"Mr. Reznik? Mr. Reznik?"
I awoke from a reoccurring dream, the one where I'm just driving down the road, to see a woman standing outside of my cell. She looked to be an even five feet tall, with silver hair...like my landlady. Such a sweet woman.
I reached for my head. I'm going crazy again, I thought.
"Mr. Reznik," the woman spoke again. "I'm going to come in, is that alright?"
"Yes, ma'am," I responded as I sat up slowly, wincing in pain. Moving the slightest bit made my entire body hurt.
A guard unlocked the cell door allowing her into the white room.
"I'm Dr. Norma Thompson. You may call me Norma."
"Norma. That's a nice name."
She smiled. "I'm a therapist."
My breath stopped. Doctor.
"Mr. Reznik, I'm here to help you. You're bone thin and you just woke up for the first time in two days."
I felt the urge to joke with her, like I did with people before all of the--mess happened.
"What's happened, Mr.-"
"Trevor."
"Trevor, what's happened to you?"
I touched my face and flashed back to one of the last times I saw myself in a mirror. I could see every bit of my cheekbones under my skin. Looking down at my arms I saw nothing but bones, skin, and veins poking out. There used to be muscle there, and lots of it. I was toned and in great shape. It didn't hurt to move around like it does now.
"I don't really know."
"Have you eaten anything recently?"
I thought. "No, ma'am."
"Would you like anything?"
My stomach growled loudly at the thought of nourishment for the first time in weeks.
"I'll take that at a yes."
I noted her accent. When she finished asking the guard to bring in lunch, I asked her where she was from.
"Germany. And you?"
"Northern California, not too far from here."
"Did you work anywhere before you, uh, reported yourself?"
Memories of the factory, of Miller and the accident. "Yes, a factory."
The room was quiet until the guard returned with a tray in one hand a large ring of keys in the other. On the tray sat a medium sized salad consisting of lettuce and tomato and a packet of dressing.
"I figured you should start small since it's been a while since you've eaten." She sat quietly for a moment. "Trevor, I need to ask you some questions," Norma stated as I began to eat, "but, I will leave you to your lunch."
"You can stay. I enjoy your company."
"Such a sweet man, but I have some paperwork to do in my office, and you need your nourishment. I'll be back, do not worry."
I sat in the silence and ate. When I finished, I got the guard's attention and gave him my tray. I returned to my bed feeling full and not minding the pain of movement anymore. I leaned against the wall with my knees pulled up to my chest. Staring at the blank walls I sat and stared at the ceiling.
Before I knew it, Norma was back in the cell. She had a small notebook, I assumed, filled with papers to fill out about me. She sat silently, however, filing through the pages, putting them in a certain order. Finally, she looked up at me from her seat.
"Trevor, are you ready to answer some questions?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
"How was your childhood?"
"Good, I guess. I was an only child so my parents spoiled me, or rather, my mom did. I had a lot of school friends and was very active. When I reached high school I was pretty popular, a jock, some would say. I played football one season and basketball the next. Everything was good."
"Your parents stayed married?"
"My father left us when I was seven years old."
She filled in the blanks for the questions she'd asked me. "You played sports, so you were healthy. You ate right?"
"Yes."
She made the note in the margins. "No self-esteem problems to make you want to stop eating or worry about your weight?"
"Mmm...no. I didn't even think about those things in those days. I just worked out a few times a week to stay in shape. You wouldn't think I had ever seen a weight bench if you look at me now." I chuckled.
She wrote more notes.
"Norma, I was fine until last year, if that is what you're leading up to."
She smiled at me. "I was, but I'm supposed to ask you these questions, anyway, hon."
"Ah."
"Were you sexually active as a teenager?"
"More often than not. I was the party boy, as well."
She chuckled this time.
"Did you drink?"
"Not too often. I never developed the ability to stomach very much alcohol."
"Do you now?"
I thought back to a week or so back. When I was with "Ivan" in the Boiler Room. "I have, but it's not a regular habit." Then, I blurted out "I wasn't drunk when I ran over the boy!"
Norma sat silently as I fought tears. She jotted one last note in the margin of the notebook and closed it.
"I-I'm sorry."
"It's perfectly fine. Trevor, this is too rigid, too much like an interview and I see that it's making you uncomfortable. Would you like me to come back later?"
"No. Don't leave me alone, I'll just go insane again."
"You want to talk, then?"
I nodded in agreement.
"Well, then, hold on one moment. Let me put my notebook away, I think that is causing the tension."
When she returned she had two cups of hot tea. The heat from the cup felt good in my hands; I hadn't realized I was so cold.
