by Traci Briery
"You're real popular today, Princess," her usual escort called out. Loraine had barely the energy to make it to the visitor's area again. She was expecting Michael until she made the final approach to the cubicle.
"Oh, shit," she whispered. For a long time neither she nor Linda reached for their phones. Then Linda let her hand all but crawl to the handset and held it to her ear in silence. Loraine waited a few seconds before following.
"I don't blame you if you hate me," Loraine whispered.
"That depends," Linda said. "Cops have talked to me, you know."
"I didn't know."
"I'm, uh—I doubt if I'm in much shape to talk for very long," Linda said, her voice quivering, "So just let me know if you—if you did it, so I can get out of here."
"I don't—" Loraine said, but her own voice broke. "No," she said. "I didn't. I couldn't have. I loved her. Well, not like you did, but you know what I mean."
"She said you two had—some trouble," Linda said.
"What trouble?"
"You tell me," Linda said. "She just—" She broke down into tears at this point. Loraine had to look away or do the same. It was all either of them could do to keep their composures. Linda was able to continue, but in a very halting voice that was ready to break again at any moment.
"I thought I was okay," she said. "I swear I didn't even cry yesterday. I don't know why, but I didn't."
"Shock?"
"Maybe," she sniffed. "All I know is… is she was worried about you, but wouldn't say why. She said you were going through difficult times and—owed her money and—I don't know. She was scared for you."
"Scared?"
"Are you in trouble about something?"
"Yes, I am," Loraine said. "I've been arrested for killing my best friend. I think that's trouble."
"Before that—this," Linda said. "Why was she so worried about you?"
"I'd—been depressed for a long time. That's all."
"Why?"
"I told you I didn't do it," Loraine mumbled, barely able to make eye contact. "I couldn't have."
"You keep saying that," Linda said. "You couldn't have, like you don't believe it yourself. Just tell me yes or no. Please, Loraine."
"No."
"Then you didn't? Or are you just refusing to answer me?"
"You're worse than the fuckin' cops, Linda. What do you want from me?"
"You were there!" Linda said, her eyes filled with tears again. "I just want to know what happened! I just want to know… know why her? I want to know why she was scared of you!"
"Of me? Did you say she was scared of me? "
"I-I meant for you," Linda said. "She was worried and scared for you. But you owed her money, didn't you?"
"I didn't owe her any money!" Loraine said. "I found a great job! Why would I kill my best friend? I couldn't have killed her! I—I couldn't have." Now it was Loraine's turn to break down. "I couldn't have," she sobbed. "I couldn't! Couldn't! Couldn't!"
Two officers surrounded her, trying to calm her down and to end the visiting session. Linda pressed the phone even closer to her ear as if to better hear Loraine's cries of anguish as they pulled her away.
"WHY CAN'T I REMEMBERRRR!?!" were the last words Linda could make out before Loraine disappeared around the corner.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
She ate little of her meal again, then settled down for another uncomfortable night in jail. She had disturbing, violent dreams, but nothing like the kind from the last three nights. No talks with an angry police lieutenant greeted her the next morning. After breakfast, a cop did come to her cell.
"Your lawyer's here," he announced. Loraine considered staying put, then pushed her meal aside and followed him to a private room. Inside was a middle-aged woman in a red power suit and lipstick to match. She smiled and extended her hand until Loraine finally took it in a limp handshake. Behind Loraine her escort shut the door and left them alone.
"Have a seat," the woman said. "I'm Maria Sanchez. Did the police officer tell you that I'm an attorney?"
"Yeah."
"I was recommended to you by Tom O'Malley," she said. "He mentioned that you work for Tamara Taylor, one of his clients?"
"Yeah."
"And what do you do for her?"
"Her choreographer."
"Mmmm, very nice," Maria said, clicking open her briefcase to pull out a notebook. She shut the briefcase and set it onto the floor.
