JUNE 27, 2005

The opening statements seemed to last forever. With every imperious argument of Lin's, and Virginia's fragile rebuttal to the referenced evidence, I felt like heaving up whatever contents were still in my stomach.

Lin was loud and resolute. Confident.

Virginia's voice, on the other hand, crackled with doubt. The simple clicking of her heels on the floor was enough to nearly drown out her voice altogether.

How did we get such a promising vibe from her?

I rubbed my eyes, and leaned over, trying to be discreet as I scanned the rows for anyone as restless as me. I think I wanted an accomplice of some sort to accompany me to the bathroom or nearby trash can where I could vomit. But everyone was still. Rigid, like statues. But there was this thick tension that sat on the air above us all, like a congested cloud threatening the release of a cold downpour. None of us could take much more. No one had any reason to think that with a beginning so far from solid, that the case could strengthen anywhere near the degree necessary to get a not guilty verdict.

It just couldn't happen.

I took a deep breath, still leaning over. Sully's eyes were like embers. I could almost feel their heat as he stared at me.

"What?" I gurgled, sucking in yet another breath. I almost felt as if I were controlling the tension-fraught air between us all. We were like several long rows, constructed of one giant rubber band. If Virginia or Lin kept delving into the emotional aspects of the case, all it would take is a cough or a sigh, and that rubber band would snap, sending Bosco's mom into an overtly overdue tantrum. Faith would try to be strong and comfort her, as she always did, but eventually collapse herself. Sully would mumble "crap" almost as much as Bosco used to scream "jagoff", and I would succeed in littering the floor at my feet with bile.

So I had to hold my breath. So I wouldn't snap that invisible link keeping us all from turning into one snaking chain of turmoil and tears.

"I didn't say anything," Sully grumbled, moving his eyes from me to the front of the room.

"You were looking at me," I whispered, from my bent position.

"How do you know," His voice was low and guttural, as usual, and he stated his words rather than asking them.

I wanted to answer. I wanted to say that I could always tell when he was looking at me, but I'd especially become a target for his sight this morning, and that I felt like a child that he was constantly checking on to make sure was okay. I wanted to tell him that, but then, I'd be proving him right. Instead, I lurched forward even more, clutching my stomach.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, Sul," I swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"Hang in there, Ty," he croaked. I felt him glanced down at me again. "One minute at a time…like you used to tell me. Remember?"

"I remember," I whispered back, my brain flooding with two-and-a-half year old images of Sully, drunken and in a downward spiral. And I did remember. Vividly. I snapped from the memories, taking in one last deep breath before forcing myself to sit up straight and keep my composure.

Sully looked like he was scanning his mind for something else supportive to say. Even though his face was sporting a considerably less-interested expression, if anyone knew, I knew, that he wasn't ignoring me or my failing emotional state or my body's unwillingness to hold my breakfast down. He was just being Sully.

A pointy finger jabbed my back just as I settled into my seat. Sasha had leant over my shoulder. I could feel her breath on my neck. I took my eyes off Sully to stare at her. "I imagine there'll be a recess shortly…before direct and cross….examination…" she trailed off, her words increasingly forced and nervous.

I don't know if it was her – her bold way of talking to me when I'd made it crystal clear I didn't want to hear her. Or if it was the picture of Walker that Lin had flashed onto a projector — of the dead cop's virtually non-existent face amidst a myriad of crushed limbs and haunting bruises. Or if it was the entire situation, everything, combined. But whatever it was, it was the final straw.

The bitterness of stomach acid finally invaded my throat without the potential of being held down. I covered my mouth with my hand, lurched from my seat and started out of the courtroom just as I heard Harrison finished the word "recess".

--------------------------------------------------------------- //

"Why'd he do that?" Ty nearly spat, wiping a discolored combination of water and puke from his mouth. He turned to spit into the sink again. I'd had such a plethora of bodily fluids vomited or spilled on me during my career, that I'd lost whatever revulsion I ever had for them, so I just stood with my hands in my pockets and watched.

"Who?" I murmured, shifting my eyes from him to the faucet to the pale green walls of the bathroom. "Lin?"

"Yeah," Ty looked disgusted. I wasn't sure if was because his mouth probably didn't taste so good or because he couldn't get Walker's morgue-shot out of his head. "I didn't know they brought evidence in so fast."

