"What's your deal?" I asked Ryan, noticing him staring toward the parking lot with a look of mounting concern and anxiety on his face. He was tense, his fists clenched at his sides, as if he was awaiting a fight. I followed his gaze, noticing the heavy-set man walking toward us with a folder. His heavy coat and hat obscured his facial features, and I didn't recognize him at all.
"What do you want, man?" he called out, trying to keep his voice from shaking. I knew he was having flash backs to the last time someone approached the two of us after work, I was too.
"Ms. Jones?" the man asked, approaching us and ignoring Ryan.
"Yes…"
"This is for you," he shoved the folder at me and started walking in the other direction. I clenched it in my hands, unsure of what to do.
"What was that about?" Ryan demanded, staring at the folder with open curiosity.
"I don't know," I answered honestly. I didn't know what was in the folder, but I knew that it couldn't be good. What good news was delivered by an unfamiliar, heavy-set man in an abandoned parking lot late at night? None.
I knew that Ryan wanted me to open the folder, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The sticky, horrible feeling I had in the pit of my stomach was mounting.
"I'll be alright," I told him, motioning for him to go on without me.
"Don't be ridiculous," Ryan frowned. "That? Was creepy. I'm walking you home. Who knows where that guy went…"
"I just want to be alone, okay?" I said, somewhat harshly. The surprised and hurt look on Ryan's face made me feel guilty, but it couldn't be helped.
"If you're sure…"
"I'm sure," I snapped. "I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself."
"I don't doubt that…" Ryan remarked, frowning again, taking offence to my words, although I hadn't meant it that way. "Whatever…your choice." He added before walking in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go. I watched him walk for a bit, feeling guilty, then I quickly headed to Iain's.
Iain's porch light was still on when I came up to his house. I walked inside blindly, my fingers numb from the cold and from clenching the brown envelope so tightly.
"Harlow?" Iain called out from upstairs when I kicked the door shut behind me. I didn't answer, I could scarcely hear him as my shaky hands opened the envelope. I gasped, seeing the contents inside the envelope, and dropped the whole thing. Pictures floated to the ground absurdly slow. Distantly, I heard Iain saying something to me as he ran down the stairs. I couldn't truly hear him though, and I couldn't form a single worded reply. My words were frozen in my throat, just as the stunned expression was frozen on my face as I stared down at the photos of Iain and I together. Photos neither of us had taken. I fell back against the door, sliding down to the ground just as Iain reached my side. He picked up one of the photos, stared at it for a moment, and swore.
He pulled me toward him, hard against his chest, and held me close. "It's going to be okay, Harlow."
"No, it's not," I whispered. I felt like crying, but no tears would come. My heart was pounding. I knew what this meant. I'd seen enough law dramas to know when I was being blackmailed. I knew who it was from too, although the folder hadn't come with any words or names at all…just the photos.
He didn't argue; he just held me for what seemed like hours. I couldn't move. I was frozen, trying to think my way out of this messy situation. My mind was whirling, and all I could think about was quietly backing out of the trial and getting the hell away from this town, and Iain, before I screwed everything up for him…and before he ended up in jail.
"Should I…"
"Don't go there." Iain sighed, cutting me off before I even had a chance to finish my sentence. "You need to go to the trial. You need to speak about what you saw, and what happened that night. It's imperative that you do."
"But what about you?" I asked, my brows knitting together in frustration and concern.
"Don't worry about me," Iain tipped my chin up, looking straight into my eyes. "This is a tactic to try and get you to hush up. What non-guilty party spies on people to get dirt on them to have them back out?"
"I don't think that matters…" I hesitated, still frowning. "You could still get arrested."
Iain bit his lip, looking at the wall just behind my head. He knew he couldn't argue with that. He knew the possibility was there, and it was real.
I looked away too, feeling the burn of tears in my eyes. I should have listened to Mom. I should have walked away. I shouldn't have remained involved with Iain, especially when all this court shit loomed. A part of me wanted to shove away from Iain's embrace and flee from his house, but a bigger part kept me rooted. I didn't want to lose what we had. I rested my forehead on his and allowed the tears fall, shaking as silent sobs escaped me.
* * * *
Eventually, Iain scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the couch. I was still wearing my jacket and boots. He left them on, not caring that the snow was melting from my boots onto his living room floor. He made me a tea, his go-to calming method, and held it out to me. I shook my head, the mere thought of swallowing anything made me want to vomit. My nerves were so frazzled.
"Iain…we need to do something," I said, my voice shaking.
"I plan on it," Iain assured me, looking angrily out the window.
"What's your plan then?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. Iain sighed, looking back at me with a sad expression on his face. He sighed.
"To be honest? I have no idea."
I thought back to what my mom said about how "she could press charges if she wanted to." Momentarily, I wondered if this had been her. I just as quickly dismissed the thought. "You know…my mom knows about us."
