8

  Monday, April 11, 2016

  Robert’s hands trembled as he held a new manila envelope. He could tell what was in it by its massive bulge. It was an unmarked envelope addressed to him, just as the last had been, and there was more money inside.

  He looked around the neighborhood and found no one in sight. He’d gotten used to being home all day and enjoying the silence while the rest of the world went to work. He had enough saved for retirement, and if money kept arriving in envelopes he just might propose to Arlene that they run off and leave all their problems behind.

  She’ll never leave Jeremy. Not without a resolution one way or the other.

  Robert had started to hate his son. He watched the news every night and surfed the internet throughout the day, to find any new information on Jeremy’s crime and trial. Even though he was the father of the defendant, he was pretty much left out of the loop, unless he placed a call to the defense attorney. Even she was pretty tight-lipped.

  The internet had plenty of resources, along with lots of opinion pieces and fake news. Robert had found a fan group that had formed on multiple social media platforms. They called themselves “Heston’s Homies” and they glorified the murders, claiming Jeremy had done the right thing, fighting back against society. These boys and girls, mostly teenagers, all but worshiped his imprisoned son.

  Some of the girls posted about writing to Jeremy, saying how much they’d love to date him, even if he was in jail. One crazed fangirl even said she wanted to have Jeremy’s baby. The whole thing made Robert choke down vomit, as he explored the group’s multiple pages and hundreds of followers.

  Once there was a verdict, whether Jeremy received a life sentence or the death penalty, they would have to leave Colorado if they were to find any sort of peace. Staying in town would be impossible; people already shot Robert dirty looks when he was out running errands. Life would never be normal for them again, in the city where they both had been born and raised.

  He went inside and sat down on the living room couch, dropping the envelope with a thud on the coffee table. “Arlene!” he shouted. “We got another envelope.”

  Arlene still spent most of her time in the bedroom watching TV, though she’d begun to eat lunch and dinner with Robert at the kitchen table. They’d even watched a movie together the week prior, though they both had trouble focusing on it.

  Arlene walked into the living room and gasped at the sight of the envelope. “How much is in it? Is there another note?” she asked, walking faster to join Robert on the couch.

  “I haven’t looked yet.” He ripped the top of the envelope open. Poking out was a letter, which he pulled out and unfolded, flattening it on his lap. It was, once again, typed.

  Dear Heston family,

  Please use the enclosed gift to help with your son’s trial. Let your defense team know you would like to hire the best available psychiatrist, Dr. Ana Brown. No one is a bigger proponent for mental health than her.

  I think your son has a real shot in this trial. Don’t give up hope.

  A friend

  Robert put the note back on the coffee table and pulled out the bundles of money. He counted fifty bundles in total: $500,000.

  “What the hell?” he said, looking at Arlene. “Who’s doing this?”

  Arlene made the sign of the cross. “I think someone is looking over our family. There’s no other explanation.”

  Robert wasn’t sure what to believe, but after receiving a total of $700,000 in the mail he felt anything was possible.

  “Do you think anyone will ask us about this?” Arlene asked. “The IRS?”

  “I have no idea. All we can do is tell them the truth if they do ask.”

  Arlene sobbed and sat back on the couch with her hands over her eyes. “What does it all mean? Are we supposed to just keep giving this mystery money to Jeremy’s legal team?”

  Robert decided he had to at least try for what he really wanted. “We could sit on the money, stash it away for later, and start a new life with it after the trial. Or we can give it to Linda, to spend on this new doctor.”

  “The person who gave it to us thinks he has a real shot. I think we need to trust them and spend the money how they say.”

  Robert had known she would say this. He gulped his response back, knowing the mon
ey would be better utilized for their future.

  “Alright then. That’s what we’ll do,” he said. “I’ll call Linda.”

  * * *

  “This keeps getting weirder,” Linda said as she sat down across from Wilbert in his office. “The Hestons want us to reach out to Ana Brown in Arizona, to interview Jeremy and be our witness.”

  “Ana Brown?” Wilbert sat up in his chair and closed his laptop. “She’s got to be more expensive then you. They have the money for this?”

  “Robert Heston told me to do ‘whatever it takes’ to get his son freed.”

  “Freed?” Wilbert gasped. “How rich are these people? Don’t they live in Larkwood? They can’t have that much money.”

  “I looked them up. They make a little over six figures combined. They either have an inheritance, or they’re spending their life savings on this trial.”

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter—if they have money, then we have a real chance. If we get Ana Brown on board, anything can happen. We need to start thinking bigger than just fighting for a life sentence. This is your opportunity—you need to get on the next flight to Phoenix and meet with Dr. Brown. Don’t leave until she agrees to work on this case.”

  9

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday, April 12, 2016

  Dr. Ana Brown sat in her office, waiting for the lawyer to arrive. The phone call she’d had yesterday with Linda Kennedy had intrigued her. Jeremy Heston would be a fascinating mind to study, but would also require a lot of time, possibly the next three months. She would need to find someone to take on her several dozen patient appointments. A temporary move to Denver would also be required.