Chapter 55 – Three Little Letters, S O S
Friday morning June 13, 2008 – 10:00 AM
Saeed Kahn and his accomplice spent the remainder of the morning busily plotting his death-march of a campaign against their adopted motherland, while back at the Middlesex Superior Courthouse the big wheels of justice kept on turning…if ever so slowly. The languid pace of the proceedings was due primarily to an acrimonious hearing which was taking place in Judge Gershwin’s chambers regarding the potential testimony of one John “JJ” Breslin Jr. And although the jurors would never become privy to the details of this controversial meeting, apparently the impromptu showdown was contentious from the start, and it quickly developed into a dispute of scriptural proportions.
Assistant District Attorney Elaina Lyons was adamant that JJ should be allowed to corroborate his mother’s testimony regarding the senior John Breslin’s alleged threats against Fred Miller, uttered in his eldest son’s presence. But Breslin’s attorney Mr. R. J. Gleason, on the other hand, was equally adamant that JJ should absolutely not be allowed to testify, due to his youthful age, as well as the fact that the child’s testimony would be unfairly and overwhelmingly prejudicial to his client.
As the debate raged on and on, Tracy Stone’s opinion was eventually sought out by Judge Gershwin. Naturally, she remained vehemently opposed to subjecting her son to what was guaranteed to be a withering cross-examination by the council for the defense…and she made it be known in no uncertain terms.
Stone was bitterly angry and disappointed that DA Lyons would place her son in the unenviable position of having to take sides between his mother and his father, but Lyons didn’t see it that way at all. She just wanted the boy to get up there on the stand and tell the truth. No more, no less.
As far as Lyons was concerned, JJ’s testimony was crucial, and she fought tooth and nail for a favorable ruling, while at the same time Gleason fought against it as if it were a matter of life and death, which in many respects it was.
In the end, the passion of the combatants didn’t sway Judge Gershwin’s decision in the least and after carefully considering the arguments from both sides, the astute judge, in her infinite wisdom, decided not to allow JJ to testify…but not before DA Lyons got in one last shot before the final buzzer sounded.
“Your honor, I respectfully disagree with your opinion, and I’ll have you know that this is grounds for an immediate appeal,” threatened Lyons. But Judge Gershwin was having none of it, and she called the DA’s bluff to boot.
“Ms. Lyons I will not have you making a spectacle out of my courtroom, but if you insist on taking the matter to the appellate court then by all means go right ahead,” urged Judge Gershwin.
Thankfully for the sake all involved, it was only a matter of time before cooler heads prevailed and Lyons backed down from her threat. Painstaking though it may have been, it was only a matter of time before the jurors were marched headlong into the courtroom. Arduous though it most surely would be for this wide circle of participants who made up the case, it was only a matter of time before the seventh day of testimony in the murder trial of John Breslin was officially underway.
Tracy Stone had already taken her position, manning the witness box, before the jurors had even entered the courtroom, and now that the show was about to begin, she monitored them all extremely closely as the filed into view. She was standing erectly in place, as stiff as a statue, and instinctively, Newlan’s wandering eyes sought her out with just as much, if not more, intensity as she was sending toward the jury box. And with his latest dream still etched upon his mind, Newlan intently fixed a gaze on Stone as Brandon recited the traditional opening speech.
Stone was attired completely in black, and her strawberry blonde hair, which had been neatly tied back into a bow yesterday, was now flowing freely beyond her shoulders, while at the same time her overall luscious package lavishly infringed into Newlan’s fantasy world.
Stone’s shiny hairstyle possessed a frizzy, mop-top texture about it, but from Newlan’s distorted vantage point, the unruliness of her locks did nothing to diminish her natural beauty. Conversely however, it was clear from just about any vantage point in the entire courtroom that the fidgety Stone had been staggered by a funnel cloud of sadness; especially when compared against the confident soul that she had presented to the jurors at the start of yesterday’s session. It was as if the life had been sucked out of her. It was as if she was attending her own funeral. It was as if she was already dead.
“There’s something dark and mysterious about her. No wonder she’s invading my fantasies,” dreamily concluded Newlan. And at the same instant that his eyes glued in on Tracy Stone, he somehow became aware of the possibility that she might be peeking over at him as well; and furthermore, he reckoned that perhaps she wasn’t viewing him in the same positive light with which he was shining her way.
Just the possibility of the lovely Tracy Stone glaring at him disapprovingly sent Newlan vaulting into a fearful frenzy. The mere thought of being apprehended in the act of ogling a witness was a terrifying prospect to Newlan, and in response to his qualms he immediately lowered his gaze and stared down at the carpeted floor. But nevertheless, despite his uneasiness, he just couldn’t help himself, and he continued to involuntarily monitor the situation from afar with the help of a pair of discretely squinted retinas.
