43. ➝ "You did nothing wrong."
The man sat rigid in his seat, pushing up the fallen classes back on his face. Having stared down at the desk far too long. Sweat had begun to form on his face, though everything about his mannerism still seemed composed. The jury was filing in. He snuck a glance at them, but it wasn't like he could evaluate them, he knew nothing about them. They held the fate of his life in his hands, and he was sure none of them even knew his name, or would bother to remember it, if the repetition throughout the trial didn't integrate it into their minds.
Berwald's lawyer sat beside him. Defense lawyers always seemed a bit scattered a bit, even well paid ones. It was like there was a stigma about them that made them that way, as if they were some breed of lawyer that was dirty. Berwald hadn't thought about that much. He wasn't a lawyer, and never had he thought he would be a defendant.
"Hey, you're staring." The lawyer spoke up, lightly tapping Berwald's shoulder. He was pulled from his thoughts, and looked towards the man who was going to fight for his life. The lawyer offered him a kind smile. He didn't have to. He didn't have to care if Berwald was convicted or not, so long as he did his job properly.
"Sorry…" The Swede mumbled and looked back down, before taking another moment to glance at the prosecution. Beside them sat Ivan Braginsky, the man he was accused of trying to kill. Berwald didn't know how his name ever got brought up, or how he was tied into this at all. But here he was, facing a twenty year sentence, for a crime he knew he hadn't committed.
But his thoughts didn't matter to the jury. He had been told by everyone he met that he was guilty. His arresting officer had came to his home, ripped him away from his sons. He looked back. He had asked a friend to watch them, but a part of him wished for their support. He didn't have any family besides those two boys. No one was here, offering him words of comfort, or praying for his return. He looked to the other side, and saw the Russian man's group of loved ones. He recognized his sisters, after all, Ivan and Berwald had once worked together. He supposed that was how they came to him, but he couldn't even recall having ever given Ivan a reason to accuse him of attempted murder.
"May the court rise." Said an officer in the room. Everyone in the room stood. Berwald rose, but the shackles on his feet made it a bit difficult. They clinked under the table, and he was sure the jury was aware that even though he looked nice, dressed in a navy blue suit, he was still an arrested man. He was still a criminal, as is anyone in cuffs.
The judge walked into the room, and signaled for everyone to sit. Berwald did so, though he was still rigid. He looked over at his lawyer. The man looked confident, but Berwald could not share such feelings. Who else had told him he had done this? The detective who interrogated him, the media, sometimes he was convinced himself he had done this, and had merely blocked it from his mind.
And yet here this man sat. He looked young, probably in his late twenties. That didn't make things easier for Berwald, since it meant he was probably inexperienced. But still, the man radiated, as if he was convinced he could win by nothing but the tone of his voice. Berwald prayed that that wasn't the only thing he was relying on.
The lawyer looked back at him, once more catching the Swede starring. He smiled slightly, but Berwald felt no comfort in it. He was on trial for a crime he did not do. He looked away, at the pad of paper he had been given to write down notes. He wasn't sure what kind of notes he should be taking, or maybe it was more of a distraction from the grimness that was his reality.
"Hey." The lawyer said as the prosecutor stood to begin opening statements. Berwald looked back, his sea green eyes showing more emotion than he had wished. He was fearful, he was dreading what they were going to say, what the jury was going to think. He knew he looked intimidating at times, but right now, none of that could be seen. Now he simply looked helpless.
The lawyer frowned a bit. He had read up on Berwald's file. He was quiet man, didn't really talk much. No one had even known he had two beautiful boys. The lawyer had believed Berwald from the start, that he had been at home with his kids. Both boys swore that their Papa had been with them, but Berwald refused to put them on the stand. He knew what prosecutors were capable of. Though he had tried to convince Berwald otherwise, he ultimately accepted his wishes, and promised not to call the boys up. Of course, the prosecutors could always sapina them, but they seemed to think that two young boys would be a bit too convincing to the jury, and decided against it.
He sighed, before smiling back at Berwald again. He truly believed he was innocent, even if sometimes the evidence pointed in against him. He suspected that Mr. Braginsky was only accusing Berwald because he did not want to say who had really done it. The man, after all, was involved with a lot of illegal activity, and had probably pissed off more than a few people. Berwald was just an innocent guy he happened to know from work, and he was now being drug into something so unimaginable.
The prosecution had already begun their opening statements, and he was missing it. It was a rookie mistake, but at the moment, he didn't really care. He leaned close to Berwald, drawing the attention of a few jurors, but for all they knew, he was merely whispering a few last minute tips.
When he leaned close, Berwald hesitated, before falling in. He pressed his mouth to his ear.
"You did nothing wrong, Berwald Oxenstierna." The man said. He wasn't supposed to say that. He wasn't supposed to make such statements, but he halfheartedly believed this.
The warmth of his breath was strange, nearly comforting. The words sent a shiver down Berwald's spine. How could he know that? Berwald wasn't even sure if he had done nothing wrong anymore. But he believed him. It was a strange feeling, it didn't make him feel too much better, because even so, here he sat, and he knew he could be convicted whether he was guilty or not. But the way he said it, Berwald had nothing else to believe in.
Berwald pulled away first, unable to look at his lawyer, and was pacl down to the pad in front of him. 'I've done nothing wrong.' he repeated in his mind. The lawyer beside him had leaned away, and was now fully intent on listening to the other's opening statement, and probably mentally preparing himself for his own.
'I've done nothing wrong' Berwald thought once more. He looked down at his shackled feet, then back towards the jury, who was listening to the other's statements of evidence and eyewitnesses. He closed his eyes, and once more the words formed in his mind, and he started to believe them.
'I've done nothing wrong.'