Willow sat near the band, only Marleen with her at that point. She could see when Kevin climbed the stairs to the little landing at the bottom of the bleachers. Loaded with his provisions, he surveyed the hundreds of faces, looking for just one. Marleen pointed Kevin out, even though Willow was already watching him. Attracted to Marleen’s enthusiastic stab in his direction, accompanied by her piercing squawk, Kevin found Willow. He was glad to find her sedately watching him, leaving all the bouncy gesticulating to her friend, whose name he didn’t even know. As a junior, Kevin only knew the names of a few freshmen girls, and most of those because they were friends of his sister, May, who was thirteen, and longing to finally get to high school the next year.
For the hour and assorted minutes that remained until the end of that homecoming game, Willow tried to ignore Marleen, without fawning over Kevin. She thought at the time that she was annoyed by Marleen’s constant teasing and staring, but really she needed that distraction to relieve the tension over what to say and how to act with this unfamiliar species seated on her other side.
Again, she thanked him simply for the large popcorn, which Marleen would assist in consuming, and a Coke, which was not her favorite. Part of her wanted to gush, like Marleen, to throw herself at Kevin, to wrap her arms around his neck and say, “Take me away from all this.” But she only glanced at that part of herself and tried to ignore it, just as she tried to ignore Marleen, most of the evening.
Kevin did explain what was going on in the game, which he managed to do without sounding like a know-it-all, and without laughing at any of Willow’s questions. She didn’t really care about the game, or even the answers to her questions. She was just trying to appear interested, if not in the game, at least in her personal commentator.
The final remnants of the popcorn snowed down on the rows ahead of them when Marleen jumped and screamed at the last-minute touchdown by the home team. Willow and Kevin didn’t mind, and they too jumped to their feet as a wide receiver ran under a lofted pass and sprinted down the sideline. The resulting mass celebration offered an excuse for an impromptu hug between the budding couple, a grand surprise for which Willow would willingly forgive all the rest of the boring and confusing minutes of that football game. With the temperature dropping and their breath puffing in dim clouds between them, Willow inhaled the smell of popcorn and soda on Kevin’s breath, as well as a hint of some musky aftershave or cologne.
While Kevin may not have understood it, that hug did more to win Willow over than his rescue from the two bullies by the concession stand. His smiling face and friendly, warm embrace welcomed Willow into his world without trying to capture her or take advantage of her. And, best of all, it seemed to be his natural response to the opportunity.
The evening ended with Kevin giving Willow a ride home, in his black 1977 Camaro. The car had seen a lot of miles and showed a few scars, but Willow would have gladly ridden home with Kevin in his parents’ oldest pickup truck, with straw and traces of manure in the bed.
The simple goodnight they said in the car further freed Willow to trust the older boy and leave her heart open for the next time they would meet.
Back in the present, alone in that jail cell, Willow recalled the weeks and months she dated Kevin, until her mother forced them to break up. Though she had no evidence for any particular concern, Claudia had insisted that Willow was too young to date anyone, and that Kevin should know better than to try to take advantage of a young innocent girl.
“A young, innocent girl.” That was exactly what her mother had called her that day on the front porch in February, as she shouted drunkenly at Kevin and told him to stay away. The injustice of her mother’s intervention and accusations had rung in her head for many years after that. She even thought that, if she had still been with Kevin later that year, she wouldn’t have been so easy to trap into the secret meetings in the church basement, and all that flowed from that. The irony that Kevin being chased away assured that she would not stay innocent for long, left Willow with a bitter taste even into her thirties.
Willow was glad to be done with that pain and bitterness, but she wasn’t entirely finished with the regret at losing her first love, who would really be her only love, even into her late forties.
Vindication
Kellen arrived in the Denver area the day before Willow’s next hearing, appearing at the jail during visiting hours on that Tuesday morning. He was early enough that they would have time to go over all of the details of the case as he had received them from the government.
“You look like you might be getting a bit tired of this place,” Kellan said, when he approached the table where Willow waited alone.
“It shows?” she said with a weary smile.
Kellan nodded.
“Too much time to think in here.”
“And no cellmate now?”
“No, not since the last one was released, and not since Bobby Nightingale showed up to see me.”
“He came to visit you?” Kellan said, confused by Willow’s mention of Bobby in the context of cellmates.
Willow enjoyed the stunned look on Kellan’s face as she explained the incredible visit from the famous miracle man.
“He’s the one that Beau Dupere said was the greatest miracle worker in the country,” Kellan said, as he adjusted himself to Willow’s extraordinary story. “And you’re getting tired of being in here?” he said, in a teasing tone.
The necessity of the hour drove them back to business, Kellan taking time to carefully explain the case the government had built. Knowing her innocence, it might have been difficult for Willow to contort herself to embrace the integrity of the federal prosecutor, but one result of seeing into the lives of other people by supernatural means was increased sympathy. Willow had learned to accept that people sincerely and honestly believe all sorts of fictitious explanations for their world. She had seen up close hundreds of samples of such self-deceit.
