by Travis Borne
Jim put two fingers on her neck. A part of him hoped there would be no pulse, but it was there, and stronger than Amy’s had been. He got up and went over to Abell.
Mitch couldn’t help himself but stare at her. Tim stood behind him. She was petite, but not too, damaged and limp, white with a shade of purple, but still, her beauty had the mesmerizing allure of a sleeping princess. “Is she stable?” Mitch asked, looking up to Jim.
“Yeah,” Jim said. He released his air reluctantly. “She’ll live.” His surge was abating and he felt as if he was, logged in; the drain he felt after terminating several DCs was oddly similar. He thought about heading to work, logging in, and mutilating everyone he could find. He thought of his years with his old partner, Lion, how they’d gut and ravage the place. Get it all out of their system. How he’d yearned for that release, day after day, a purge. It felt good, fucking wall-liberating good. But without Amy, no. Things would never be like that again. Done, I’m done. And again he was purposeless, back to remembering, and hurting inside.
“Abell. Pick her up and take her to the hospital,” Jim said, the air falling out of his lungs. “She’s stable. Moving her won’t be a problem.” He looked back to her one last time, the two goons awing at her; he shook his head slowly and left.
Mitch wiped away some blood while Tim stood back. Tim didn’t like blood, but he did like Jessie. He found himself drawn to stare at her, yet disgusted and sick to his stomach at the same time. They rolled her onto a large blanket on the dry side of the bed. Hot blood-soaked sheets released a metallic fog that invaded their nostrils. It combined with the smell of sex they’d gotten used to and made for a new odor that hit them like a breeze.
“The smell,” Tim said.
“I know,” Mitch replied. “I hope what Jim said isn’t true.”
“Yeah, how could it be? Just look at her, so delicate and innocent looking.” Tim’s eyes were round and revering.
“She really is beautiful, even now,” Mitch said. “I hope she’ll be all right.”
Abell carried her by himself, like he was so used to for years with Lia, draped her over his shoulder. Escorted uselessly by Mitch and Tim he brought her to the hospital. She was placed in the room across from Amy and two nurses tended to her. Jim met with Hilda, head of security, and advised, critically, that it would be wise to keep a guard on her room. Hilda agreed with an iron fist and made it happen.
For much of the town, the hospital staff, the docs, security, especially the lenders—for everyone actually, the day was an awakening. The monotony of quotidian life could be broken. The hospital, besides mending a few gashes, stretched tendons, and broken bones from scrap-pile climbers and workout-a-holics, had a critical task. Security had renewed purpose—shit can happen, and will. There was room for reform. Friends, family, lenders, had pain. The team was torn apart and a life hung in the balance. And the future was uncertain.
Exhausted, Jim rested on a waiting-room chair across from Bertha who filled two. Her eyes were swollen as if she had leeches on her lids, and she’d stopped talking. There were still many people, waiting, concerned, sobbing. Amy had quite an influence on the townspeople and it was apparent that it wasn’t just her special gift at the lender facility. She’d made an impact on every person she met, not solely those she had logged in with. In a tiny town in the middle of who-knows-where, where everyone cared for one another like family, and participated as an equal part for the good of survival—George and Jessie were the exception, the result of hate, and a choice gone horribly wrong. Jim watched everyone, and realized things. And things became turbid in his mind, and he soon fell asleep.
The shadows chased the light down Main Street as the sun descended below the wall. Jim and many others were awakened by Bertha talking to Old Doc. “How is she, Doc, please?” Doc was coated with blood and appeared fatigued and bereaved. He struggled to get his words out as if he was both exhausted and dizzy. Bertha anxiously pleaded again: “Doc?”
“She is stable.” He sighed for a moment. “But—”
“Oh God! What is it?” Bertha gasped. Jim stood up next to her. The waiting room came alive with trepidation.
“We have her stabilized, for now,” Old Doc said, as professional as one can be, reeling with his own emotions. Bertha wailed and Jim tried to calm her. “But unfortunately, she is in a coma because of the sudden blood loss, and—she might have lower-body paralysis.”
