Fugue State
Page 5
“Who did this to you? Who did it, Alexa? I’ll make him regret it.”
“Don’t worry, Britt. He regrets it.” Her body became weak with emotion and she grasped the shower door to stay upright. She took a deep breath as her eyes welled with tears. “I killed him,” she stammered, her mousy voice unfamiliar.
Deafening silence. She watched Britt’s face twist from anger to a look of disgust. She feared his opinion of her changed in that moment, and she’d lost him. She didn’t know how, but she knew that she’d failed him. Somehow, she hadn’t lived up to his expectations.
Over the next few days, her fears cemented. He drifted further and further away from her, or maybe it was the other way around. It was hard to tell. The distance crept between them. When the nightmares started, Britt became visibly disturbed. Alexa thrashed the bed sheets. She woke screaming or crying or both. He seemed afraid to touch her; afraid of the killer he shared his bed with. In time, he stopped trying to console her.
CHAPTER 8
She woke to the sound of her alarm and prepared for court. Gold Christian Louboutin heels and a white fitted dress with a square neck, and a thick layer of concealer beneath her eyes. Still groggy from the sleep aids, she forgot to eat breakfast. She didn’t forget the coffee, though. She needed the caffeine to keep her eyes open.
Alexa met with Appleby at eight-thirty a.m. to discuss their plan.
“Good morning, Jacob.” She tried to sound polished and assertive. She hoped he had forgotten chastising her the day before.
“Alexa, you look tired. Try not to fall asleep in front of the jury today. It’s not very professional.”
She rolled her eyes to herself and nodded to him. Deliriously tired, but not more so than usual.
“I’d like to keep you off the stand, but I need you to recite some lines today.”
Her stomach let out a half growl, half moan.
“Relax. I just need you to read your deposition to the jury.” Appleby planned to strip her initial statement to Detective Marcum from the record, as that seemed to be the root of her self-incrimination, and replace it with the softer version she had given the prosecution early in the trial.
Alexa’s initial statement to Detective Marcum had been too harsh. Her version of the events seemed overly strategic. It didn’t sit well with the jury. Alexa had told Detective Marcum, “I aimed for his carotid and kept cutting until I saw arterial blood. When I knew he was dead, I rolled him off of me.” But Appleby’s version of her statement was the more sympathetic damsel in distress role. Alexa nodded. “Sure. I’ll do whatever you need.”
She walked into a flurry in the courtroom, with people scooting past one another trying to find their seats. The jury shuffled in. Alexa eyed the jury of her peers, skewed with minorities more so than the standard Austin population, and wondered if the decks were stacked against her.
“The court is now in session.” The gavel banged, and the judge sat.
Surprisingly, Appleby began with his first witness. He called Dr. Phil Holston to the stand. Alexa’s forehead rumpled in confusion. The name of the ER doctor wasn’t immediately familiar to her. Dr. Holston testified to his name and his position, and that Alexa DeBrow was his patient the night of the incident. Appleby gave Dr. Holston Alexa’s medical records from her hospital admission for him to read to the court.
“The patient, a thirty-two-year-old female, was attacked earlier tonight. Her attacker cut her left thigh, resulting in a seven-centimeter superficial laceration. She suffered small lacerations to her head/scalp posteriorly, with a large scalp hematoma, and there is concern for intracranial bleed. Patient has suffered a concussion and is disoriented to date. She also had difficulty with her contact information, including her phone number and zip code. Bruises to abdomen noted, without peritoneal signs. Assessment and plan: Head CT with neurology consult. Stitches for the thigh and scalp lacerations.”
Appleby looked satisfied. “Thank you, Dr. Holston. That is all.” Appleby now addressed the courtroom. “I ask the court, how can a woman who suffered a concussion, disoriented to most basic information, give an accurate account of the night’s events to the police officers and detective who questioned her? She couldn’t even remember her phone number. How can we expect her to have functioned in the capacity of tending her attacker’s wounds? Due to the injuries she sustained, Dr. Alexa DeBrow functioned in a diminished capacity and lacked the ability to adhere to the typical medical standard of care.”
