by J P Barnaby
Click.
Aaron naked on the floor, bruised, cut, and bloody.
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Blood pooled on the ground around his still body.
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Paramedics fighting to keep him alive.
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Blood splashed across Aaron’s pale face, matted in his hair.
Click.
Aaron screaming as they raped him.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The ketchup bottle clattered to the table as Spencer launched himself out of the chair. He caught a passing waitress and choked out the single word “bathroom.” Looking rather alarmed, she pointed toward the back of the diner to a sign for the restrooms, and he bolted for them. He didn’t care if his father followed or if the waitress thought him crazy. Most people figured he was fucked up in one way or another, but right then, they’d be right. He contained the tears until he got past the men’s room door and braced his palms on the sink. Then he let them come.
Using the visualization technique his father had taught Aaron in the very beginning of their sessions together, the ones Spencer used to sit in on, he ripped the little wheel from its slot and inserted a new one. In his mind, he held the little toy up to the light and saw Aaron smiling back at him.
Click.
Aaron ice skating on the pond behind Spencer’s house.
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Aaron laughing, arms thrust in the air after winning another race.
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The top of Aaron’s head as he rested his head on Spencer’s chest.
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Aaron’s face just inches from his, eyes closed, ready for a gentle kiss.
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The love in Aaron’s eyes when he looked at Spencer.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Spencer turned the water on and splashed cool water over his face, being careful not to mess up his shirt. Air rushed in and out of him as he tried to push the panicky ache away and center himself. He would do Aaron no good in that courtroom if he couldn’t keep his shit together. Aaron needed him. After everything he’d heard that morning, everything Aaron had gone through, he refused to let him down. Ever.
His father sat in the booth, half turned to watch the bathroom when Spencer came out. He’d already taken care of the check and just waited for the storm to pass.
“Do you want to go home?” he asked and slid out of the booth to wait for Spencer to take those few last steps to the table.
“No… I. Want. To. Go. Be. There. For. Aaron….” His voice held no ambiguity. Even the painful images in his head, the awful things they’d talked about in the trial and the worse yet to come, he wouldn’t abandon Aaron.
“Then let’s do this and get it over with.”
THEY MADE it back to the courthouse and through security with barely ten minutes to spare before the trial started again. The prosecutor stood out in front of the courtroom with Aaron and his parents. When Spencer came up with his father, Aaron bridged the gap between them and hugged Spencer.
“Are you okay? You look sick or something,” Aaron said as he brushed cold, trembling fingers across Spencer’s cheek.
“I. Am. Fine… How. Are. You. Doing.?” Spencer asked and then turned his face just a bit to kiss Aaron’s palm.
“I’m okay,” Aaron said, and Spencer could feel deep in his gut that Aaron meant it. He was okay. He was ready. He was probably calmer than Spencer.
“Okay, let’s get everyone into the courtroom. They’re going to start. Aaron, just stay here with the court officer until you’re called,” Mr. Sorensen instructed, and ushered Aaron and Juliette’s families into the courtroom. Spencer stayed with Aaron for one last moment, one more gentle kiss.
“I. Am. So. Proud. Of. You.,” Spencer whispered, and Aaron nodded.
His father put a hand on his arm and pulled him gently away from Aaron.
“Come on, son. It’s almost over,” he said and guided Spencer into the courtroom.
They all stood up when instructed, good little puppets in someone else’s hands. Each defense lawyer asked a few redundant questions of the forensics guy as they tried to make him say something other than the truth. Maybe they wanted to see if he would say that aliens had left the semen. It didn’t work. The man stayed calm and gave quick, clipped answers until the judge let him leave.
And then they called Aaron to the stand.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” the court officer asked as Aaron held his right hand in the air.
“Yes, I do,” Aaron said, and they told him to sit down. Spencer was surprised to see the woman next to Mr. Sorensen get up, take a yellow legal pad from the table, and walk over to stand by Aaron.
“Would you please state your name for the record?” she asked.
“Aaron John Downing.”
“Aaron, on the afternoon of October 9, 2008, can you tell us where you went after school?” Her face was kind, so he hoped her voice was as well. Mr. Sorensen’s expressions had been hard and almost angry when he questioned his witnesses, and he was glad they gave Aaron to the woman, who seemed to have a softer touch.
“Juliette and I were at debate practice,” Aaron said, his hands balled into fists, as if gearing up for battle.
“What time did debate practice end?”
“About nine o’clock. We had run a little late because it was early in the season, and we were trying out new people for the team.”
“How did you get home from debate practice?”
“Most of the time, we walked. That night I rode in an ambulance, and Juliette rode in a hearse.”
“Objection,” the defense attorney called from his table. “Nonresponsive.”
The judge looked between Aaron and the defense attorney for a moment and then said, “Overruled.”
“Aaron, on the night of October 9, did you walk home from debate practice?”
“We started to.”
“What happened when you reached St. James’s playground?” the female prosecutor asked, and was again interrupted by the defense attorney.
“Objection. Leading.”