“Go on, Doc,” Jim said.
“Well, she has three knife-inflicted wounds. And I’m very sorry to say, her spinal cord was grazed by the blade. But we won’t know the extent of paralysis, if any, until she wakes. And with our limited technology any paralysis will be irreversible. The other back wound is not life threatening, the knife was lodged vertically between her back ribs. The angle at which it was thrust likely saved her life. The third and most life-threatening wound was in her leg. The knife severed her femoral artery and the tremendous loss of blood put her into a coma.”
Bertha's knees gave out and she broke down. She could bear it no longer. Moments later the bison of a woman displayed physical weakness for the first time ever; she fainted.
The dark side of Jim, perhaps, with his new depth of thought, was glad. Better for her to sleep, he thought. Rather than torment herself—and everyone else, with more wailing.
There was no short supply of help for Bertha and people were able to break her sudden fall. It took the effort of several to roll her off the young man she nearly crushed with her weight.
“She’ll be okay. She needs rest,” Old Doc said after a quick check. “Let’s put her feet up.” People came together to offer any help needed. A pillow was placed behind her head.
Before Doc could head back Jim pulled him aside, keeping himself composed as best he could. “Doc, I want you to give it to me straight.”
“Jim, we are doing the best we can. She is a very strong person, you know this. I’ve known her since she arrived as a child. If anyone can pull through this, she can. You saved her life by applying that tourniquet so quickly. Had it been even a split-second later—she would not be here with us now.”
Jim put his hand on Doc’s shoulder, and his head fell. He couldn’t hold it in. He’d never felt, to such an extent, the raw power of his emotions. His time with Amy; he was a new and different person. And he knew it was for the best, he could feel that much—to the depth of his soul—but it hurt like a son of a bitch.
“Jim, we have the blood and her wounds have been sealed. Now, only time will tell.”
“Thank you, Doc,” Jim said, eyes glossy.
“I think you should go home and get some rest,” Old Doc said. Jim turned away slowly. “Oh, and Jim, the other patient, Jessie, she’s going to be just fine. Young Doc is tending to her right now. We should be able to release her in a couple of days.”
“She’ll be released all right,” Jim said. He turned and walked out of the hospital.
60. The Trial
The doors flung open, hinges screaming like an old woman. The courthouse. It was a neglected building next to town hall. Long ago, it was used quite often to settle petty quarrels and differences among the citizens. Before that it was also the common place for prayer—used in place of a church that’d been cut off from the boundary of the wall. As the years passed—and the violent storms ceased—participation dwindled among the faithful, and petty differences and arguing became rare, then nonexistent. People accepted life within the confines of the wall and made the best of it. And, it was eventually sealed off, the door wrapped with chains. Things were handled outside in the consistently perfect weather, in the park or the larger town-hall building, without reminders of religion, without being choked by the judgmental walls of the court.
The outside of the white structure fought time well with its built-to-last colonnaded design. Cobwebs and dust covered its aging wood interior which ultimately fell into desuetude. But today infamy had returned to Jewel City, along with an almost unheard-of thunderstorm. The Atmow
ater Generators would get a rest, but Jessie Star would not. The great room was dusted, mopped, and cleaned within the margin of its historic lackluster, and once again court was in session.
She was escorted inside by security officers Mitch and Tim, and for today, both wore the least faded of their tired blue uniforms. Mitch was a slender black man, and Tim was his doppelganger—except for being Albino. They’d been partners and best friends for years but had yet to encounter such a foul and vicious act within the wall.
Her cuffs were loose and low because of the bandages, and under a threadbare pale-purple sweater Jessie wore nothing but panties, a hospital gown, and sandals. Tim folded the wet umbrella while Mitch escorted her to the front. The floorboards creaked and a sardined crowd pressed her with resentful eyes. Jessie’s were a river. Her tears joined her wet footsteps, and turning her head slowly, she looked right. Bertha. The bull of a woman sat in the front row. And she stoned the meekly walking head-turner with a bulging-eyed glare; cheeks puffing like two spastic blowfish. Jim sat on Bertha’s right. He had instructed Abell to sit on her immediate left at the aisle—for reasons apparent in her suffocating scowl. And for once Abell was worried; there could be nothing and no man who could stop “Big Bertha, The Juggernaut,” as he’d already witnessed a sample of her power unleashed.