"That should make you feel better. Tell me, Trevor, what's on your mind. It doesn't have to be about the accident, just talk."
I sipped on my tea for a second. "I left my mom's place when I was 18 years old, fresh out of high school. Three football friends and myself had won a scholarship to a college in southern California and wanted to take a roadtrip out to our new home. Mom hated the idea. We argued the whole week before graduation about it before they finally gave in and accepted the fact that I was an adult. I used to call her every weekend. When I got busy with football, my calls became infrequent. Eventually, I just stopped calling her except for days like Mother's Day and Christmas." I felt tears well up again. "She died about five years ago of some sort of cancer. I went to the funeral. I haven't gone back home since then.
"I got ahead of myself. Life was still good at school. I was dating, doing well in class, and the coach of the team loved me. I was having the time of my life.
"I'll bet you're wondering 'Why in the world did he give it up to work at a factory?', huh? I hurt my ankle during a game and couldn't play the rest of the season. I wound up losing my scholarship. I had to drop out. My pride wouldn't let me go home, so I moved a few cities away from home and made myself a new home."
"So, you don't know if your father is still alive?" Norma questioned.
"No, ma'am."
"Would you like to find him?"
"I don't know, really. Maybe after I get my other issues worked out."
I finished my now almost-cold tea and looked at my watch. "It's later than I thought it was, wow. I feel a little better, though. Thank you."
"It's what I do. Shall we meet again tomorrow?"
"Certainly."
She took my cup and left and I laid down to sleep.
Chapter Two
I woke up at two in the morning feeling angry. Who could I be angry with at two AM when I've been in a cell for four days now? I was angry with myself. I stared at the white ceiling questioning myself.
Why had I told this woman, a perfect stranger, my whole life story? Why did I feel the need to tell her more? She reminded me of someone, someone dear to me. Was it Mrs. Shrike, the sweet landlady I left in a vague hurry to turn myself in? No. She looked like Mrs. Shrike, but when she talked to me, when she brought me tea last night, she made me think of someone else.
"Did you have a nice rest?" came Norma's voice through the still air.
I turned and looked at her. "Considering the conditions, yes." I hadn't gone back to sleep since I had awakened earlier. I was still lying on my back, knees bent, with my hands behind my head.
"What would you like for breakfast?"
"Breakfast? What's that?"
A look of confusion crossed her face briefly. "It's never too early for jokes with you, is it, Trevor?"
"I don't know. Do jokes stay up late?"
"Oh, you. What would you like?"
I thought for a moment, remembering the salad from the day before. "Another salad?"
"For breakfast?"
I nodded.
"I'll see what I can do." She scurried out and returned with a bowl of sliced apples, white grapes, and cherries. "There's yogurt if you'd like to have a topping."
"Oh, no thank you. This is perfectly fine." I began to eat. "Wait, you're not going to leave, are you? Like yesterday?" Trevor, you sound so desperate.
"If you'd like, I can stay."
"Please."
She took her seat in the metal chair she had been using.
"How are you, today, Norma?" I asked between bites of a slice of a Granny Smith apple.
"I'm just fine. I was just wondering the same about you. You seem to be enjoying you food lately."
"Yes, ma'am. Definately. I had forgotten how much I loved cherries. You may have created a monster."
"I may have."
"Is there...any way that we could take a walk? I may not have much muscle, but what little bit I do have needs to stretch."
She smiled. "I understand. There's a recreation area in the back. It's guarded, but it's nice. How's that?"
"Sounds good."
When I'd finished breakfast, Norma talked to the guard outside my cell and made arrangements for us to take a walk outside. The weather was just right: a comfortable seventy degrees and breezy. It felt so good to be in the sunshine.
We walked around the recreation area for five minutes and I was exhausted. All of that running I'd done after walking in front of a car just recently and five minutes of walking tires me out? I need some serious help.
Norma led me to a table where sat while I caught my breath.
"Wow, that was unusual."
"It's to be expected," Norma responded. "You have only skin and bones and I doubt, other than running from the police, that you've gotten your heart rate up much at all in the past year."
I nodded in agreement not wanting to tell her about my relationship with Stevie.
The memories of Stevie hurt, like thousands of needles stabbing my heart. I was terrible toward her. I wonder if I'll ever see her again.
"What's wrong, Trevor?"
"Mmm? Oh, nothing." I looked around me. There a few trees scattered about past the fence around where we were. They were dying, but there was a beauty to them. The sky was a pale blue with a not a cloud in sight. I closed my eyes and let the breeze embrace me. "It feels nice today."