Alexa watched one of the jurors’ heads nod in agreement.
“I ask that my client’s initial statement to police be stricken from the court’s record, and that we rely solely on her deposition for all details of the assault.”
Appleby had trained Alexa well prior to her giving her deposition to the prosecution. He knew which questions would be pertinent, and she had been prepared for everything the defense might ask. In fact, the majority of her answers were rehearsed lines given to her by Appleby. She hoped the court would accept Appleby’s request. If so, she didn’t think the prosecution would be able continue ranting about how the lady with the concussion should have saved her attacker.
“Miss DeBrow, please rise and read the lines from the court records and your deposition, highlighted for you in yellow.”
Alexa stood and cleared her throat, then read aloud. “I stabbed at the neck of my attacker because it was right in front of me. The knife was stuck, and I tried to get it out, but I couldn’t pull it straight out; I pulled it to the side. When the knife finally came free, there was blood everywhere. I was so scared. I was crying. I couldn’t get away from the blood. I couldn’t get him off of me. He was so heavy, and I was exhausted.”
Her voice rang loud and clear, with just the right mousy undertone to sound vulnerable. Finally, she was someone the jury could sympathize with. Alexa considered this edited statement a “Hollywood version” of what really happened. The facts were the same, only the words were rearranged. Appleby had contrived a persona that was novice and naïve. Now he requested to replace one statement with the other. The judge called for a short recess to consider Appleby’s appeal. It seemed promising.
She followed Appleby out of the courtroom during the recess, and her stomach groaned of emptiness. She had just stepped into the hallway when the room began turning dark, and sound faded away. Her body hit the floor hard.
She regained consciousness slowly. Her head throbbed as reality seeped back painfully. Alexa opened her eyes and was surprised to see Dale Anderson, Britt’s father, kneeling beside her.
“Mr. Anderson! I didn’t even know you were here . . . at the trial.” She was too perplexed to move from her place on the linoleum.
He propped up her head. “I just wanted to make sure things were going okay. I was thinking of you the other day . . . and I find you like this — on the floor. You’re not well, Alexa.” He shook his head and frowned as if scolding her.
Appleby caught her eye. He made his way toward her cutting through the crowd. His scowl showed dismay. With Dale’s help, Alexa scrambled to a bench nearly.
“I’m fine, Jacob,” she said defensively as Appleby approached them. “I forgot breakfast, that’s all.”
Appleby nodded. “I’ll get you something. I need you on your feet.” He muttered to himself again when he left her with Britt’s father.
“We’ve missed you,” Mr. Anderson started. His worried eyes scanned her face.
Alexa smiled. He had always been a fan of hers. “Thanks, Dale. I’ve missed you — and Britt.” Her lip quivered. She bit down hard to keep it still. She didn’t have the strength to convey emotion.
“It’s not too late for the two of you, you know. I know you kids still love each other. Your trial is almost over. I must confess, Alexa, this old man is hoping that you kids will reconcile.” His warm, comforting words were too much of a fantasy for her to succumb to.
“Yes. I think we still love each other. But so much has changed. We were the perfect match. . .” Her wor
ds drifted off. She didn’t know how to say it. Britt fell in love with the beautiful, successful, put-together and flawless Alexa DeBrow. She was the Golden Girl, a nickname her classmates had given her as a symbol of perfection. And Britt deserved that perfection, someone who could complement his many attributes. Now that she had fallen from her pedestal, she no longer deserved him. Besides, he could never see her as he once did. She knew that. Britt knew that. His father had to realize it, as well.
He looked in her eyes as though he were trying to look into her soul and raised an eyebrow. “It’s a damn shame, Alexa.”
She forced another meager smile. “You don’t have to worry about Britt, Dale. He has a bright future ahead of him.” Without me weighing him down. “You don’t have to worry about me, either.” She feigned confidence.
“I just picked you up off the floor, Alexa. I have every reason in the world to worry about you.”