“Maybe she’s just looking away from her husband, not to mention the mob scene out in the gallery,” theorized Newlan, and after a brief pause he returned his fully undivided attention back in Stone’s direction. This time however, he was convinced that she was peering back at him. But more importantly, this time he deemed that her focus of attention was not reproachful in nature, not at all; if anything, he sensed that her expression might be one of curious admiration.
Of course it didn’t take long before Newlan was once again overcome with paranoid inhibitions, and in a matter of seconds, he had lost round two of his stare-down contest with Tracy Stone.
In an effort to counterpunch his defeat, Newlan franticly turned his burning corneas away from the flaming sunspot that was Ms. Tracy Stone. Except that this time, instead of looking downward, he crooked his neck towards the defense table where he surveyed John Breslin staring out into nothingness as usual, and Gleason frantically taking notes in preparation for the day’s activities.
Newlan was determined not to get caught gawking at the one person who was arguably the most important witness of the entire trial, and so as a diversion, instead of focusing his attention back on Tracy Stone, he continued on with his semi-circle tour around the courtroom
As Newlan’s eyes plodded their way across the open space, he scrutinized Judge Gershwin’s demeanor, and then in rapid succession he performed the same visual examination on Assistant Clerk Dan Dente, and Court Reporter Jerry Montgomery. And as it turned out, all three of their expressions were one-and-the-same in that they appeared to be patiently waiting on Gleason to resume his cross-examination of Ms. Tracy Stone.
However, try as he might to avoid temptation, Newlan’s telescopic gaze eventually landed squarely back on the witness stand, where it had begun, and from there, he and Tracy Stone made eye-contact for a third time. But this time there could be absolutely no doubt that the two strangers were leering at one another…not with an intimidating stare, but a probing glance…not with an accusatory glare, but an inquisitive sense of wonder.
As Stone spied the warm, chiseled face of the man with the long stringy hair, gradually her dream resurfaced from deep within the crevices of her brain, and she longingly whispered to herself in wonderment, “I was going to kiss that man…that mysterious stranger…that wise jurist.”
But alas when the climactic final scene of Stone’s dream flashed across the imaginary screen of her mind and she recalled the sight of juror number 8 lying on the floor, shot dead through the heart, she felt a sudden surge of terror rush through her.
“Oh m
y God…this man’s in danger. I’ve gotta let him know somehow,” silently agonized Stone. And while she was in the midst of forging a desperate attempt at making extrasensory contact with the provocative man in the jury box, Newlan hypnotically took in her countenance; and in a case of mixed signals if ever there was one, he wanted her too. He wanted her badly. As unrealistic and impetuous as it seemed, he had to have her.
Newlan found himself falling into a state of panic, sparked by his uncontrollable desires, and he struggled with every fiber of his being to look away again. But for some reason he couldn’t move. He was locked, stock-and-barrel, into Tracy Stone’s frenetic frequency. He was sure that she was trying to tell him something…but what? He strained to retrieve the message from the invisible beam which had mystically joined them together like a wireless beacon bouncing off a satellite dish somewhere deep in outer-space.
However, try as he might, Newlan’s unwieldy powers couldn’t seem to penetrate the static that was emanating from Stone’s mind…when suddenly three letters made their way through the maze of wires which were clogging his thought process. Three little letters. A simple code recognized throughout the world; a universal sign of distress; three little letters; S O S.
Tracy Stone was wearing a pained expression of concern on her face, and she nodded slightly towards Newlan, who nodded back in return, as they both confirmed the receipt of her dispatch. And then just like that, a jolt of fear swept through him like a windswept rain pouring its way across an empty highway in the middle of the night.
Suddenly Newlan came to the realization that maybe he was in more danger than he could ever have possibly imagined. But whom or what could it be that was, at its roots, the cause of his perils? Who could want to harm him? What had he ever done to put himself in such a compromising position? He had never hurt anyone, so why was this little voice inside his head repeatedly warning him that he was “next”?
To make matters worse, as unnerved as he was, Newlan had more pressing concerns to deal with at the moment. Here he was glued to Tracy Stone, transfixed, unable to move a muscle, unable to function, unable to even think straight, when out of the corner of his eye, the shape of renowned Defense Attorney R. J. Gleason approaching the podium came sweeping into his line of vision.
Newlan couldn’t break his connection with Tracy Stone’s brainwaves any more that she could break her hard-wired hookup with him. He could see the panic in her face. She could feel the panic in his heart. The courtroom was about to come to order, and there they were, locked forever, arm-in-arm, in an unprecedented transcendental time warp.