"Trevor, you're avoiding something."
"I...uh...I didn't mean to just lay everything about me on your shoulders last night. Usually, I keep things like that to myself."
"Maybe it's high time you should start talking, then. You're experiencing things you've never experienced before and you want to let them out. Feel free."
"It's just, not in my nature to do that. I've kept to myself about personal things."
"Trevor, right now, I need you to tell me everything." She paused and gave me a once over. "Something's on your mind; talk to me."
It registered in my head who this woman made me think of: my mother. My precious, wonderful mother who used to cook me breakfast every morning before school, who always smelled of a sweet perfume I never could remember.
"You feel angry with yourself for revealing your past to someone?"
"I did. But now, I'm glad I did."
"What changed your mind?"
"You did. I've been awake for hours trying to figure out why you seemed so familiar to me." I paused.
"And?"
"You are so much like my mother. You make me remember all of those things about her I had forgotten. You take care of me. I felt desperate earlier, for asking you to stay with me, but it was because of your warm presence. I like talking to you, sitting with you."
She smiled a warm and friendly smile. "All the more reason for you to talk to me about things, the things that have happened to you recently." She reached across the table and touched my hand. "It will help you, trust me."
I did trust her, but I could not bring myself to spill out the information she wanted like I did the night before. "Can we walk some more?"
"Only if you think you can."
We walked around a basketball court, slowly. I slowly began telling her about the day of the hit and run.
"So, you fled the scene because you afraid of ruining your reputation, maybe?"
I considered that possibility. "No. I don't know why I left. Fear, I guess. Like I said yesterday, I wasn't drunk. I was just leaning over to light my cigarette and wasn't paying attention to the road."
"That makes sense. So, you say that you spent time with the boy's mother."
More memories came flooding back to me. "I don't know if it happened or not. I was--I don't know--not myself."
"I think it was your subconscious making you see that you've had some sort of relationship with this woman. Why do you think you blocked the hit and run out of you mind?"
"So I could say I haven't done anything wrong. I think that was the worst thing I did."
"It could have been."
I stopped walking, breathless. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, struggling for air. "I'm in--I'm in bad shape."
"Shh," Norma was at my side. "Save what little breath you have. Let's roll you over, I'm sure being on your face doesn't help matters." She helped me roll onto my back, talking gently to me as she did so. "Now, try your best to breath in slowly and deeply."
I did as she said. Within seconds my heart stopped trying to burst through my rib cage.
"Are you okay, now?"
I couldn't speak, but I squeezed her hand.
"Good. Let's sit here a moment and let you gain your composure. Then, we'll take you back inside. You overworked yourself today."
Finally, I could breathe again and was able to sit up. "Thanks, Norma."
"Shh," she breathed as she helped me get off of the grass. "Now, let's take it slow and let me know if you need to stop, okay."
"Okay."
Back in the cell I laid down on the bed and cherished it's softness for the first time since I entered the place. Norma came in with a book.
"Here," she said, "write in this for me. You're too winded to continue talking today."
"What do I write?"
"Whatever you want, whatever comes to you. Anything."
"Okay."
"Rest. I'll come by later to see how you're doing."
I sighed and let myself melt into the bed. My eyes tried to close, but they wouldn't stay shut. Oh, no, please, not this habit again. Finally, I was able to relax and sleep.
When I awoke, I began writing. I wrote about everything: the accident at the factory, the ride with Nicholas, the hangman notes that mysteriously appeared. I poured everything into the journal without stopping. It felt good to let everything out, even if it wasn't voiced.
Chapter Three
Norma came to the door with a bowl of soup and hot tea. "Hello, there."
Without looking up I welcomed her in return.
"On a roll are we?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Has a rest made you feel better?"
"For the most part. My chest hurts, but I see you have some of that great tea again tonight."
"Certainly do and warm soup as well." She handed me the tray and took her seat, as was routine. "Do you mind if I read what you've written so far?"
"Go ahead."
As I slowly ate the chicken noodle soup, she read the journal, stopping occassionally to ask me questions.
I finished my meal and sipped my tea. Tonight's was different than last night's. This was a peppermint tea that warm me to my bones.
"Mmm."
"Do you like it?"
"It's wonderful."
"Good." She closed the journal. "Well, I'd say that you were having some serious emotional problems. Do you still this Ivan?"
"No. He was me."
"That's what I got out of this, as well. What about the picture of you and your co-worker?"
"I don't know what happened to it. I can't remember if I left it with Stevie when I left or if I had it with me and it got thrown away."
