by Amalie Jahn
“It feels good, huh?” Brooke asked, grinning at me from across the table.
“No. Yes.” I fumbled for the right words to explain how I was feeling. “I wasn’t trying to solve her problems. I didn’t mean to change her life. I just wanted to find out where I came from.” I reflected on the broken woman I met on my trip. “I guess it’s nice to know that something good came out of all this mess. Who would have thought meeting me would be all it took to save her?”
“You’re her kid, Charlie,” Melody said. “Maybe she just needed to know somebody loved her.”
“Well, let’s hope she does something good with her second chance. If you have to spend the next fifteen years behind bars, it’s really the least she can do,” said Brooke.
“Did you tell her? About me? About the trip?”
“I had to. She mentioned something about a note you gave her saying you couldn’t visit her again. She assumed she’d just never hear from you again and was surprised you sent us to see her. I didn’t want to make her feel bad about you not coming, so I told her the truth. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“So she knows that she died in the original timeline?”
“Yes.”
“And she knows I’m in prison because I saved her.”
“Yeah.”
“And what did she say?”
“She cried.”
“Happy cried or sad cried?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Probably both.”
I hated the thought of causing my mother pain. I glanced at the clock. We had only eleven minutes left together.
“You haven’t told him the best part,” said Melody enthusiastically.
Brooke suddenly brightened, her voice raising an octave. “I don’t know if it will help, but she said she would come testify on your behalf. She was insistent about it. She wants to make sure they know you didn’t tell her about her death or how she died.”
I had also considered the possibility of asking for her testimony, but assumed it would be inadmissible given her history of drug abuse. However, if she was no longer using, perhaps the board would allow her to speak.
“I never met my mother in the original timeline,” I said. “I wonder if the fact that I went to see her will be considered ‘willful intent.’”
“You’re already in the worst sort of trouble, Charlie. I don’t think letting her testify will do any more harm.”
She was right. I didn’t really have much to lose. Maybe allowing her to speak would prove to the board it was all a mistake. She could simply tell them I never shared any information about her death or how she died, thereby giving her a means to avoid it. If my father agreed to testify to the same thing, perhaps there was still hope after all.
I smiled at her, reaching for her hands across the table. “Thank you for going to find her.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, entwining her fingers with mine. “She and I already discussed how to get her here. When visitation is over, I’ll head to the bank and wire her money for a bus ticket. She can be here by morning.”
She yawned, stretching her arms above her head. Exhaustion colored dark circles under her eyes and her hair was a tousled mess, still piled like a rat’s nest on the top of her head. Although she wore no makeup and appeared to have slept in her clothes, I couldn’t keep myself from staring at her.
“You may have just saved me. You know that, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I had nothing. Not a single defense. My lawyer’s barely shown an interest and yet, here you are, providing legitimate testimony and saving the day.”
She tucked her hair behind her ears and gazed across the room. “You would have done the same thing for me.”
She was right. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. When you love someone, you do whatever it takes to help them. Protect them. Ensure they remain a part of your life. The fact that she felt that depth of love for me only heightened my desire to be set free.
“So tomorrow’s the big day then,” I said finally. “I’ll either go home with you or be dragged off to prison.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just sit here together for the few minutes we have left and not think about how much everything sucks?”
“Yes. We can do that.”
I joined them on their side of the table and wrapped my arms around their shoulders, holding them close. When our time together ended, I walked them to the gate, where it was impossible to remain stoic as they both kissed me tearfully goodbye.
“We’ll see you in the morning,” Brooke promised.
“I’m crossing all my fingers and my toes,” added Melody.
I couldn’t keep myself from grinning at her. Her youthful optimism was infectious. “I love you both. No matter what happens tomorrow, I’ll never stop.”
I watched them walk all the way down the hall until they turned the corner toward the exit. Just before she disappeared out of sight, Brooke turned to me with a tearful smile and tiny wave. It broke my heart. In less than 24 hours I would know my fate. A fate held in the hands of a man who detested me and a woman I barely knew.
I was not nearly as optimistic as Melody.
C HAPTER TWENTY SIX
Miller arrived early the next morning to review my testimony. He explained the hearing procedures and informed me he was unable to procure a defense, which did not surprise me. Luckily, I’d procured my own.
“What if the people I saved testify that I never alerted them to their impending deaths, and did nothing purposely to change the timeline to that end?”
He sat silently for several moments, pulling at his greying mustache.
“Sure, Charlie. It’s worth a shot. But you’re assuming they will both be available to testify.”
“Victoria Weddington is on her way.”
His eyes widened, obviously impressed by my ingenuity. “That still leaves your dad.”
Heat rose to my face. “I didn’t think he would be a problem, although to be honest, I haven’t talked to him in days. I just assumed he’d attend his own son’s hearing.”