"You look like you want to get down to business," Maria said, flashing a quick smile. "So we will. Now I've read the police reports. Your name is Loraine, but it was changed recently?"
"From Phyllis," Loraine said. "A real butthole name."
"Really," Maria said, scribbling on her pad. "My daughter's name is Phyllis."
"Well, I didn't like my name."
"Were you made aware of your charges when you were arrested?"
"They think I killed my roommate," Loraine said. "She was my best friend."
"The report didn't say that you did, but I'd like to know from you if you answered any questions related to the charges against you."
"Uh… uh, I just, uh… my name and age and stuff," she mumbled. "Well, yeah, they asked… but I didn't say anything. I almost did, though."
"But you didn't?" Maria said. Loraine shook her head. "Good," Maria said.
"How much is this going to cost?"
"Pardon?" Maria said.
"How much do you cost?" Loraine said. "Like, eight hundred an hour or something?"
"Uh… uh, no, not that much," Maria said. "My understanding is that you and Ms. Taylor will be splitting the fees?"
"Wha—?"
"I really don't think you need to worry about that right now," Maria said. "I won't charge more than you can afford. And I'm confident that there's a strong chance for acquittal."
"What's that?"
"Acquittal? That you'd be found not guilty."
"Oh, right," Loraine said, and leaned on her arm. Maria patted her hand in an attempt to comfort her.
"The evidence is circumstantial," she said. "You were found at the scene of a murder. That's hardly grounds for conviction."
"What about all the blood?" Loraine said. "They found blood all over me. And her. Roxanne…"
"That's why I need to know what happened that night," Maria said. "I'm not the police; you can tell me everything, good or bad. But I need to know every detail. Don't leave anything out."
Loraine mumbled something, then let her head rest on the table.
"What was that? I didn't hear you," Maria said.
"I was naked and had blood on me," Loraine said. "Roxanne was… ripped up."
"That was in the morning," Maria said. "That's what the police found. But before that. What happened? What were you and your friend doing that night?"
"I was… doing something else then," Loraine muttered. "Or trying to. Don't know what she was doing."
"And what were you doing?"
"I don't know how I got to the apartment," Loraine said. "I wasn't trying to be there."
"What were you doing that night?"
"I was… looking for someone. I'm not sure if I found him, though. Or her."
Maria seemed lost in thought a moment. "Were you…" she began, "Were you drinking that night? Or had some other substance?"
"No…" Loraine said, covering her face and sighing., When she pulled her hands away, she avoided eye contact. "Nooo, I don't do drugs. Or drink. I don't even like beer or wine. I was just… out, okay? I didn't even plan on being home that night. Roxanne was my friend. My best friend, and everyone thinks I killed her!"
"Did you?"
"What?"
"Did you kill her?" Maria asked. Loraine just stared. "No matter what your answer is, my job is to defend you," Maria said. "But I need to know up front: did you kill Roxanne?"
"… I don't know," Loraine whispered.
Michael pressed his hand against the bulletproof glass that separated him from Loraine. Loraine did the same
, until a passing cop recited the rule about "no fingerprints on the glass."
"Do you have a lawyer yet?" Michael asked into the phone.
"Yeah. We talked a little bit," Loraine said. "Tamara got her for me. I guess she must be pretty good, then."
"At least it's not some court-appointed guy," Michael said. "You have somebody who cares."
"Lawyers is lawyers to me," she said with a sigh. "You know, she says there's some other guy who's going to help me, like a detective. Does that mean I have two lawyers?"
"Uhhh, I don't know," he said. "I've never even played a lawyer before, let alone know anything about the law. What else did she say? Is she sure that she can clear you? I mean, you didn't do it, so is she sure she can prove it?"
"Uh… I don't know, really," she said. "There's… you know, all that court shit to go through and… investigating and uh… isn't this just perfect?"
"What?"
"Nothing," Loraine said, then was quiet a moment. "I guess it's just that some people are picked out to be the toilets of the world. The world shits on them."