"And Stevie--"
"I don't know. I was terrible to her. She was turning over a new leaf and I called her a whore. A lying whore."
We talked about Stevie for a few moments before Norma decided we end the night.
"I won't by coming by in the morning. Just continue writing for me. Someone will bring you breakfast and I'll see tomorrow evening."
"Sounds good. G'night."
"Same to you."
I did continue to write, for days it seemed. I only stopped when the guard brought food or to let me out to take a bathroom break.
Norma did come the next night, but she didn't stay as long as usual. She seemed somber, but she wouldn't reveal anything to me. For two nights she didn't come to visit, but tea came with dinner. When she did come, I heard her being stopped by a guard. I stopped writing to listen in on their conversation.
"Why do you keep seeing him and making us bring his food to him?"
"I'm his therapist. He needs help and he needs nourishment. You wouldn't want a man dead from starvation on your hands would you? Or an insane one who screamed incoherent things at you all night long?"
"No, Dr. Thompson."
"There you have it. Just do as I ask you for another day or two. His trial is soon and we'll go from there."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thank you. Now, please, will you let me in?"
"Yes, ma'am."
When she entered, I had already closed my journal and was ready to hand it to her.
"Not tonight, hon. I'm sure you heard me out there; your trial is in a week, that's why I haven't been to see you; I've been catching up on paperwork. You'll be meeting with your lawyer tomorrow."
"I have a lawyer?"
"Yes, Trevor, from when you were first incarcerated. He plead guilty by reason of insanity for you at your arraignment."
"I honestly don't remember. We've had a preliminary hearing, as well?"
"Yes, hon."
"Wow. I was seriously messed up."
"I know. But, I have noticed physical improvement in you, as well as mental. Not seeing you for a couple of days has made me see that in the past few days you've put on some weight. It's not much, but you look better."
"I feel better."
"Good. So, when you see your lawyer tomorrow, he's going to want to look at what you've written. Is that okay?"
"Nothing I didn't expect."
"He may take it in as...not evidence, but he may pull his questions from it. And it's quite possible that the prosecuting attorney will take questions from what your attorney asks."
My nerves went crazy. I took a deep breath. "Will you be at the trial?"
"Yes, I'll be there. I'll be called to the stand to talk about our meetings, about what you've told me."
"Oh."
"You'll be fine, Trevor." Her words only partially assured me.
Chapter Four
When she left for the night, I paced the cell. I couldn't sit still, my chest was tightening, my head was spinning. But why? The worst that could happen would be that I'd be put in a cell for the rest of my life. Oh, God, Trevor, don't do this to yourself. You don't get life for a hit and run. But you do for murder. I didn't sleep that night. Old habits die hard. I just paced. I barely noticed that my feet were throbbing when I finally sat down.
"Good morning, Trevor," Norma's voice cut through the tense air suddenly.
I raised my head from my hands.
"Did you sleep?"
I shook my head.
"Why not?" She came in and sat on the bed next to me.
"Scared."
"Of what?"
"Of seeing Maria's face."
"Maria?" She thought for a moment. "Nicholas's mother? Why?"
"I stole her son's life and drove away. If someone ran over my son and left and I had the oppurtunity to see that man again, I don't know what I would do to him." Hot tears came down my cheeks. Why are you crying so much?
"Come here." She pulled me to her and layed my head on her shoulder. "It's natural to feel this way."
"Yeah, if you're not a cold blooded killer."
She let me go. "Trevor, calm down. You've come a long way from where you were, even before the incident."
I cocked my head to the side. "How do you mean?"
"Your relationship with your parents has troubled your subconcsious. You mentioned in your writings that you had nightmares, but were afraid to tell anyone because you're a grown man. I think I know why you fled."
"Why?"
"You were afraid of seeing a hurt mother. Your mother was hurt when you left home and when you stopped calling her. You couldn't bring yourself to see someone else go through that so you drove off."
Her theory hit me so hard my breath caught in my chest.
"I think this is is why you've had so many emotional problems. As far as seeing Ivan, you've deducted that "he" was you. He was showing you what you'd done because you'd pushed it aside for so long." She touched my shoulded, like Mom used to do when I was troubled as a child. "You'll be fine next week, Trevor."
"Thanks, Norma. I think I would have gone completely mad without you."
"No," she smiled, "because of the insanity plea, you would have had a therapist nonetheless."
"I can't look at you like a therapist, you've done so much for me."
She took my hand. "You're a good man, Trevor. Now, are you ready to leave this dreadful room and see your lawyer?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
Norma led me down the hall and to a large room with a window that looked out over the recreation area where she and I took a walk a few days before. A lanky man in a suit was seated at a long table. Scattered in front of him were papers and folders. He stood when Norma and I walked into the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Reznik." He reached out for my hand.