“He called my office yesterday to check in.” He cleared his throat. “He’s in New York today, doing the morning news circuit. He won’t be here.”
I pounded the table with my fists. “Call him. Tell him I need his testimony.”
“He wouldn’t make it in time. We have less than two hours until your appearance.”
My mind raced. “Call him anyway. Have him send an email with his statement.”
“It would need to be signed and notarized. An email won’t be admissible.”
I closed my eyes and felt the room begin to spin. The irony of my situation was not lost on me. My mother, who met me only twice, insisted on being present to defend me. My father, on the other hand, was off pursuing his own agenda to assure my ‘criminal activity’ would never reflect poorly on him.
I took a deep breath. “Fine. We don’t need him. We’ll just let my mother testify. Hopefully it will be enough to convince the board I didn’t intend on breaking the law.”
He slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do. Just know that I haven’t had an opportunity to talk to her or review her testimony. I have no idea what type of witness she’ll be. It’s a crapshoot at best.”
I couldn’t believe his audacity. To arrive without a defense and then balk against the one I provided. It was no wonder my father hired him. My inclination was to fire him on the spot, but I knew it was not in my own best interest to defend myself.
“I’ll take the crapshoot,” I replied finally. “It’s better than nothing, which is what you’re providing.”
He flinched at my disdain, but quickly regained his composure, repositioning himself in his chair while he tapped his papers curtly on the table.
“When they call us in, just let me present your case. They may or may not ask for you to speak on your own beha
lf. Is that something you feel comfortable doing?”
“Yes. Of course,” I replied without hesitation.
“You may want to give it some serious thought,” he said, massaging the back of his neck. “Look, Charlie, you’re a nice enough kid. Clean cut. All-American. People love that stuff. They eat it up. But if you take the stand, you run the risk of saying something that will hurt your image. You don’t want to sound like a pretentious know-it-all. Or a sarcastic brat. Or an entitled idiot. Not that you are any of those things, you just can’t come off sounding that way.”
“So how am I supposed to sound?”
“You have to be remorseful. Ignorant of your mistake. They have to truly believe that you intended on obeying the law.”
“I did intend on obeying the law!”
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll let you take the stand. And I’ll let your mother take the stand as well. And I’ll do my best to present you both in a way that conveys that you had no intention of saving anyone’s life.”
“Good.”
“Yes. But remember, the board won’t hesitate to ask tough questions. Are you prepared to answer them truthfully?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, exasperated by his lack of understanding. “I have nothing to hide! I didn’t intend on saving anyone’s life!”
He didn’t respond, and instead began shuffling through his files. He handed me a thick manila envelope containing an instruction manual.
“Here’s a list of some of the questions they might ask, including appropriate responses.” He checked his watch. “You don’t have long before they’ll call you to be sequestered prior to the hearing. Until that time, read through these. Try to memorize the answers. Knowing the proper way to respond will be the best chance you’ve got at earning a ticket out of here.”
I took the file from his hands. “Why didn’t you give this to me yesterday? Or the day before? How come I’m just getting it now?”
He rubbed his temples. I could tell he was counting to ten as he was clearly as frustrated with me as I was with him.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Your case is a long shot, kid. I haven’t been here because I’ve been working with other clients who actually have a shot of winning.”
His admission hit me like a punch to the gut, deflating my ego and defusing my anger in one fell swoop. My expression must have shown how deeply his words upset me as he quickly rescinded, patting me on the shoulder.
“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Stranger things have happened, right? And you’ve got your mother’s testimony I wasn’t counting on, so who knows? You just might walk out of here after all.” He attempted a smile, which may or may not have been genuine.
“Thanks,” I replied. “I guess I’ll get to work.”
I spent the next hour reading over the manual. The answers felt robotic. Artificial and contrived. I quizzed myself, replying to each question truthfully and then comparing my answer to the suggested response. It was a disaster. The manual’s answers were fact driven and concise. While the instructions suggested I explain the purpose of my trip using ten words or less, I droned on for three minutes, discussing my need for closure surrounding the death of my father and my biological mother. The more questions I attempted to answer, the more exasperated I became. Finally, I threw the book at the wall in frustration, and it hit the floor with a loud thud.
I was startled by an attractive brunette clearing her throat in the doorway. “Is everything okay, Mr. Johnson?” she asked.
I grabbed the manual from the floor and attempted to collect myself. “I’m fine.”
There was a softness to her expression which led me to believe she was newly hired. Everyone else I encountered at the facility appeared weary. Almost cynical. She lacked that calloused exterior. “That’s good,” she said smiling, “because it’s time for your hearing. Follow me, please.”
I held tightly to the book as I fell in step beside her in the hallway. “Do you get to see a lot of these cases?” I asked.
“Not a lot. But some.”
“Have you seen them let people off?”