She shunned the truth in his words. “I’ve dealt with a lot worse. I’m a survivor. More than that, I’m a fighter. I’ll just keep fighting. Until the fight is won.” Warmth spread across her face as her color returned and thoughts of redemption flickered in the back of her mind.
He held Alexa’s hands in his own and forced a smile through quivering lips. “I love you, Alexa, like you are my own. But you’ve changed so much. I hope the goodness inside you shines through when this is all over.”
She’d heard similar words from her mother about how much she had changed. Have I changed so much that the people I love don’t recognize me? He wrapped his arms around her, and it was like saying goodbye to Britt all over again.
Appleby arrived with a cream cheese bagel and an orange juice. Dale left her side, and she ate her bagel while Appleby lectured her. “You can’t do this. These fainting spells of yours have to stop.” She’d fainted once before during the trial. That time she was in the courtroom. Everyone saw. “No one will believe this is real. They’ll all think you’re a bad actress trying to play them for a fool.” Perceptions could change so easily with one wrong move. Appleby eyed the hallway. “Seems like few people took notice. For God’s sake, if you can’t walk, I’ll hold you up. Just say something.”
Alexa tuned out the rest of his speech. Instead, her attention fixed on a thin black lady at the end of the hall. The woman’s eyes locked on Alexa. The woman wore orthopedic shoes that suggested she worked on her feet all day, and a sullen, plaid-printed button-up dress. She had a small black boy with a visible overbite clinging to her skirt. Alexa watched the woman step closer. The recess had ended, however, and Appleby motioned Alexa into the courtroom.
The judge accepted Appleby’s request. Murmurs spread throughout the courtroom. Finkle suggested they proceed to closing arguments. The judge turned to Appleby, who requested to begin closing statements the following day. The judge banged his gavel once more, and the court day was over. Appleby wanted to meet once more with the prosecution, so Alexa left the courthouse alone.
CHAPTER 9
Her weary mind drifted to sleep around two in the morning, after popping a few Benadryl and a downing a large glass of red wine. She dreamed she was driving her Mercedes to the courthouse with the top down. She stopped at a red light when a man appeared in her driver’s rear view mirror. Before she could react or respond, she felt his hands on her throat. She gasped for air, as her foot went to the gas pedal. The car sped away, but the hands never left her throat. She wrecked the car into a lamppost.
The man lifted her into the air and spun her around to face him.
She stared at Jamar. A knife appeared in his other hand. It wasn’t the knife from that night, however; this was a larger knife with a sharp curved blade. He shoved the knife into her belly, and she watched her insides fall from her midsection.
Alexa awoke, heart pounding.
As her pulse began to slow, she recalled her plan — Britt’s plan. She closed her eyes and made herself replay the nightmare. She imagined herself in her car at the stoplight. She saw Jamar. She was ready when he reached for her. Foot pressed against the gas pedal, she sped away.
She’d driven halfway down the block when she realized she shouldn’t run from him. Kill him. A quick U-turn back toward Jamar. She reached into her handbag and pulled out her gun and applied the gas. She targeted his yellow eyes and fired. He fell. She stopped the car next to the body. Two more shots fired into his skull. She saw the pool of blood form around him. She opened her eyes. She felt calmer.
She relived the nightmare over and over. Each time she became faster, her shots and movements more accurate, until her fear lessened, and she fell back asleep.
She woke for her last day of trial. She chose loose-fitting black trousers with a white, silk blouse that she tied carelessly low on her neck. She wanted an outfit that conveyed ease. She pulled her tousled hair to the side in an attempt to look relaxed, despite the gravity of the situation.
She slipped into her silver snakeskin Manolo heels as Appleby’s private car pulled up, six-forty-five a.m. on the dot. She pulled open the door to find Appleby with the phone glued to his ear, as usual. After fifteen minutes of firm debate, he put down the phone and turned to Alexa. He shoved a brown paper bag that contained a blueberry bagel with cream cheese into her hand. Apparently, he didn’t trust her after yesterday’s episode. Alexa forced the food into her uneasy stomach.