"Trevor," I corrected as I took his and shook in return.
"I'm sorry, I forgot. You told me last time we met to call you Trevor." His southern drawl rung a faint bell in my head, but I still could not remember meeting this man.
I turned my head to the side, as I always did when I was confused. His blue eyes softened, noticing my confusion.
"I'm Sean Bachman. You must not remember me."
"No, I'm sorry. I don't seem to."
"That's perfectly fine. Have a seat." He greeted Norma as I took my seat across from Mr. Bachman. "You're lookin' well, Trevor. Norma must be bringing you her fabulous tea."
"She has been. She's introduced me to food again."
"That's wonderful. I hope you stick to it."
"Me too," Norma chimed from beside me.
"Alright, shall we get started?"
I nodded.
"Okay. I've read over Dr. Thompson's paperwork and I see that the only thing we'll have workin' for us is an insanity plea. It's gotten us this far and you weren't fakin' it."
"That's for sure."
He chuckled. "So, we've questioned some witnesses. When you go to trial, Mr. Miller will be there to talk about your last confrontation."
I sighed.
"Stevie will also be present."
My jaw twitched. "Stevie?"
"Yes. And there's a co-worker, a Mr. Reynolds, he will be present, as well."
"Why will these people be present for a trial relating to a hit and run?" Norma asked.
"Before the preliminary hearing, counts of harrassment were brought up by Mr. Miller and Mr. Reynolds. Stevie came about because she was looking for Trevor. She was answered some questions and agreed to come to trial if it came this far, like the other two."
"She--she was looking for me?" My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I had hurt this woman and she was looking for me.
"It appears that way."
"Mr. Bachman, will I be put away for the rest of my life?"
"Definately not. I can't promise miracles, but I know you won't get life. Usually, manslaughter runs anywhere from three to ten years."
Manslaughter. Such a harsh term.
"With the insanity plea, it shouldn't be too bad. You may be able to stay with Norma at her psychiatric hospital instead of going to jail."
She touched my hand. "Stay positive, Trevor. I know it's hard, but try for me."
I didn't respond.
Mr. Bachman took my journal and began asking questions from it. He wrote down the questions he asked and my answers. He said this would be our guideline for the trial. He would ask me these same questions that day and maybe some others that spurred off of them. He said that the prosecuting attorney may take questions from his questions, but to stay calm about it and give the answer that came to mind.
"Everything in here is honest-to-God truth, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you resolved any of your psychological problems?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
"Will that hinder the trial?"
"No. Norma was assigned to you to help you overcome your problems so that you'd be coherent during the trial."
"Oh."
"I'll read over what I have here, write up some questions, and meet with you in a few days. Sound good?"
"Do I have a choice?"
He winked at me. "Nope, not at all. Cheer up, Trevor. Things will be fine." He gathered his papers and put them in the briefcase he had beside him on the floor. "It was good to see you again, Norma."
"You, too."
Chapter Five
I stared out the window. I felt numb. I felt scared.
A warm hand embraced my cold fingers. "Trevor?"
"Hmm?"
"Think you could handle a walk?"
"I'm not sure."
"Want to try?"
"Not now."
"What would you like to do? I know there's not much, but I'll do what I can to help."
Her kindness warmed me, but I was still scared to death of my future.
"Trevor, what's on your mind?"
"Anything and everything as long as it's not related to pop culture."
"Look at you. Scared, but still making me smile."
I turned to look at her. "I feel like I'm going back to where I was, to square one."
"You're just tired. You didn't sleep and it's catching up with you."
"Exactly! I don't want that again."
"Let's get you back to your bed and get you rested. We'll go from there."
The next six days went by in a blur. A blur full of nightmares, that is. Each night was filled with dreams about Ivan or memories of that day when I ran the redlight and hit Nicholas. The night before the trial, I dreamed about it. I dreamed that everyone turned against me and I was put on deathrow. I woke up at three A.M. and stayed awake.
"Trevor Reznik," a booming voice preceeded a muscular man in a policeman's uniform. "Your lawyer wants to see you. Follow me."
I followed him back to the room I'd met Mr. Bachman in before. He reviewed the questions with me and asked me some new ones.
"Where's Norma?" I asked.
"She'll be in the courtroom."
I felt myself grow nervous with every passing minute. After he finished going over everything with me, Mr. Bachman led me to the courtroom in the city hall.