Mitch assisted Jessie around and into the witness stand. Shortly after, Rob Price, wearing his usual attire under a black robe too short for his tall frame, entered as the acting judge. It was to be a quick procedure; the evidence was clear. Still, a unanimous decision had to be agreed upon by eleven members of the town panel and one randomly chosen citizen after hearing the evidence. But most had already made up their minds, including Rob himself—even Jessie’s good friend, first position in the twelve-seat jury box, botanist Kim Mills. Furthermore, any objections or comments from any in attendance, regardless of standing or occupation, would be heard with consideration.
And that was about as formal as it got within the wall. Most disputes and arguments were settled with good old common sense, expeditiously, although, and everyone knew, this was not a simple matter. It had been five days since the atrocity and Jewel City had an accused murderer inside the worn and now, unshackled courtroom.
Jessie was on trial.
She sobbed uncontrollably and looked more petite than her well-known made-up, strutting-tall, chin-up self. She sat facing the town for the proceeding. Her beauty was always so dominant it never needed makeup or fancy clothes, but today people saw through it.
Rico was in attendance, as was anyone even remotely involved with Amy’s rescue or the incident. Assisted by David, Chang was holding down the fort in the control room and Ron and the twins were managing the BROCC with a full staff of previously low-level lenders.
Jim had already spent one day working with a new recruit, another from Amy’s class named Terri. Sadly, and it got to him, Terri was Amy’s replacement. He could have seen it as Jessie’s or George’s replacement but for him it hit home; he shouldn’t be training a new recruit, not now. Terri had almost made it into the program but Amy’s high score bumped her off. With three lenders out, Ted had no choice but to make the call and train at least one replacement right away. Terri was plucked from botany and plunged into dream world.
Ted arrived late and squeezed his way past Abell and Bertha and sat next to Jim who saved him a spot. In light of the tragedy Ted muzzled some important findings based on the most recent flood of data. A breakthrough it was, but he didn’t have to struggle to reach his sensitive side. Not today. For today, science, data, and his bottomless-pit of computations got a kick downstairs, at least until after the likely to be very short trial. The breaking news would have to wait.
Those who couldn’t fit inside stood outside under the overhang of the courthouse or in the rain: in anticipation of the result, but mostly for a verdict of prevailing justice, they waited. The penalty was widely rumored to be exile, a first for the town. Investigators—board members and security working together—had gathered an avalanche of proof, and pre-concluded amongst themselves that Jessie was an equal part of the plot to kill Amy, and word had spread through the town like a bonfire behind a jet engine.
“Everyone please be seated,” Rob said, tapping his makeshift gavel onto the dry and cracking wood bench. “Quiet please!” And the chamber fell silent, except for Jessie, still meekly weeping on the stand. “We are here today because, as you all very well know, there was a terrible incident Monday morning involving young Amy. I don’t want to draw this process out any longer than it has to be. The board has reviewed the evidence and we unanimously arrived at a decision but we must present the evidence and proceed formally. Also, should she so choose, we will all have a chance to hear from Jessie herself, which could affect her judgment.” He peered down at her and paused. “Much depends on her honesty with the court today.” Jessie looked up to him. Eyes flooded with regret, she surrendered a sad nod of acknowledgment.
“Hilda, if you would, please,” Rob said, addressing the one and only, Hilda Heisenberg. She sat with the security team opposite the jury. Stepping to the forefront, Hilda stood tall at over six feet. She was in her late fifties and by far the tallest woman in town; her hair bun added an extra three inches. She had an angular, bony and porous face and her light-blue eyes were lasers. Ms. Heisenberg carried an extendable pointer, always, and her movements were stern and swift. She had a prominent cleft chin and an accompanying Adam’s apple, and had been a polizist in Berlin before moving to the states to seize a leadership position in the LAPD.
