Only the Good Die Young

Chapter 34

The clerk calls us to order and Judge Thornwood sits at her podium. One hand rests against her forehead, the other adjusts the microphone that sits in front of her. She taps her laptop and swings her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I've given this a great deal of thought," she begins. "Cases of consent are always difficult. On the one hand, we have Miss Lockhart, whose testimony is very straightforward. She claims she did not consent to have sex with Mr. James, though it is clear to me she did not provide him with any evidence of refusal.

"The issue of Stacy Williams is more complicated," she continues. "Miss Williams had filed an identical complaint against Mr. James in the past, only to enter a Stay of Proceedings because she believed she may have consented."

I bite the inside of my lip. Jesse looks like he's on death row.

"Then there is the issue of this book, The Game, and how it lays out, step-by-step, a means of seducing a woman and overcoming any 'obstacles' she may raise. The Defense has stated that merely seducing a woman, so long as she consents, is not a crime."

My heart thuds.

"I am forced to agree with Mr. Burnham. Under the Canadian Criminal Code, seducing a person to have sexual relations is not an offense. The manner in which Mr. James seduced these women, so long as he did not render them incapable of giving consent, is irrelevant," she continues.

Mom swears under her breath. I've never heard her swear.

"What troubles me most, however, is that despite having a formal charge filed against him by Miss Williams, less than a year later Mr. James finds himself in an identical situation with Miss Lockhart.

"As I stated, so long as the law isn't broken, the manner in which Mr. James seduced these two young ladies is irrelevant. Nevertheless, I cannot escape the fact that the situations are identical. Either Mr. James learned nothing from his previous encounter with the law, or he chose to ignore it. I find both of these possibilities reprehensible."

"That's a wrong statement of law, though," Mr. Burnham murmurs, tapping the desk with his pen.

"Mr. James, will you stand please?" orders the judge.

Oh, God, No.

Jesse gets to his feet in the prisoner box. Mom's grip crushes my hand.

"Mr. James, I find you guilty of one count of sexual assault."

A tidal wave runs through my stomach and pushes its contents halfway up my throat. I hunch forward. Mom puts her arm around my shoulder. Kyle nods. Stacy makes a fist. Jesse's parents sit silently.

"What?" Mr. Burnham exclaims under his breath. "Where did you get your law degree?"

"Miss Lockhart," says the judge, "if you wish, you may give a Victim Impact Statement that I will take into account before I pass sentence."

I shake my head furiously.

"Go ahead, honey," whispers Mom.

"No," I say.

"Just a moment, Your Honour," says my mother.

Oh, God.

"Please honey," she says. "For me."

I stand on shaking legs, slide past my mother and out of the bench. The sheriff removes the purple velvet rope that separates the public gallery from the court. Laura taps me affectionately on the back.

The eyes of the entire courtroom gaze at me as I take the witness box a second time. Laura's voice plays in my head: "People never confess in court. There aren't many hard and fast rules about law, but that's one of them."

"Go ahead, Miss Lockhart," instructs the judge.

Jesse stands in the prisoner box and I think of Whistler. I think of Bill. Of Kyle, Jesse, Alex, Mr. McKinnon, Lisa, Mr. Downs, Constable Walker. But mostly I think of Mom.

"My life is ruined," I say. Then I walk back and sit down beside my mother.

"That was it?" she whispers.

I say nothing.

"Mr. James," says Judge Thornwood. "I hereby sentence you to six months incarceration."

Jesse's eyes close. Mine water.

"However," continues Judge Thornwood, "I am electing to suspend the sentence. Instead you will receive two years' probation, as well as two hundred hours of community service which must be completed within twelve months. You will return to school, reside with your family, and are forbidden from living anywhere other than the City of Vancouver. You will attend a counseling program as directed by your probation officer. In addition, I further order you to undergo Secondary Risk, Pride in Delinquency, Youth Community Risk and Family Assessments. If you willfully fail or refuse to comply with these terms, a warrant will be issued for your arrest and you will be charged with a summary offense. Do you understand?"

"Yes," says Jesse, staring at the floor. He stands broken in his expensive suit, his hair cropped, his goatee shaved, his drumsticks gone, his easy-going spirit crushed. The judge goes over the finer details of Jesse's sentence and arranges for him to meet a probation officer.

"Ridiculous," mumbles Mr. Burnham. "Go back to tax law."

"Thank you, everyone," says the judge. "We are adjourned."

The court clerk orders us to rise.

"And Mr. James," says the judge, looking at Jesse with one hand on the door to her chambers, "be careful what you read." The door closes and she is gone.

Jesse leaves the prisoner box and walks listlessly into the embrace of his mother. His father stands silently.

"Don't worry about it, Jesse," says Mr. Burnham, reaching an arm around his back. "Judge Thornwood is new and inexperienced. It'll be overturned on appeal." They leave the courtroom.

"That's terrible," says my mother. "He is found guilty, but serves no sentence."

"Sucks," says Kyle. "And they're going to appeal. I still wouldn't want to be him, though."

"I'm telling everyone about this," whispers Alex.

"Most young offenders are given probation," says Laura, packing a sheaf of papers into her briefcase. "You did well, Rebecca."

"Yes, Rebecca," says Mom, ruffling my hair. "You should be proud. You did the best you could."

The contents of my stomach rise in my throat and I race from the courtroom. I look around frantically for the Women's sign and rush to the washroom. I find an open stall, throw up the toilet seat and kneel before it just as bile and saliva spew from my mouth and into the bowl. Snot rolls down my face and tears stream from my eyes.

"Rebecca?" I hear.

Not Mom. Not again.

"I'm fine," I say. My stomach heaves. I spit what's left in my mouth into the bowl and flush the toilet.

Still on the floor, I turn around and look up to find not my mother, but Alexis Lee. "Here, let me help you," she says. Alex pulls me to my feet and stands me in front of the mirror. "You look like shit," she says. She pulls a paper towel from the dispenser, wets it in the sink and washes my face until my cheeks are red.

"There," she says. "Now you just look like you have a cold."

"Thanks," I mutter. I go to leave, but she grasps my wrist.

"Look, Rebecca," she says. "I know I've been, well, a bit of a bitch to you, and I just wanted to say...you know, after seeing you in there and everything I was wondering if we could start over. Maybe we could be friends?" She holds out a hand for me. I know it will never happen, and she doesn't say it explicitly, this is probably the closest I'll get to an apology.

"Sure," I mumble, as I listlessly shake it. "Friends."