“Rephrase, Miss Landry,” the judge said from his perch under the seal. He was an older man, graying, and distinguished in black robes. He didn’t look particularly inviting, but he appeared attentive and serious about his job.
“On your way home from debate practice, did something happen?”
“Yes. When we got to the playground at St. James School, a van stopped beside us along the street.”
“Did you approach the van?”
Aaron nodded and then seemed to remember the court reporter. “I told Juliette the guy was probably just lost. She didn’t want to go up to the van, so I went by myself, but she followed.” Aaron sat rubbing his hands on his pants in the witness box.
“What happened next?”
“The side door of the van flew open, and two guys jumped out. They grabbed Juliette and me and pulled us into the van. They said we were just going for a little ride.” Just from the expression on Aaron’s face, Spencer could hear the derision, even with no volume.
“Do you see the men who grabbed you in the courtroom today?”
“Yes.”
“Can you point them out and tell us what each of their roles was?”
“The man with long brown hair and the scar, Eugene Maldon, grabbed me, and the man with short blond hair, Peter Godfrey, grabbed Juliette. The man with short brown hair, Justin Phelps, he drove.”
“Let the record indicate that the victim has identified the defendants.”
“Objections?” the judge asked the defense. When there were none, the judge said the record would reflect Aaron’s identification and told the prosecutor to continue. Aaron stared at the microphone on the front of the witness box. He seemed unable to look again at the men who had hurt him. They were coming to it now, the testimony that could end up breaking Aaron.
“Aaron, did the men blindfold you?”
“No.”
“Could you see where they took you?”
“Yes. They took us to an abandoned garage on the north side of town, up on River Road,” Aaron said, his face haunted, and Spencer’s heart clenched as Aaron wrapped his arms around his middle, holding himself together.
“What happened when you got to the garage?”
Eighteen
ALL THE air seemed to be sucked out of the room with those few simple words. What happened when you got to the garage? His whole world had been destroyed. They took the guy he’d once been and murdered him, leaving an empty shell in his place. He wanted to scream it, but Mr. Sorensen said not to get angry, just to describe what happened as well as he could.
“The brown-haired man with the scar dragged me into the garage. I was kicking and screaming behind his hand over my mouth. I heard Juliette screaming and fighting beside me. They had the driver get the door for them. He opened it with a key.” Aaron hadn’t remembered that in any of his prep sessions. It just came to him then as he relived the memory in his head.
“And what happened once you were inside?”
Oh God.
Time blurred, one hour into the next, as Aaron answered all of her questions, detailing each and every atrocity they’d forced on him. The monsters tried to draw his gaze, but he never looked at them. Instead his gaze fell on Spencer, who, rather than looking disgusted, seemed proud. Spencer stayed with him through every act he described. The afternoon dragged on, sapping Aaron’s strength. They had to stop several times for him to get something to drink because the panic dried him out.
Finally, finally they reached the end.
“After the men left, what did you do?”
“My jeans were lying on the floor next to me, so I fumbled for my phone. It had been off during debate practice. I tried not to look at Juliette as I turned it on and held three to speed dial my house. I heard my mother’s voice, but things started to go dark. I couldn’t speak.”
“What is the next thing you remember?”
“I remember waking up the hospital screaming and having to be sedated. I remember the look on my mother’s face when she saw the damage they’d done. I remember that my father wouldn’t meet my eyes.”
“How has your life changed since the attack?”
“Everything changed. I had to be homeschooled for my last two years of high school because I can’t be around people. I don’t like to be touched. I can’t hold down a job. I’m medicated a lot of the time just to function. They took everything from me.” Aaron half expected the defense lawyer to object to something during his tirade, but he didn’t. He just sat, watching Aaron and looking a little sick.
“Your witness,” the prosecutor said and took her seat behind the table. It took a long moment for the defense lawyer to stand up and grab his little yellow legal pad. He approached the witness box and looked down at the paper.
“You said that you take medication. What kind of medication?”
“In the beginning, they prescribed different kinds of tranquilizers and antianxiety meds. Now I just have one tranquilizer.”
“Are you on drugs now?”
“No, I stopped taking them on Friday to prepare for the trial.”
“Was it after dark when the men in the van picked you and your girlfriend up?”
“She wasn’t my girlfriend, and yes, it was after dark, but the van parked under a lamppost, and the garage was lit.”
“It’s been five years since the alleged attack. Do you look the same as you did five years ago?”
“No, now I have a horrible scar on my face.”
“But you’re older, and you’ve changed?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure my clients are the men who abducted you?”
“First, I looked at them for hours while they raped and tortured me and Juliette. And second, I see them every time I close my eyes. They are the men who raped us, sir.”
The lawyer looked resigned for a moment and then asked a few more questions Aaron didn’t find relevant. Maybe he got paid by the hour. Anyway, after a while he finally gave up and let Aaron off the stand. Aaron stood tall, not looking at the men sitting near their defense lawyer, and walked past his parents and out of the courtroom. He didn’t want to listen to the rest of it. The layers of grime and sweat on his skin, the filth of reliving all of it clung to him, and he just wanted to shower. His mother followed quickly and sat on the bench with him to wait.