Chapter Six
When I entered the courtroom, Maria was sitting behind the prosecutor's table, Norma was opposite of her behind the table where I was being led by a policeman and Mr. Bachman. She smiled at me. I couldn't smile back when I saw the look Maria gave me. I looked down at my feet and continued moving foward. She knew it was me, she was here to see me get put away for years.
Everyone came in, then the judge entered. She had shoulder length brown hair and a face that looked as if she was ready to put me away, as well. We all stood and then returned to our seats when she did. She called for opening statements. My heart broke when everything I'd done, from the hit and run to calling Reynolds with some crazy notion I had evidence against him to threatening Miller, was brought up.
After the opening statements, the prosecuting attorney called up his first witness: Miller. When he reached the stand, he glared at me, a glare shooting fire down to my feet. I shifted in my seat.
"How do you know Trevor Reznik?"
"We worked together at National."
"Were you friends?"
"We talked, played poker with some of the other other employees, but we never really were good friends."
"When you were repairing your machine and you called him over to help you, what happened?"
"He kept spacing out. The first time I had to yell for him to start paying attention because he was staring off into the welding pit where Reynolds was working. Something caught his attention and he stood up hitting the button that turned my machine on."
The attorney stopped him. "He hit the button?"
My heart stopped.
"With his shoulder, I'm assuming, he was facing the Pit, he would have had to bend his arm backward to press the button. When he stood up, he was still leaning sideways a little from the way he was leaning on the machine, his shoulder hit the button. He didn't do that on purpose. He didn't know my sleeve was stuck."
Thank you, Miller.
"Did you speak to Mr. Reznik after the incident?"
"When I returned to, well, gloat, I guess, about my settlement from the accident, he stopped me and apologized. We were civil and he was fine. The next thing I knew he was at my house saying that it was ironic that his hand was almost cut off that same day, right after I left. He had gotten fired for starting a fight with everyone around him and now he was blaming me."
"Nothing further," the attorney barked as he returned to his table.
Mr. Bachman stood. "Mr. Miller, what happened upon your last meeting with Mr. Reznik?"
"He blamed me for the scare he had at work. He said something about revenge. Said I hated him for losing my arm, that I blamed him. I told him to leave, but he kept going on about it."
"Did you get angry with him?"
Miller's face fell, like he was afraid of getting into trouble himself.
"Yes. I punched him."
"What happened after that?"
"He left, but he stopped at his truck and looked down the road, like something out of the ordinary was there. He looked back at me, mouthed something as he was turning back, then jumped in his truck and sped off, like he was chasing an imaginary racecar."
"Did you ever accuse Mr. Reznik of being crazy?"
"Not that I can remember."
"No further questions."
That went easier than I expected. Mr. Bachman called Reynolds up as the next witness.
"Mr. Reynolds, you and Mr. Reznik were very close at one point, correct?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell us what caused the rift in your relationship?"
"I honestly don't know what happened between us. He started closing himself off to the rest of the world. Spur of the moment, really. He stopped coming to our poker games, he stopped fishing, it was almost like he stopped talking."
I didn't hear any other questions from Mr. Bachman; my mind returned to the days on the fishing boat with Reynolds. We would talk about women, what kind of beer was the best, and quitting our jobs for a new start. I had ruined a great frienship with this man.
"Did you every accuse Mr. Reznik of being crazy?"
He looked at me. "Yes."
"Your witness," Mr. Bachman said to the other attorney as he came back to my side.
"Mr. Reynolds, can you tell us about the phone call you recieved from Mr. Reznik?"
"It was early in the morning, soon after midnight. He sounded drunk. He kept saying he had evidence against me and he was going to use it."
"Did you know what that evidence was?"
"No."
"No more questions."
Reynolds looked at me with a sort of sadness in his eyes as he passed.
Stevie was called next. She came in through the doors in the back of the room. She was wearing a white flowy shirt and a denim skirt. She always looked so good in white. I watched her make her way to the stand.
"When was the last time you saw Trevor Reznik?" the attorney asked.
"A month ago, I think."
"How was he at the time?"
"The very last time I saw him?"
"Yes."
"He was insane. He was yelling at me, slinging my dishes across the kitchen. He called me a whore. He went from being sweet to me to being this insane, horrible man."
"What was he yelling at you for?"
"He had found a picture of himself and Mr. Reynolds, but he wasn't seeing himself. He was seeing some man named Ivan next to Mr. Reynolds. He was saying that this Ivan was my ex-boyfriend and I must be cheating on with this man."
"Where did you get the picture from?"