"I know," Iain hedged, frowning slightly.
"Well…she said that she could press charges if she wanted, but I know she would never do that…maybe she'd stand up for you." I shrugged. "I could talk to her about it…"
"I don't know…" Iain hesitated, frowning deeper.
"Well, I don't know what else to do, okay!" I snapped. Iain sighed again, running a hand through his hair in thought.
"It's okay," Iain said easily. "We'll figure it out."
"You could call Thompson," I suggested, gently lifting my tea off the coffee table. I'd calmed down enough to drink it. My mouth was dryer than cotton balls.
"No, that's a conflict of interest," Iain said, picking up the folder again. "My lawyer will handle this…if anything comes of it." He looked at the photos for a second time, working his jaw thoughtfully.
"What is it?" I inquired. I held the mug of tea tighter in my hands. I took another sip, my hands still trembling ever so slightly.
"Well, there's nothing here that suggests a sexual relationship between us," Iain said, calmly laying the photos out for me too look at again.
"So? It shows us together…" I trailed off, confused. He was right though. There was a photo of me walking up to his house, two of us in his car. The two car photos were blurry, and the one of me walking up to his house didn't show my face. Luckily, our mutual agreement on no public displays of affection had prevented the photographer from getting a photo of us in any incriminating positions.
"They'd need to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that our relationship was sexual," Iain explained. "These photos don't do that. They don't prove beyond a reasonable doubt. They barely even subtly hint. You can't tell for certain if you're in the car photos, or if that's you…"
"You can tell that's me," I said, pointing to the one of me walking. "You can see the same leather jacket I always wear."
He nodded, agreeing. "But, again…this photo proves nothing."
"How do you know all this?" I demanded, perplexed. I frowned again, staring at the photos in Iain's hand. He gave me a foolish half smile.
"I looked into it," he said, shrugging. "Just in case."
"Well, our relationship is sexual," I whispered.
"I know…" Iain said, hesitating for a moment.
"What is it?" I demand
ed, an icy cold fear gripping my heart as Iain's sad eyes met mine.
"If I were to get charged…it'd be with sexual exploitation," Iain looked as if he was having difficulty speaking.
"It's not though, we're in love…the age difference doesn't matter," I argued, the fear growing so large that it almost choked me.
"It doesn't matter to us," Iain corrected. "That would matter in the courtroom. There is no Romeo and Juliet cause to save us…I'm a teacher and you're my student. The outcome isn't good."
"What are we going to do?" I asked, both dreading and knowing the answer.
"We need to cool it," his voice broke a little, as if this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Fresh tears pooled in my eyes, and I tried to blink them back as I nodded in understanding. He kneeled on the floor, gently taking the tea from my hands and setting it on the coffee table. He took my hands in his and looked at me intently. "Please know, Harlow…that I love you more than anything. The only reason why I'm suggesting cooling it is because I don't want to give them anything else to go off of. I don't want them hinting toward anything to paint you in a negative light. That will be their intent if they can't scare you away from giving your testimony. Plus…I really don't want to go to jail," he confessed.
I nodded, the tears escaping down my cheeks. I understood; I truly did. The last thing I wanted to do was to have Iain go to jail. We'd been lucky so far…and incredibly foolish. I couldn't risk having that luck run out.
"When this is all over, we will be together," Iain promised me softly. "Just be patient." He kissed me gently on my lips, tasting the salt of my tears. I kissed him back, heartbreakingly slow. When we pulled away, I noticed that his eyes were wet too.
I hated to leave him, but I had no choice. He was right—we needed to cool it.
I walked home, tears freezing on my cheeks in the freezing weather. It took the same amount of time to walk home that it usually did, but I barely registered the time. It could have been hours, or minutes. I was indifferent to the passage of time it took.
I took my jacket off in a trance, hanging it up in the front hall closet. The house was silent and dark. I didn't think anyone was up. I was grateful for that. I couldn't face Mom or Larry right at the moment. I knew I was undoubtedly wearing the shock from the photos and the hurt from the departure on my face.
I quietly treaded down the hallway and went straight to my bedroom. I didn't bother with my nightly routine of washing the makeup off. I fell onto my bed, allowing the exhaustion I'd been feeling for days overcome me. Sleep mercifully came quickly.
* * * *
A couple days passed without any further incident. Then it was the morning I was to give testimony at the trial. The trial had already been going for a couple of days, and the jury was supposed to reach a decision by the end of the following week. My testimony was right in the middle of it.
I awoke to Mom pulling the blinds open in my room. She rushed about, trying to get me up and ready for the trial start time at 10 a.m. I showered and dressed, worrying about the upcoming day. When I stood up and said my piece…what would happen? Would we be exposed?