Resting her chin on the top of both hands, her elbows on the cafeteria table, Willow grinned slightly and shook her head, rotating it as if it were attached to those two hands and not her neck. “Are you worried?” she said, trying to read Kellan.
“Only in the sense that I never seem to find the limit to how wrong people can be. According to what I know, there should be no problem. But, if the court is determined not to allow for any kind of supernatural revelation to explain your information, then they have to grasp for whatever they can put into its place. Fortunately, the law demands proof, so my best hope is that, even if they don’t believe you, they will have to let you go, for lack of solid evidence. As it is, this delay before sending the case to a grand jury, or dismissing it, is extraordinary. The backroom conversation between the state and the federal court must be very unusual. But I guess we already knew all this is unusual.”
In court the next day, Willow waited with Kellan for the judge to enter the room. Mr. Walters, the assistant U.S. attorney, and only one colleague conferred quietly just eight feet away, but Willow made no effort to comprehend their conversation. It didn’t seem to pertain directly to Willow’s case.
The bailiff called the courtroom to stand. As the judge entered, Willow turned toward him and silently prayed for him. Though it was only ten in the morning, the judge’s five o’clock shadow had already begun to show. But that wasn’t what Willow saw. She saw a sadness imposed over the man who held her future in his hands. Part of her attention grabbed onto the task of discerning what that sadness was about, and why she was seeing it.
Once again, the prosecutor would begin the arguments, presenting the evidence gathered to link Willow Pierce to Ronald Percy. This time he added some fuel to his fire.
“We now have one witness that chose Ms. Pierce out of a lineup at the police station,” said Mr. Walters.
Willow recalled the silent process of standing behind a two-way mirror with five other woman, only a couple of whom looked anything like her. Kellan had noted this fact at the time, making sure that he
had good photos of all of the other women, along with one of Willow.
Kellan scribbled notes during this part of his opponent’s presentation.
Mr. Walters also more carefully enumerated all of the pieces of information Willow had given to the police, citing the quality of her information as evidence against her. Now, the week before Christmas, Willow still refused to entertain regret about feeding the police that stream of vital information which led to Heather Tomlinson’s rescue.
“The sheer number of details, and the ongoing manner in which she fed these details to the police that night, can lead a reasonable person to only one conclusion: that Willow Pierce was acquainted with Ronald Percy and had known about his crimes, reporting them to the police only when her conscience became too insistent for her to ignore,” said Mr. Walters. He turned toward Willow and finished his statement. “Given her story that she knew these things by some divine revelation, the government is charging her not only with foreknowledge of Mr. Percy’s crimes, but also with obstruction, by virtue of her dishonesty about the source of her knowledge.”
Having presented all of the government’s evidence, Mr. Walters returned to his seat. He kept his eyes trained on Willow and Kellan as he slid into the wooden chair. Kellan arranged his notes on a clipboard and took this with him as he responded to the judge’s prompt.
“Mr. McGregor, your rebuttal.”
“Thank you, your honor.” Kellan looked at Willow and then at Mr. Walters before turning back to the judge. “There are a number of holes in the evidence presented by the government, which I believe leave their case resting on only one point; that is, disbelief.”
He paused, for effect, and then turned to dismantling the evidence.
Regarding the witness and the lineup, Kellan presented a display of the six women in the lineup to the judge. “As you see, your honor, if the woman Mrs. Clark saw looked anything like Willow Pierce, then that woman could only be one of two or three of those in the lineup. The federal agents seemed to have narrowed the field for her.”
The judge nodded but said nothing.
“As to picking Willow Pierce out of the lineup, I note that Mrs. Clark signed no statement affirming that she was certain that she saw my client at Ronald Percy’s house. Her words were, ‘That’s the one that looks the most like her,’ quoting from her statement after the lineup. I watched as the agents tried to spin that phrase toward a more useful indictment, but Mrs. Clark replied, ‘That’s the best I can do.’ ”
“So we have evidence that a woman who looked somewhat like Willow Pierce was once seen entering Ronald Percy’s house. That is inconclusive,” Kellan said forcefully.
“I also note that the FBI found no traces of Willow Pierce’s DNA anywhere in Mr. Percy’s house, a house that was scattered with DNA from Heather Tomlinson, as well as two or three visitors to Mr. Percy’s flat. None of them was Willow Pierce.” Again, Kellan paused for effect, not even stopping to evaluate the judge’s face in response to this key point.
Instead, Kellan pulled a photocopy of one more piece of the government’s evidence. “Here is a copy of the receipt found at Willow Pierce’s house, which the government claims puts her at the same coffee house as Ronald Pierce on the evening of November tenth.” He handed the copy to the judge.
“Even with image enhancement, it is not clear whether the receipt is for 7:35 a.m. or 7:35 p.m.” he said. “We have signed statements from employees at Bean Dreaming, that Willow purchases coffee and occasional breakfast items there nearly every weekday morning. The government can produce no one at Bean Dreaming that can testify to seeing her there in the evening; though she readily admits to being there in the evening on two occasions within the last year, neither of which were after the middle of September.”
Kellan stopped in the middle of the floor, folded his arms over his chest, and cast a look at the government attorneys. They resisted eye contact. He smiled slightly and turned back to the judge.