"Trevor left it at my house. I thought he wanted me to have it because it was a picture of him. I put it in a frame in my bedroom."
"Had he behaved like this before?"
"Never. Trevor was always so quiet. When we were together he kept me smiling."
"Your witness." Stevie was passed to Mr. Bachman.
"Did Mr. Reznik say or do anything unusual before your last meeting?"
"He said there was a plot against him. Then, he spaced out and started spelling out words. I never knew why, and I never thought about it afterward, really."
"Spelling out words?"
"Yes. It started with him repeating 'E-R' over and over, then he spelled out a couple of words ending in E-R. Then, he left."
"You never asked him about it?"
"No."
"Did you ever think that maybe something had been bothering Mr. Reznik?"
"I thought maybe he was aneorexic. He was so skinny and barely ate. He let me take care of him, though. I would make him breakfast and he would eat at my house. I didn't know anything was on his mind. He would just tell me that he hadn't slept in a long time. I felt so bad for him, but there was not much I could do for him."
"He never slept when he stayed with you?"
"I don't think so. He would close his eyes for a few seconds and then his body would jump and he'd be wide awake again."
"Thank you. Nothing futher."
"The court will recess for lunch and meet back in two hours," the judge said.
Chapter Seven
Back in my cell, I barely touched my lunch, which set Norma on edge.
"Trevor, you haven't slept more than sixteen hours this week and you've hardly eaten. You need to eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"What happened to the appetite you had developed?"
"He's in my dreams," I blurted.
"Who?"
"Ivan. I can't sleep because of him."
"Just memories, Trevor, that's all."
"But why now?"
"You're stressed out over this trial. Those feelings you felt before are coming back to you and he symbolizes those. Just push the nightmares out of your mind, Trevor." She reached for her bag. "I brought you this."
"What?"
"It's a walkman. It should calm your nerves to have some sound going."
"Thanks. I haven't seen one of these in years."
"I'm going to leave you with this and I'll see you back in the courtroom."
I slid the earpieces into place and turned on the little machine. A station was already set and was coming in clear so I left it there. I fell asleep listening to commercials.
I awoke with a jolt. Ivan had been in my face and rock music was playing in the background. It was the same song that was on the radio when I woke up. I quickly pulled out the earpieces and turned off the walkman.
Maria was called to the stand. I silently cried as she gave her answers to the questions. She was so sad, even now, a year after it happened. I wondered if my mother had felt like I had died when I left.
Norma was called up after Maria. She was questioned by the prosecuting attorney first.
"Can you tell us about Trevor Reznik?"
"He's come a long way. From a frail thing of only 110 pounds, he now weighs 115. It doesn't sound like much, but he was on dangerous ground. Psychologically, he's not seeing Ivan around him anymore."
"Who is Ivan?"
"He is the man that Trevor was driving after when he left Mr. Miller's home. He is the man that caused Trevor to be distracted while helping Mr. Miller with his machine. However, he is no one in reality. He is Trevor. Trevor pushed the hit and run back in his mind for so long and his guilt was finally coming out. In the form of a hallucination. Of course, it doesn't help that he hadn't slept or eaten right in a year."
"Was this Ivan the man Mr. Reznik was seeing the picture Miss Jacobs had?"
"Trevor thought so. Now he knows otherwise. He doesn't see Ivan anymore."
"Is he mentally cured?"
"No. He's made progress, but he is not 'cured' and probably won't ever be."
"From what you know, was Mr. Reznik hallucinating when he hit Nicholas?"
"No."
"Nothing further."
"Mr. Bachman," the judge started, "any questions from the defense?"
"No, Your Honor."
"Call your witness," she commanded.
I was called next. My hands began to shake and I could barely stand, but I slowly walked up to the stand.
"Do you remember what you were doing when you hit Nicholas?" My breath was labored. I knew what to expect as far as questions, but I didn't expect everyone to be burning holes in my soul. Maria, Stevie, Miller, Reynolds. They were staring at me.
"Clearly."
"Can you tell the court?"
"I was lighting a cigarette. I leaned over to do it and didn't notice that the light was red."
"Did you realize what you had done?"
"Yes." I hung my head.
"What did you do after that?"
"I drove. When I calmed down, I reported my car as totaled."
"What is your view on what happened the day of Mr. Miller's accident?"
I told him exactly what happened.
"Then, you followed Ivan to the Boiler Room bar, correct?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell us what you did from there?"
I felt like everyone was laughing at me. "I asked him about why he distracted me. He said it was my fault, not his. When he got up, I took his wallet. In it, I found the picture of what I know now is of me and Reynolds on a fishing trip. I called Reynolds that night. I told him I had evidence. I thought he was in on this plot against me."
