KJ's POV
I lay there as Layne takes off, slamming the front door behind her. The house rattles in response, then I'm greeted with a sickening silence. At some point I fall asleep, but only barely.
I sleep so little that it's hard to even call it sleep. It's more like an in depth nap. My bed just doesn't feel the same without her. Eventually, I awaken to my phone ringing and answer it. "KJ Michaels?"
"This is she," I groan. It's too early, "Who is this?"
"Andrew Young," he states, "Just making sure you're ready to stand trial today."
"Today?" I'd gotten so caught up in everything yesterday the trial had slipped my mind. I sit up, suddenly awake.
"Didn't you check your subpoena?" he questions.
"It's not like I've been to court before," I get defensive, searching for it, "I didn't know I needed to."
"Well you do," he says sternly, "And bring the documents listed too. I'll see you at nine sharp."
He hangs up and I launch myself from bed, showering and getting dressed. My arm still hurts like something vicious, so I take a danger mix of pain killers, my anxiety meds, and then a shot of whiskey just to top it all off. My mind races with a billion thoughts about Layne, but I attempt to suppress them so that I can put my full focus on Charlie today.
When I arrive at the court house Andrew is outside waiting for me with a coffee, "Glad you could make it."
"Did I have a choice?" I scoff.
He shakes his head, "Not much of one. But you'll be a big help to Charlie."
Right. For Charlie.
I exhale and follow him into one of the court rooms. He stops me immediately, "Hey! What are you doing?"
I open my mouth to say something but he stops me with is own answer, "Go check in and then wait with the other witnesses," he gestures down the hall, "You can stay after you testify."
I wait in my own small room for what seems like hours. In addition to me, the subpoena asked for all my notes on Charlie as well as some of her drawings. I didn't know what I'd be asked about, other than my 'expert opinion.' And right now I wasn't considering myself an expert of anything.
"Ms. Michaels?" one of the court officers comes to get me and I follow him into the court room. I look to the judge, an aged man with white hair. I turn to the courtroom itself. Immediately I can pick out Charlie's mother. She has the same dark hair, long and straight. She's actually beautiful, but in a sinister way. On her face is a forlorn expression, but I can tell its a fake one.
I take a seat and they swear me in.
"So Ms. Michaels," since I'm his witness, Andrew goes first with me, "Please state what you do."
"I'm a youth psychologist," the words flow freely from my lips and I try to suppress any panic.
"Do you consider yourself good at your job?" he questions.
"I do," I nod.
"So in your professional opinion, what would cause a young person to go mute?"
"Triggers are different for everyone," I say, "But most likely trauma from years of abuse."
"And did you see those symptoms in Charlotte Young?"
I nod, "Yes sir."
He nods, "Nothing further."
Charlie's mother approaches me, and I force my eyes to meet hers. The hair on my arms stands up, my flight or fight response triggering. I focus on my breathing, trying to radiate the scraps of confidence I actually have.
"Ms. Michaels?" she says my name slowly, rolling it over her lips, "But not Dr. Michaels?"
"Objection!" Andrew jumps up, "Badgering."
"Sustained," the judge says, "Ms. Young, I'm being lenient since you are representing yourself but only to a point."
"Understood your honor," she says, "Withdrawn. You work with teens a lot?" she asks.
I nod, "Yes."
"I'm sure you relate to them a lot," she smirks, "You're really nothing but a kid yourself aren't you?"
"Objection!"
"Ms. Young!"
"Withdrawn," she starts again, "So you work with teens. Have you ever had one that lied to you?"
"About abuse and assault? No," I reply honestly, "The kids I work with are fairly forthcoming and open with me."
"Oh so my daughter told you about her alleged sexual assault?"
"Objection!" Andrew calls out, "Please refer to Ms. Charlotte as such."
"My bad," she rolls her eyes, "So Ms. Charlotte, told you about her alleged sexual assault?"
"No, but she has all the signs of trauma---"
"But she's never told you if that trauma stems from me?" she cuts me off.
"Well she's nonverbal so---"
"So no?"
"No she has not verbally told me that she was sexually abused," I clench my teeth, hating how much of a caveat this is, "But---"
"Nothing further," she takes her seat.
"Redirect your honor?" Andrew asks.
The judge nods, "Granted."
"Do you believe that Charolette has shown PTSD symptons synonymous with abuse?"
"Yes."
"Nothing further."
I quickly exit the stand, relieved. I rush to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. I stand, rinsing out my mouth and heading back. When I come back into the court room, a man is on the stand. He's young, maybe in his late thirties. His dirty blond hair is swept back and his beard is trimmed. He's handsome, with kind eyes.
"What is your relationship with the defendant ?" Andrew asks.
"I lived across the street from her. Our daughters went to school together," he responds, "We had coffee sometimes. She was a single mom. I was a single dad. We traded parenting tips."
"Did you ever interact with the defendant and her daughter together?"
"Occasionally, Charlotte would come over after school and Ms. Young would come and get her for dinner."
"And how did their interactions seem?"
"A little tense," he admits, "Charlie--- Ms. Charlotte wasn't exactly happy to leave with her mother. It was almost like she was happier at our house than her own."