I'd seriously considered not speaking up in the trial, but only for half a minute. My silence would just help Andrew get away with another rape. This had to stop, and it was bigger than my relationship with Iain.
In the end, I'd had to tell myself to do what was right. Speaking up against the Coopers, helping Jenna's case in the trial…that was what was right. Iain and I weren't seeing each other anymore…we were "cooling it," as he put it. I knew it was for the better, but it still stung.
I washed the soap out of my hair, shaking my head slightly to clear it. I need to get back in the now, in the present. Thompson had warned me that Andrew's lawyers would likely try to pick apart every single thing that I said. I had to be at my most aware.
I applied my makeup carefully, choosing to go a more natural look than my usual liquid eyeliner cat eye. I dried my long hair with my blow dryer and brushed it out, leaving it down. I'd chosen simply yet snug black dress jeans and borrowed a dress top off my mom. It was a simple cream cashmere sweater, but far more appropriate than anything I'd had in my closet. I evaluated myself in the mirror, critically. Would I pass the judgmental scrutiny of the jury? I chewed on my lip, absently fingering the necklace Iain had given me at Christmas.
"Come on, Harlow; we're going to be late!" Mom hollered. I sighed, giving up, and left the bathroom. Mom was already in the front hall. She was dressed in her best coat and shoes. She was clenching her purse in her left hand, the keys in her right and looking at me with a look that clearly said Hurry up. I went to put on my boots, feeling sheepish that I hadn't considered court shoes. "No," Mom said quickly, she reached to the top shelf of the front hall closet and grabbed a shoe box. "Wear these."
I opened the box, looking at the plain black pumps she'd purchased for me. I smiled gratefully, sliding into them. She offered me the simple black dress trench jacket that she'd bought me a year ago in hopes that I'd take to it and stop wearing dad's old leather jacket. I slid into it, grateful that she hadn't thrown it out.
"Let's go," she said, nodding in satisfaction. I followed her out to the car, which was already warming thanks to the remote starter Larry had gotten her for Christmas. We drove in silence to the court house, found a parking spot with some difficulty, and raced up the front steps of the court house. I had ten minutes to get back into the judge's chambers. Thompson was pacing the floor, and let out an aggravated sigh of relief when he saw me approaching.
"Good. You're here. You need to wait in that room until we're ready for you, and you'll have to sit in the audience," Thompson said quickly. He pointed to a room on his left and motioned for Mom to follow him.
"Good luck!" she whispered, kissing my cheek before she headed off after him. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The room was empty. Thompson had told me that we would all have our own waiting areas. I fell onto the leather couch and sighed.
I hadn't bothered bringing my phone, since I knew I wouldn't be allowed to use it today anyway. My fingers tapped impatiently against the leather as I stared at the clock. Ten minutes passed, and I sighed. I stood up, deciding to explore the room to keep myself occupied. There was a bar fridge and a small table. I went to the bar fridge, opening it and peering inside. There was a couple cans of pop, some water bottles, some juice boxes, and some yogurt. I grabbed a bottle of water, closing the door and twisting off the lid. I was about to take a sip when the door opened.
"Ms. Jones? They're ready to see you now," the bailiff said. He stood aside so I could exit the room. He led me to the court room, where all the proceedings were taking place.
I walked into the court room. I'd been expecting a full house, with all the talking that our town had been doing…but the room was surprisingly nearly empty. A few people sat in the rows of benches behind the plaintiff and a handful sat behind the defendant's side. The bailiff led me straight to the stand, where I had to swear on a Bible before sitting down.
I stared directly at Andrew, my solemn eyes unwavering as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was looking fearful now.
His lawyer, a small rat of a man, stared at me with watery eyes the entire time Thompson asked me to recount the night of the party. I told them about going into the room and seeing Andrew climbing off Jenna. I told them about the altercation we had, about how Jake came in just in time and how Andrew had taken off. I told them about Jake helping me get Jenna home. I didn't leave out a single thing about that night.
Thompson asked me about the following day, when Andrew chased me down the street, and when he and his friends jumped a co-worker and I after work.
When Thompson was done asking me questions, he went to sit down at the plaintiff table beside Jenna. She was trembling slightly, tugging the large sweater she was wearing tighter to her body. As far as I'd seen, Andrew had not so much as tossed a glance in her direction. I wasn't even sure if he knew that she was pr
egnant or not.
Andrew's lawyer stood up and started walking toward me. He cleared his throat to gain the attention of the jury. I felt dizzy, like I couldn't focus. I tried not to appear that way, though. I raised my head proudly and stared at the approaching lawyer. Thompson had told me his name was O'Neil.
"Ms. Jones?" he started. "You are aware that you took an oath swearing to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, correct?" I nodded, waiting for him to proceed. "When is your birthday, Ms. Jones?"
"January 4, 1988," I replied.
"Who are your parents?" O'Neil questioned.
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