"You're not a 'toilet,' honey," Michael said. "I'm not going to lie and say things are great for you, but it's not going to get worse. They'll see that you didn't do it. You're going to get off. You'll be acquitted, I'll be right there when it happens, too."
"Thanks."
"And when you do…" Michael began, but his voice faded out.
"What?" Loraine said.
"Oh… I was just thinking, you know," he said. "When it's all over, we could… live together. When we were apart, I realized how much I missed you. I'm sorry I was so indecisive, but—
"No."
"What?"
"We can't live together," she said.
"N—No?" he said. "But—that's what you've wanted for a long time. That's why you broke up with me before, because I wasn't sure about it. So why—?"
"It—just wouldn't be a good idea," she said.
"But why?"
"I can't tell you," she said. "I mean—it—I really wish I could, but it would take so long. Please just trust me, Mikey. You'd only get hurt."
"Have you… met someone else or something?"
"No…" she said. "No, I haven't. This isn't really the best time to talk about it, Mikey."
"Oh… yes, I'm sorry…"
"That's okay," she said. "I don't blame you for being upset, or confused. I might be able to tell you sometime. Just… not now."
Loraine's escort called "Time's up." He hung up her phone before she could say anymore, but she heard a quick rap at the window. Loraine turned toward Michael just long enough to hear him mouth the words "I love you" and to see him blow a kiss. Then she was pulled away to be led back to her cell.
Maria assured her that what followed was not actually the trial, but simply a deposition, or the presentation of evidence. They had a long way to go before the main event. She also assured Loraine that it was to their great advantage that no eyewitnesses could be found. Loraine was disturbed that any witnesses had been found at all, even if they had only heard things.
She had lived in her apartment complex for several years, but recognized no one. Nevertheless, the prosecution produced various tenants who were awakened or startled or annoyed or whatever by a loud commotion of thumping, banging, yelling, screaming, and everything else from Loraine's apartment. Not surprisingly, the only person who finally called the police was Michael, long after the commotion had stopped. He was also called to the witness stand to present his testimony.
Loraine sat as if in a trance and barely listened to any of it. It was the only way she could cope with being forced to relive her friend's death over and over again. The coroner's presentation was perhaps most devastating of all. The wounds that Loraine had were superficial at best, and most of the blood covering her had been Roxanne's. She remembered when they forced her to sit still while cleaning out her fingernails; some of Roxanne's skin and hair had been found, the coroner announced impassionately. Loraine was silent all the while, but wanted to ask out loud if they also found part of Roxanne in her stomach. Maria could say whatever she pleased, but Lorainey felt "guilty." She considered saying why and let Maria try to get her off on an insanity plea. Anyone who would think that she was a werewolf had to be crazy.
The judge decided that there was enough evidence to proceed with an arraignment, which was scheduled for later.
Loraine had already met her "detective," or investigator. His job, she learned, was to accompany the police on their investigations and find evidence in her defense. He also worked without the police and worked with, but not for, Maria. It made Loraine feel a little better, but not much. Like Maria, he was also middle-aged and married, but seemed more detached from the case. However, he and the police were puzzled by the many deep scratch marks and rips in the floor and other objects around Loraine's apartment. Also, very heavy objects such as the couch had been pushed far from their usual spots. Loraine's memory of that night had not changed, however. She remembered much violence, but in murky detail at best. He and Maria were on their own.
Loraine finally obtained two temporary cellmates: two female gang members who were suspects in a drive-by shooting. They yelled at and taunted the two cops who brought them in, until the cops disappeared behind "The Big Door." Then, unsatisfied, they turned their attentions to Loraine, who ignored their cutting remarks about her "cutie-pie" looks. Then, one of them finally asked about her crime, and only then did Loraine look into her eyes and very calmly announce, "I ripped my roommate to pieces, then ate the pieces."