Appleby divulged that he had met with the prosecution and the judge in the conference room yesterday after he left her. “The judge suggested that the charge of criminally negligent homicide be tried separately in an entirely new trial if the prosecution wished to pursue it, since the line of questioning has changed.” Appleby stated in between sips of his latte. Alexa raised an eyebrow.
“I handed him this list of thirty physicians willing to testify that you were unable to perform standard medical duties after suffering a concussion, certain that it would clear you from the charge. The prosecution agreed, and they vowed not to pursue the charge any further.” His drab voice affirmed his inability to convey joy despite the good news.
“But, that’s great! They can’t use my medical training against me,” Alexa stammered, reaching for the paper in Appleby’s hand. “Where did you get this?”
“Your pal Jimmy Thornton,” he said with a curl of his lips.
“Really?” Alexa gasped, unable to hide her surprise. Thanks, Jimmy.
“The only viable charge that remains is manslaughter. Although it’s nothing to be proud of, it won’t get you life in prison, sweetheart,” he mused. “I guess we’ll find out today whether we convinced them you’re not the she-devil they’ve made you out to be.”
She ignored the sting of his words. It’s almost over.
“There’ll be a crowd today. Be ready for that. Reporters will want to interview you. I will shuffle you through the crowd and back into the private car. Understand? I will give a statement on your behalf. You are not to speak with the reporters,” he hissed, and rolled his eyes away from her.
“What will you tell them?” she asked.
“Depends on the outcome. If you’re innocent, we play the role of gracious victor. If you’re guilty, we simply state that we will continue to fight. There is another alternative, however. The prosecution may drop these charges in lieu of charging you in a civil trial. You’re not out of this yet.” He paused for another sip of his latte. “No comments to friends or family . . . if they come. Reporters will go to them for a story if they are willing to talk. We don’t want any comments that may jeopardize our strategy.”
Alexa nodded, not wholly understanding the strategy he spoke of. Civil trial? Her pulse quickened at the notion of enduring another trial. No. It’s almost over.
Media groups with news cameras swarmed the courthouse. Alexa’s confidence failed her. Appleby exited the car first. She waited while he spoke with the media. He didn’t want to risk her doing something unwanted with the cameras on. She obeyed. He motioned for her; she followed, trying to appear as strong as possible.
He took the place where Finkle stood and began his closing arguments. He worked to make Alexa appear vulnerable to further gain the jury’s sympathies. “I need not remind the jury that my client, Dr. Alexa DeBrow, is a physician. More than that, Dr. DeBrow is a beautiful, single, thirty-three-year-old female who was attacked while walking alone on a dark night. She was victimized and assaulted by a man who tried to take advantage of her. He beat her, and she suffered injuries that required hospitalization and resulted in a concussion. Although she was injured and afraid, she was also strong. She overcame her attacker, in what can only be described as fate.” He paused for a sip of water. Alexa stared in awe of Appleby’s poise and charisma, and for a moment, she forgot how much she disliked him.
“Now, the prosecution wants to punish this young woman for unnecessary use of force. I tell you force was necessary in taking down a two-hundred pound assailant. It’s a shame Jamar Reading did not survive Miss DeBrow’s attempt to defend herself so that he could stand trial for the crimes he committed.” All eyes were locked on Appleby. “Additionally, the prosecution wants to punish Miss DeBrow because she wasn’t in the proper state of mind to provide medical assistance to her attacker.” He shook his head, eyes on the ground, as he paced toward the jury. His eyes scanned the jury members as he pled with them. “I ask that the jury choose not to punish Miss DeBrow, because Alexa DeBrow has been punished enough. I’m sorry. She’s sorry. We’re all sorry that Jamar Reading didn’t survive that night. But I’m also sorry that Jamar Reading attacked my client. She was his victim, and he was hers. It’s an ugly situation that doesn’t have a good answer, so I ask the jury to let it go. Let the events of that night end today. Don’t punish Alexa DeBrow anymore.”