"Nothing further," Andrew steps away and Charlie's mother takes his place on the floor.
"Our daughters spent time together, we had coffee together. One would possibly call that a friendship," she pauses, "So would you consider yourself my friend, Mr. Harris?"
"At one point I would've," he replies, "But not now, no."
"At one point did your view of me change?" I ask.
"We went out for three dates," he scoffs, "Hardly a relationship."
"Oh? So what changed?"
"Charlotte came over one day at about one in the morning. Sobbing. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong, but, there were bruises. My daughter told me about them."
"Oh so you never saw them?" she asks, "These alleged bruises."
"No---"
"So tell me," she asks, "If you were so concerned why didn't you confront me? Or call me the police?"
"I thought everything would be okay," I shrug.
"Because you think I'm a good mother?"
"At the time I thought so but---"
"Nothing further," she cuts him off.
I've never been to court before, but I watch enough Law and Order to kind of follow Charlie's mom strategy. She isn't necessarily arguing she didn't do it. She's just arguing that nobody can prove she did it. And while it isn't a strong argument to make, I glance at the jury, mostly men, and then back at her. I see her how they see her. I see that she's objectively beautiful. That if I hadn't met her daughter, and just saw her in a coffee shop, I'd think she was attractive.
And if someone were to tell me, "That woman right there is a rapist," I don't think I'd believe it. Maybe because she's pretty. Maybe because she's a woman. Maybe because we aren't socialized to view women as predators. Either way, I'd laugh in the face of anyone bold enough to accuse her. I'd go "Her? No way."
I'd look at her even toned pale skin, her bone straight hair, and sharp features. I'd see that she's shorter, and definitely shorter than her daughter, and thin. She doesn't look like she'd be able to over anyone, let alone a younger and fitter teenager. This is how the men are seeing her right now; As a young mother, a single mother, on trial for having a close relationship with her daughter. They don't know Charlie. Haven't peered into her haunted eyes. Having seen her soul sketched onto a piece of paper.
As Andrew calls another witness, I stand and exit the court room. I don't want to be around for the verdict. Something tells me I already know it.
***
I sit in Lovely's, half way sulking and half way to tired to feel bad for myself. In twenty four hours I'd lost my girl, and now one of my kids. I hadn't felt like driving home, but didn't want to bother Beck either. I rest my head on the table, in the same booth all this shit started with. I close my eyes and try to go back to that time. Things weren't simpler. But at least I was complicated with her by my side.
"Are you okay, Mx.?" the waiter comes by, jolting me awake, even though I don't remember going to sleep. I check my phone. I'd been out about an hour.
"I'm fine," I wave her off. At some point I'll have to drive home. And I want to be sober when I do it.
My phone rings and I grab for it, checking the caller ID. It's just rounding 11 PM and whoever it is, my phone doesn't recognize the number, but I answer it.
"Hello?"
"The deliberation was only two seconds," a shaky voice comes across, "The judge said it herself. It was the shortest deliberation for a sexual assault trial, ever."
Through my grog I detect the familiarity in the voice, "Ella?"
"You asked me what were my plans when I turned eighteen," she continues, "She was my plans. She was it for me. My whole life. And now she's going back to that house," she spits out the word.
"Ella its not over," I tell her, "I'm sure Andrew can get it appealed."
"No it's over," she cuts me off, "They're moving down south. Where moms can fuck their daughters in piece I guess."
Something in her voice tips me off and I start to get worried, "Ella where are you right now?"
"I'm feeling tired Ms. KJ," her voice cracks, "I can't."
"Yes you can," I stand, paying my bill and pulling on my coat, "Where are you? Tell me right now."
"I'm at home," she says.
"Don't hang up," I tell her. I rush out to my truck, switching the call to Ms. Lea.
I go straight to voicemail.
"Ella?" I question, "Are you still there?"
"Ms. KJ...." her voice waivers.
As the home comes into view, I can see a dark figure reclined on the roof, her legs hanging off the edge. I park and hurry, running into the house and up the stairs, unconcerned with the noise I'm making. "Ms. KJ?" I hear my name called and turn, seeing one of the kids I don't really know well. "Get Ms. Lea," I rush to explain, "Tell her to call the police. It's Ella."
The boy moves into immediate action and I continue out the window as I maneuver onto the roof, "Ella?"
She lays on her back, arms splayed, her feet swinging back and forth.
"Ella," I slowly move towards her, "I need you to listen to me."
"I'm tired of listening," she sits up, "What's the point?"
"Ella," I try to reason with her, "I know you're in pain right now."
"You don't know shit about me!" she shouts. I catch a glimpse of something in the moonlight then move into action, my brain processing.
"No!" I lunge towards her, attempting to wrestle the knife from her.
"No!" she screams at me, tears running down her face. I manage to get the knife, throwing it off the edge of the roof.
She cries out, and I grab and try to restrain her as she kicks against me. "Ssshhh..." I rub her back, trying to sooth her. "It's okay... It'll be okay."
She stops struggling against me, her body taken over by the sobs.
****
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