“Only once or twice. But I haven’t worked here that long.”
We rounded a corner toward an unfamiliar section of the building. “How’d they do it?”
She slowed her pace to look up at me. “Do what? Get acquitted?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes there’s not enough evidence. One time a guy was terminal. Had a couple weeks to live. That’s not the case for you, is it?”
I smiled. “No. At least not that I’m aware of.”
She stopped and turned to face me. Her voice was empathetic. “I don’t think there’s any magic bullet. No recipe for success. Just tell the truth. Your truth. At the end of the day, it’s really all you have.”
She was right. I tossed the manual in the trashcan as we reached the sequestration room. If I was going down, I was going down on my own terms, with my own truth.
She opened the door. “The bailiff will take you from here,” she said. “Good luck.”
I was sworn in by the officer in the small room adjacent to the main chamber. It was surreal, knowing that although my family waited just beyond the wall, the government prevented us from being together. Out of nowhere, desperation overpowered me, and my mind flooded with images of their lives continuing without me. I envisioned Melody accepting her diploma at her high school graduation, Brooke opening her own veterinary clinic, and my mother cradling grandchildren in her arms. Children who would not belong to me.
I couldn’t lose them. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being part of their lives. When he returned, the bailiff found me shaking in the metal folding chair in the corner of the room.
“Charles Johnson? Let’s go,” he announced, reading from his clipboard as he opened the door into the hearing chamber.
As I entered, my eyes had difficulty acclimating to the brightness of the room. Slowly, my vision adjusted, and I saw Miller look up to acknowledge me from behind a glass of water and a small stack of papers. His apathetic expression disquieted me. I knew the outcome of my case would have no bearing on his life, and therefore, he had no vested interest in seeing me released. Regardless of the ruling, he would return to his family at the end of the day. Anger raged within me as I took my seat beside him.
I turned around to scan the room until I found her, my beautiful Brooke, sitting bravely in front of her parents between my mom and Melody, on one of the spectator benches in the back of the room. She appeared tired but her eyes were not bloodshot. It was obvious she hadn’t been crying. I waved to her discreetly, and although she smiled, I knew it was only for my benefit. By maintaining her composure she was attempting to make me feel better about the possibility of a guilty verdict. Without consideration for herself, she was trying to be strong for me.
I did not deserve her.
With this admission, the truth of my situation shifted into focus with amazing clarity. I had no one to blame for my circumstances but myself. I couldn’t be angry with Miller for his indifference, as he had absolutely nothing to do with the cause of my incarceration. The government officials I spent all week cursing for their lack of understanding were only trying to protect the public from ruining their lives. The very laws I chose to violate were the laws designed to guard us from ourselves. Even my father, whose self-serving decisions kept me from the truth and propelled me into action, could not be blamed for the end result.
Only my own selfishness was responsible for my current situation. Without Brooke’s support, I coerced my mom into confessing the truth of my adoption. Then I convinced her to accompany me on the search for my mother, and was unyielding to her pleas regarding the use of my trip.
So now, as I sat before a delegation of men and women with the power to shape the direction of my future, I decided to take that power away from them. I promised myself I was done being selfish. I knew immediately that regardless of the board’s ruling, I
was going to let Brooke go.
She deserved her freedom. Freedom from a man who couldn’t be trusted to put her needs before his own. Freedom from a man who was, at the end of the day, no better than his father. She, like my mothers, deserved better than I could give her.
As I allowed the peace of my decision to wash over me, the hearing got underway. The board read the charge against me and presented the evidence supporting the charge. Apparently the government keeps records of each person’s individual timelines throughout the course of their lives. Evaluated only by computers, timeline monitoring modules detect glitches between various timelines and depending on certain criteria, alert officials. Unfortunately for me, the modules reported two glitches in my timeline, and based on the timing, officials easily identified my parents as the cause of the discrepancies. Miller spoke for several minutes in my defense, outlining the information we discussed, falling just short of begging outright for the board’s leniency. And just when I thought I could no longer hold together the frayed edges of my composure, I was finally, mercifully, called to take the stand.
C HAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The jury, consisting of seven board members of varying ages and ethnicities, sat at a semicircular table at the front of the chamber. I felt their scrutinizing gaze as I made my way to the chair opposite them in the center of the room. I scanned their faces, hoping some expression of empathy would pass between us. There was boredom, annoyance, and even contempt, but sadly, none of the men or women tasked with deciding my fate appeared to have been blessed with the gift of compassion.
I held my breath.
The chairman sat at the center of the table, staring at me disapprovingly.
“Tell us about your trip, Mr. Johnson.”
My mind went blank. None of the questions in the manual were so vague.
I reminded myself to be truthful and concise. And to avoid sarcasm.
“What would you like to know?”
“Why don’t you just start at the beginning,” he replied. “Why did you decide to go back in time?”