The two girls stared at her a moment, then huddled together quietly from then on. Loraine returned to her solitude. The crazy prisoner in the adjacent cell started talking to himself again. He tried to mutter, but she could always hear him arguing with himself, if his name was "Al," that is.
One visitor she did not miss was the "secret admirer" that had almost driven her mad. It had decided not to follow her to jail, apparently. It was not a stupid admirer, then. She did have other visits from Tamara, Michael, Maria, and the investigator, whose name she could never remember.
Three weeks after her arrest, Loraine stood beside Maria while the judge asked for their plea. "Not guilty," Maria said. Loraine would have just shrugged.
"I have to get out of jail," Loraine said during their meeting afterward.
"You will," Maria said. "I'm confident that there'll be an acquittal."
"I don't mean that," Loraine said. "I mean that I can't stay in jail any longer."
"I know how difficult it is to be in jail, but—"
"You're not listening to me," Loraine said. "I'm not talking about the final verdict; I need to get out of jail, period. Now!"
"No bail was set," Maria said. "It's more difficult than—"
"Then get a bail set, and pay it!"
"Now you have to listen to me," Maria said sternly. "I do intend to get you out on probation, but it's not going to happen in the next hour, you know. Not even the next few days. And even then your movements will be very limited. This is a murder charge. I can't even guarantee that I can get you out."
"You have no idea how important it is that I do get out, and soon."
"Well…" Maria said, and was lost in thought a moment. "Look, if it's some sort of unfinished business you have, give me the details and I'll see to it that it's done."
"It's not like that."
"What is it, then? Why do you have to get out now? "
"I guess all I could say is that it'll be that time of the month again."
"Look, this isn't the time for PMS jokes," Maria said. "If that's what you mean. I can't help you if you don't give me more information. And I don't mean to be harsh, but you haven't been terribly cooperative about this whole trial. You do understand what could happen if there's a conviction, don't you?"
"I thought you said I'd be acquitted."
"I still believe that there will be, but let's face it: it'll be in spite of your uncooperation. You haven't eve
n given me a satisfactory answer to the only question that's at stake here: did you kill your roommate?"
"And I probably never will be able to," Loraine muttered.
"And why not? Will my defense be based on an insanity plea? That you did do it, but aren't responsible because you don't even remember it?"
"Is that my fault that I don't? Maybe I was hit on the head."
"The doctor who examined you made no mention of that."
"Well, why does he think I was unconscious?"
"I'd… have to reread his report," Maria said. "As I recall, he was unclear on that, too. But you know what?" she added, leaning back and folding her arms. She had an odd smile.
"What?"
"I don't entirely believe you," Maria said. "That's part of why I decided that you didn't do it. I don't believe that you remember nothing."
"Oh, really? And how did you come to this conclusion?"
"Unfortunately, that's all it is right now," Maria said, going back to a more relaxed position. "A belief. A woman's intuition, if you want to go that far. It's almost as if you don't remember every detail, but remember enough to be… protecting someone, maybe?"
"Like who? Roxanne? She ripped herself up and I want to take the blame? Maybe I'm protecting myself."
"Look, I'm not the enemy—"
"I know you're not," Loraine said. "You're trying to defend me, and to help me. And I appreciate that. But if you can't help me the way I really need it right now, and that's to get me out on bail, or parole, or whatever the hell it is, by the next full moon, then I won't be responsible for what happens to whoever's near me. Just… trust me. Okay?"
"Did you say the next full moon?"
"Just trust me."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Her trial had been set for six months from then, barring any extensions from Maria. It could have been six years from then; all that mattered was that Loraine was still in her cell a week after the arraignment. Her two cellmates had been removed and replaced with someone else: another gang member who had supposedly shot her boyfriend for "dissing" her, whatever that meant. Loraine didn't care to ask for any details. The girl probably wouldn't survive the night, anyway. Loraine had begged the cops not to give her any cellmates, especially not this night. Her answer had been a stern warning against causing more trouble.