They didn’t have to wait long.
“The judge called it quits for the day,” his father said as he wrapped his arms around Aaron’s mother and then around him. “I didn’t know how to process what happened to you. It was never because of shame or pity. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I know, and it was a long time ago. I just needed to make them understand, you know?” Aaron asked as he hugged his father.
“Yeah.”
The courtroom doors opened again to reveal Dr. Thomas and Spencer. Aaron launched himself at Spencer, wrapping his arms tightly around his boyfriend’s neck and clinging to him. Spencer held him tight, and all thoughts of Spencer walking away vanished in an instant. Spencer loved him. He’d proven it time and time again.
“I’m going home with my parents tonight,” he told Spencer, brushing his cheek with gentle fingers. “I’m going to take a tranquilizer before bed because I can’t handle the dreams I’ll have tonight. But I’ll come over tomorrow. I doubt they’ll need me again for a few days. The prosecutor just wants me here when the jury comes back with a verdict.”
Spencer pulled Aaron closer and rubbed his back with long, sure strokes. He didn’t seem to need words right then, just to be close. Aaron liked that. He liked that a lot.
“HELLO?”
“Hi, Aaron, this is Karl Sorensen. How are you?”
Aaron didn’t think he’d ever heard Sorensen’s first name until that moment, and it threw him for a loop. Prosecutors should have serious names like Richard or Benjamin, not Karl. The medication surged through his system, and he focused on the question as Spencer sat rubbing his back.
“I’m okay, Mr. Sorensen. How is the trial going?”
“The defense didn’t have much of a fight to put on. None of the defendants testified, just the mother of one of them, saying that her son was home with her. Everyone saw through the lie. They tried to hit the DNA evidence, but it’s pretty unshakable. And finally, they put a shrink on the stand to say you’re too traumatized to pick out your attackers. That didn’t work either. The jury went to deliberations tonight. They’ll probably come back tomorrow or the next day, so be ready for the call. Okay? How long will it take you to get to the courthouse once the verdict comes in?”
“About fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” Aaron answered as he sat playing with Spencer’s fingers where they rested on his stomach.
“Good. Wait for my call, and hopefully this will be over before the end of the week.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sorensen.”
“No, thank you, Aaron.”
ONLY IT didn’t turn out to be days. The jury came back with a verdict within two hours the next morning. Aaron hadn’t even gotten dressed. He’d showered, thank God, but still sat in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt in his room. Spencer wouldn’t be there for another hour, so he’d been lazy. No one expected the jury to come back that fast.
“Get here as soon as you can for them to read the verdict,” Sorensen had told him. Aaron rushed to tell his parents, who got ready while he called Dr. Thomas. It took a little work, but they all stood on the steps of the courthouse less than an hour later, waiting for Juliette’s parents and brother, who arrived five minutes after they did. They went through security as a group and then made their way up the hallway to the courtroom, where Mr. Sorensen and his associate, Ms. Landry, waited for them.
“What’s going to happen now?” his mother asked Sorensen as they all gathered around to listen.
“The jury will give the verdict to the judge, who will read it. No matter what it says, don’t react. If they are found guilty, he will set a date for sentencing and they’ll go back to jail. If not, then it will take a while for them to be processed and released.”
“Is that likely?” Juliette’s father asked with one arm carefully around his wife. It seemed more like he held her up than comforted her. Juliette’s brother stood behind her, and Aaron wondered if he did so to catch her if she fell.
“I don’t think so, but sometimes juries can surprise you. We put on the best case we could, and now it’s up to them to do the rest.” Sorensen held the door open, and Aaron’s parents went through first, followed by Aaron, Spencer, and Dr. Thomas. Juliette’s family came in last, and they all filed into the first row as a group. Mr. Sorensen and Ms. Landry took their places at the prosecutor’s table. It took just a few more minutes for the prisoners to be escorted to the room in chains. Aaron didn’t pray often, but right then he asked Juliette for a little help keeping the men in chains.
They all stood while the judge and jury came in, and then it was time.
“Would the foreperson of the jury please stand?” the judge asked, and Aaron watched as a middle-aged woman with short brown hair rose with papers in her hand. Her dress clothes looked uncomfortable and her face grave. She handed the papers to one of the court officers, and the judge asked her to sit down again. He read over the papers and then told the defendants to rise.
“For defendant Peter Godfrey,” the judge said, and Aaron finally looked over. The man with long brown hair was the only one looking up. “As to count one of the indictment, murder in the first degree of victim Juliette Martin, the jury finds the defendant guilty. Count two of the indictment, attempted murder of the victim Aaron Downing, the jury finds the defendant guilty. Count three of the indictment, sexual assault, the jury finds the defendant guilty.” The judge kept reading, for defendant Eugene Maldon, the same verdict, and for Justin Phelps, whose mother cried silently for him, the same verdict. All three men convicted on all counts. Tears streaked down Aaron’s cheeks in stunned disbelief. It was over. He had won. They would go to jail. He hugged Spencer, who stood on one side of him, then his mother on the other, until the judge tapped his gavel for silence.