Rob continued, “Hilda, as all of you know, is in charge of town security. She has compiled a full report detailing the incident. Please note the details of this are not for the faint of heart, if anyone wishes to leave the court please do so now.”
No one left.
Hilda ruled with an iron fist, and if she gave chase to anyone, for even the smallest of crimes, she never gave up. With a notable German accent, Hilda spoke the complete details of the case. The audience gave complete attention—always did whenever Hilda spoke: Jessie had lured Amy, most likely befriending her to do so. George attempted to kill Amy but she fought back, killing him. Jessie got scared and ran home where she attempted the easy way out, suicide.
Everything was just as Jim had so perspicaciously envisioned.
“Sobbing for pity!” Bertha loudly blasted. Her voice rocked the walls, fisting a jolt into many a spine. Abell tensed and readied himself. “You didn’t show mercy to Amy, so we won’t show any to you!”
Rob pounded his gavel until the head came off and went flying but she kept venting. Bertha rocked the wooden barrier in front of her as though it was a dollhouse partition. Abell attempted to control her by putting his large hands on her shoulders. But she wouldn’t have it.
“Bertha, please!” Jim said, and after a few tense glares they finally got her under control. The details had inflamed her rage; there was no preventing the inevitable outburst from her.
And then Hilda continued to speak. Having been a sloppy crime the evidence was plentiful and disclosed to the court in full: Amy’s blood on Jessie’s doorknob, matching footprints, items found hidden near the scene that would likely have been used to bind and wrap Amy, along with weights from the gym to submerge her into the pond or canal, Jim’s testimony of her visit the night before, and comments from others regarding how George and Jessie treated and mocked Amy on various occasions. Overwhelming. And after Hilda finished, the court was visibly taken aback. Heads shrugged slowly, hands held foreheads, and tears fell.
“Does anyone have anything to add?” Judge Rob asked. None spoke. “Does anyone know any details about the incident that were not mentioned here today?” He waited, nothing. “Anything else?” No one else spoke up. All in attendance were speechless. “Before we make a final judgment—” He turned to her. “—Jessie Star, do you have anything to say on your behalf?”
Jessie wiped the tears from her baby-soft skin. She moved her hair awa
y from her emboldening eyes and wet face, pulled it back into a ponytail, pressed her luscious lips tight, then said, “Yes, Judge—I do.”
She did have something else to say, and was finally able to compose herself enough to speak clearly. First, with both hands on her heart, she sincerely apologized to Bertha, Jim, and the townspeople. Her words were as genuinely spoken as words could be, and with a poetic rhythm she let them flow from her heart. She wasn’t going to be rush-judged and ramrodded to her doom and she wasn’t in the lender program for her beauty, far from it. She was exceptionally creative, intelligent, and remarkably articulate, and she began to explain the full story, every minute detail, honestly as she knew it. She released her soul in the courtroom, and Bertha, as mad and stubborn and tendentious as she was, opened an ear.
Before Jessie had finished speaking a few frantically rushed out of the courtroom.
61. Feeling Fantastic
A week prior…
“Well, what if we just got rid of her?” George said, relaxing on a Saturday night while lying naked and fully splayed on their bed. The drapes were shut as usual, with extra blankets layered to seal the cracks. A lamp on his bedside table lit the room dimly.
Jessie got up—she had to, it was the rule. But also, because remotes were banished; anything with the capability to transmit was nonexistent in Jewel City. Flaunting her birthday suit, she went to put the next movie in the ancient videocassette player. Being their turn to enjoy one of the town’s ten screens privately—of which only six were available for a three-day checkout; of those six, three were priority to lender housing—George waited for the next movie. And the buzzing old buzzer buzzed on, thanks to Rick Crisp, the town fix-it man. He kept most of the old gadgets ticking. The player made noises as though it was eating rubber bands, then smoothed out and ate the next tape. The timeworn unit was a part of their bundle. Atop a messy pile of clothes, they had it set on the lowest, open dresser drawer and the screen atop the stained piece of rummage-room furniture. The worst of the ten: cracked glass, and it was darker on the bottom left, but still, a decent cinematic delectation.