"You thought everyone was out to get you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"At the time, I didn't know. My paranoia came from the guilt I pushed back. It was slipping into my concsious mind, but I didn't know what it was from."
"Nothing further at this time."
The prosecuting attorney stood up. "Mr. Reznik, do you admit you are guilty?"
His bluntness shocked me to the point that I couldn't answer.
"Mr. Reznik, answer the question."
The tears were falling again. "Yes. I know I'm guilty. I took a life from a mother. I ran away from the scene. I'm guilty!" I caught my hanging head in my hands and sobbed. "Guilty," I whispered. "Put me away, I don't care anymore."
The courtroom became silent.
"Mr. Reznik?" the judge began to ask me a question. I looked up at her. She seemed so far away. Her cold face seemed to change when she looked me in the eyes. "Are you able to continue?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
The attorney walked toward me. "You've proven to us that you are emotionally unstable. Were you this way before the hit and run?"
"No."
"When you went to Mr. Miller's house, what were you planning to do?"
I thought back. "To get a rise out of him. I thought he was out to get me, too. I thought threatening him would make everything go away."
"Nothing further," the attorney barked.
I stood shakily and returned to my seat. Norma reached out from behind me and touched my shoulder.
"You were fine, Trevor. You did fine."
I didn't hear any of the closing statements with exception of hearing that I was "perfectly sane at the time of the murder."
I found a classical music station on the walkman Norma gave me and slept for a little while listening to it. There were no dreams of Ivan, but memories of my mother.
It was the Christmas of the year my father left us. She had worked all season and her only off day was Christmas day. That morning she woke me up and led me downstairs where I saw the bicycle I'd been wanting all year sitting by our little tree. She pushed me around on it and let me ride it all day long.
I woke up hours later feeling confused. I had forgotten where I was. I closed my eyes to rub them. When I did, I saw him. I saw Ivan.
"You're goin' to prison, fool," he stated plain as day. "Ain't nothing good comin' of this."
I screamed and fell off of the bed.
"Trevor?!" Norma was rushing down the hallway. "Trevor!"
I was curled up into a corner, wide-eyed and breathing hard. "He's still in my head!"
Once inside the cell, she kneeled down beside me. "Trevor, he's not real."
"But he sounded so real!"
"Sweetheart, come to me." She pulled me close to her, like she did earlier. I allowed myself to be held against her and rocked.
"He told me I was going to prison," I breathed against her shirt.
"Hush, Trevor." Her voice shook. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine."
In the courtroom, Norma was sitting next to me, holding my hand tightly. She tried not to let me see, but tears fell down her cheeks little by little. The jury filled in, then the judge returned.
"On the charge of first degree manslaughter, how do you find Trevor Reznik?" she asked Juror Number One.
A small redhaired woman was standing. "Guilty."
My heart crashed as Norma's breath caught in a sob. Maria smiled for the justice her son was finally recieving. Ivan's words resounded in my mind.
"On the charges of harassment, how do you find Trevor Reznik?"
"Guilty."
As the judge was about to reveal her sentence, the small woman spoke up.
"Your Honor, may the jury suggest something?"
"I'll allow it."
"Mr. Reznik is not a cold blooded killer. He put himself through a torture no one else would be able to endure and live because of his guilt. Is it possible that he just be placed in a hospital so that he may get well phsyically and mentally?"
Norma squeezed my hand.
"A mental facility?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
She touched her chin, tapped it. Her prolonged thinking made me very uncomfortable. "I fully agree that he has punished himself enough. I'll allow that. Mr. Reznik is hereby sentenced to a year in the Thompson Mental Hospital." She banged her gavel.
Norma hugged me tight. "Trevor! I told you it would be fine! You'll be staying with me, you'll get better!"
Chapter Eight
Six Months Later.
I am back up to 135 pounds. That's thirty-eight pounds from where I was one year and seven months ago. I'm seeing a dietician and he says that I'll gain back those thirty-eight before my last six months are up. I feel so much better. I can move without pain, I can take long walks with Norma without almost passing out. There's a gym area. I go there two days a week. My muscle tone is coming back.
There aren't anymore nightmares. I haven't seen or heard from Ivan since the trial. There's a visitor's day soon, Dad. Why don't you come by? We've got a lot of catching up to do. Your Son,
Trevor.
I handed my letter to Norma with a smile. "I didn't expect him to write back like he does. Thanks for finding him for me. Thanks for everything, Norma."
She embraced me. "It's what I do, Trevor."