“The only solid argument that the government has to offer is that the U.S. attorney and his office simply don’t believe that Willow Pierce can see and hear things that they cannot. They have made no effort to interview anyone at her church, where she regularly practices ministry that includes knowledge of personal details that she cannot know naturally.”
Kellan walked to his table and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Here, your honor, are a hundred and ten signed statements from people at the Oak Tree Church who testify that they have personally experienced my client speaking to them based on knowledge that could only be attained through paranormal means.” He dropped the pile back on the table.
Willow felt a well of gratitude fill inside her at the support from her church family, appreciating the effort required to gather that many statements in a short time.
“If we broadened our search beyond the local congregation,” Kellan said, “and had more time to collect signatures, I am certain that we could bring three times this many signed statements, and not all of them people who share Ms. Pierce’s particular faith. In this context, her claim to divine revelation regarding Heather Tomlinson’s captivity is absolutely believable. And it certainly cannot be characterized as a cooked-up excuse with no foundation in reality.”
Now the judge was nodding slightly, showing more reaction to the evidence than at any point during these preliminary hearings. Again, Kellan didn’t stop to assess this reaction, instead he turned toward Willow and walked to his table again. This time he laid his clipboard on the table.
“Do you have something you could tell the judge?” he said to Willow.
She smiled. She had noticed that Kellan was very intuitive from the first time they met, so Willow wasn’t surprised that he detected her unusual attention to the judge that morning. She nodded.
Turning back to the bench, Kellan said, “Your honor, my client can demonstrate her abilities to you, if you would permit.”
The stoic judge’s eyebrows rose precipitously and his head began to tip to one side. “You mean, you could tell me something that I would know you didn’t acquire by some other means than psychic insight?” He was looking at Willow.
She bypassed the word psychic, allowing it as a generic term, and responded directly. “Yes, your honor.”
Again the judge nodded.
Willow spoke up. “If I may, your honor, I think it would be best if I approach the bench. What I have learned is very personal.”
Though Kellan, the most sympathetic person in the room, knew that this proposal was out of consideration for the judge’s privacy, all of the doubters in the room heard it only as a devious tactic. Even the judge had to consider it for a few seconds.
“Alright, I’ll allow it.” The judge looked at the court reporter. “Mrs. Coughlin can listen in, but not record what is said.”
Though this too seemed unusual, Mrs. Coughlin didn’t act surprised, as if she and the judge were old friends and knew each other’s secrets. To the rest of the courtroom this connection remained a mystery. But Willow knew about their relationship already.
Pushing herself away from the long wooden table, Willow stood to her feet and straightened her very rumpled jumpsuit. She didn’t have access to her own clothes for these preliminary hearings, and she hadn’t pictured herself crossing the courtroom to stand in front of everyone in that worn, red one-piece suit. Swallowing her self-consciousness, Willow approached the judge.
“So how does this work?” said the judge. He didn’t sound like a skeptic looking for holes, but like an interested observer willing to be taught.
Willow felt certain of her pending freedom, for the first time in weeks.
“I can just tell you what I’ve began sensing once you entered the courtroom today,” she said, looking sympathetically at the stern judge, whose face had softened a bit already.
Speaking in a low and relaxed voice, as if she were confiding to a friend, Willow began. “I sensed sadness at first, and then saw a mental image of you looking at something on top of a dres
ser, a dark piece of furniture that appeared to be an antique, with a small lamp on a golden base in the middle of it. In your hand was a little charm, like one a woman would wear on a bracelet, back when my mother was young, a silhouette of a head shaped like a little girl.”
Though Willow remained focused on the judge, she could hear the court reporter beginning to breathe harder and harder.
“And you were thinking how odd it is that you were given that charm, and not your sister. But I know why it was for you.” She stopped, as if waiting for permission to push deeper.
The judge, whose face had turned waxen, nodded very slightly for her to continue.
“You see, your sister was going to remember her twin for the rest of her life. It’s impossible for her to forget. But she knew that you would appreciate the reminder, now and again, of what you all had lost.”
Mrs. Coughlin was weeping now, trying to contain herself, but losing the battle. Willow reached over to her and rubbed her near arm. “You have held back your grieving for your friend’s loss all these years,” she said to the red-faced woman, about the same age as the judge. “But she doesn’t need you to be strong anymore.”
Willow glanced back at the judge. He made a little choking sound. In deference to his privacy, she returned her attention to Mrs. Coughlin. She had been a childhood friend of the judge’s sister, and had known the story about her friend’s twin that had drowned, though she hadn’t actually known that lost sister.
Beyond the detailed knowledge of events and relationships that were entirely private, Willow’s revelation had been strategically selected, given that Mrs. Coughlin was the court reporter for that particular day. The judge saw all of that. He pulled the microphone back toward him, where he had twisted it away from their little private consultation.
“I’m dismissing this case, for lack of evidence,” he said in a smothered voice.
Mr. Walters stood up, as if to object, but the pained look on the judge’s face told him to surrender his cause.
The Words I Speak (Anyone Who Believes Book 2) Page 14