Stone’s hold on Newlan was in fact so strong that he gave up the fight right then and there, and he resigned himself to his fate; and in a peculiarly strange way, he relished in his submission. He imagined himself being seductively swallowed up whole into the recesses of Stone’s cavernous vulva. He could feel his resistance sagging as her hypnotic gaze sapped him of his strength. He was about to give in to temptation and submit himself to Tracy Stone’s dominion, and he was powerless to stop the sensual carnage…and furthermore, nor did he want to.
But just when it seemed that Newlan was about to crossover some sort of invisible threshold into an imaginary land of no return, he became aware of a single teardrop slowly rolling down Tracy Stone’s cheek. And as luck would have it, the liquid crystal launched an ethereal rainbow of color hurtling in his direction, like a phantasmal orgy of vivid fireworks, which sent him twirling upwards through the abyss. As luck would have it, a howling kaleidoscope of incandescent light singed the peach fuzz of his brain, which in turn broke the fire-resistant spell and unceremoniously escorted him back to the abrupt coldness of reality in the harshest way imaginable.
Newlan eyes flickered as Stone, who was now staring straight ahead, prepared herself to face her adversary. He vigorously twisted his neck back and forth in attempt to snap out of the malaise which had engulfed him from head to toe, and all of a sudden he wasn’t even sure whether his meeting of the minds with the formidable aura of Ms. Tracy Stone had ever really happened in the first place.
“Maybe I dozed off and dreamt the whole thing up. But it felt so real, it couldn’t have been a dream,” silently argued Newlan. Unfortunately for him however, he didn’t have much time to ponder the situation any further because, ready or not, Gleason was about to speak.
As difficult as it may have been, Newlan somehow managed to regain his composure just as Gleason leaned into the microphone and calmly stated; “your honor, after further review, I have no more questions for Ms. Stone.”
Predictably enough, Gleason’s tactic elicited a muted uproar from the gallery. But what was surprising about the crowd’s reaction was the silence which immediately followed the outburst; a silence so deafening that Newlan felt compelled to take a peek out in the direction of the assemblage. His curiosity had reached a dizzying summit where he felt as if he just had to make a break with protocol, regardless of the consequences; he just had to do it…he couldn’t help himself…throat-slash be damned. And no sooner had he made eye-contact with the audience when he promptly came face-to-face with the intimidating glares of a hundred angry mugs pointed in his direction.
Newlan was temporarily frozen with fear; he couldn’t help but notice the simultaneous squints and stares coming from every corner of the courtroom. But then he promptly realized that the glowering expressions were not directed at him. On the contrary, every set of eyeballs in attendance was focused on one man and one man only; every set of pupils in the entire courtroom was aimed in the direction of none other than legendary Defense Attorney R. J. Gleason.
Gleason was wearing that slight, devilish grin of a smirk which Newlan had grown to admire, and he made an astute observation regarding the noted barrister’s plan of action.
“That bastard…he forced Tracy to show up today on purpose. He knew full well that he had no further questions for her after he finished up with his cross-examination last night. But then why did he do it? Did he want to rattle her…annoy her? Did he want the jury to observe her one more time, hoping that maybe she’d crack?”
Of course, regardless of Gleason’s motives, Tracy Stone was not amused, nor was Judge Gershwin. Nor was DA Lyons for that matter.
Stone shot daggers in Gleason’s direction as she made her way down from the witness stand.
“He had me stressed-out all night, tossing and turning, and for what? For nothing, that’s what,” grumbled Stone as she delivered one last deadly smirk in Gleason’s direction; one last hostile grimace as they crossed paths for what she hoped would be the very last time.
In reply to Stone’s actions, Gleason peered over towards the jury box with his own probing expression which seemed to be asking “Did you people see the way she sneered at me?”
Newlan wasn’t sure what the rest of the jurors may or may not have seen, but he surely noticed Stone’s evil eyes ignite into a pair of matching fireballs as she cast one of her potent spell on Gleason, and based on the vile barb that he scribbled into his notes, his lasting impression of his latest infatuation was one of utter contempt.
Newlan and his colleagues were given the opportunity to view every side of Tracy Stone, and from every angle. The good and the bad; the bold and the beautiful; the innocent child; the emerging nymph; the seductive woman; the protective mother; the wicked jezebel.
Stone’s testimony, in conjunction with her facial expressions, revealed every color of her heart, from the bluest blues to the blackest blacks, leading Newlan to jot down the following nonnegotiable conclusion, indelibly stamped into his pad of paper, as well as his mind:
Judging by the contempt coming from the eyes of this little bitch, I have to believe that if looks could kill, then Gleason would be dead right now…as dead as a stinking skunk…in the middle of the road.
From the Eyes of a Juror Page 64