I shrugged. "All depends on the prosecutor's game plan. They can bring it up whenever they want. And that wasn't worst of it, Ty," my voice was full of warning. "Corpus delicti, though, you usually do see that in the opening statement." I shrugged again. I had sort of forgotten that Ty had been to few trials, and never for any even remotely close to the caliber of the one we were in.

He gargled with water one last time before grabbing a paper towel and standing up from his hunched position over the sink. "I don't think I can go back in there, Sul," he squeaked. "Did you see Bosco? He's a skeleton."

"At most," I spoke up, scoffing. "And I don't think anyone missed him. He's like a big orange target in there, for everyone's deathly stares."

Ty shook his head nervously.

"Hey," I laughed sarcastically. "I'm the one who has to testify…the least you can do is be in there…for mutual support!"

His face lightened up a little, but he still looked ill. "Okay. …Are you first?"

"Faith is," I shook my head sadly. "Then someone for the prosecution. Cruz, probably. Then me. I don't really know the order, but eventually one of Walker's family members will get up there and make him sound like a gift to the NYPD."

"So how can we win?"

"Well," I pulled open the door, ushering him out. God knows we'd gravely jeopardize the already volatile case if we were caught discussing it. "It just depends how many jurors buy all that crap."

---------------------------------------------------------- //

I must have stood there for the longest time, gazing out the window of the third story. All I could see was a tiny patch of grass… some tables. Mostly just grey steps leading down to a square cutout in the courthouse and annex building. A bunch of people were walking up and down the steps; flagging down cabs. They were small from where I was, looking down. I knew that they were in a much better place than me. Going about their lives, doing mundane everyday tasks that I longed to be doing. Why did it have to be summer vacation? Even a seven hour school day sounded more bearable.

I knew Emily had come running after me after I'd bolted from the courtroom. Something inside of me just broke…just snapped…when I saw Bosco. Maybe no one expected it because I don't usually say what I'm thinking. Or maybe they just overlooked me because I wasn't voluntarily displaying my emotions in an ever-increasing downpour of tears, like mom had been. I'd just sat there – the room was freezing – the people looked at us like we were monsters. I'd just found out seconds earlier that I didn't have to prevail my fears and testify, but I was still nervous. I still just sat there, taking as much as I could until it was too much, and then I ran out. Honestly, it scared me when I saw him. There was so much that no one told me about the case, but I was expected to sit and understand, regardless. And maybe I could have, but not when my Uncle B came in. I'd never seen a make-up job in a movie make someone look as sick as he had looked. And angry. Which, I think, was the worst part. He'd only looked at me for a second, but it was enough for me to see his eyes were blank, and lingering somewhere in his pupils, was anger. Just pure rage. Maybe part of me was actually giving into this so-called theory of him having killed someone. And it was that which caused me to come seek out the window I'd been standing in front of.

Emily had been trying to get my attention forever. She was comforting at first, but after awhile she just got annoyed with me standing there, so stationary. She yelled at me for "bailing" as she'd called it, said that she was the one who would have to face everyone when she took the stand. I didn't get a chance to tell her how quickly I'd of taken the stand if I'd needed to. That is, after all, what I'd come for. It wasn't my fault that things had played out differently. I was, however, inwardly grateful. If I couldn't stand seeing Bosco from a sideways view for a fleeting second, there was no way I could handle staring straight at him. Besides, I wasn't so sure I'd be a great witness seeing as I was having doubts as to whether I even believed what everyone told me. Maybe Emily didn't think we were being withheld information, or care if we were, but I did. I wasn't looking for a conspiracy, but I'd found one. But no one would believe me, because I was the seventh-grader who couldn't stay in the courtroom for twenty minutes, let alone for opening statements.

I pretended not to notice when she returned, clutching two cans of Coke. If I hadn't wanted to talk to her before, I definitely didn't feel like it now. I did, however, take the drink when she handed it to me, if only because I felt obligated.

"Are you going back in there?" she asked finally, looking at her watch.

Does it matter? I thought. I didn't want Bosco to think I didn't want to be there – or that I didn't want to support him, although I was pretty sure he'd understand. But didn't he have enough people to think about that were sitting several yards behind him, crying and distraught?

"Am I allowed?" I asked, glancing at her for the first time since I'd run, tearful and embarrassed, from the room.

She shrugged, taking a long, shaky sip of her soda. "Who knows. You'll have to ask Mom when she comes out, but I don't think either of us is supposed to be in there after the opening statements unless we're testifying. And even then, we have to leave right after." She shrugged again. It was a common expression of her doubt. I think I'd even inadvertently picked up the trait.

"What are you gonna say up there, anyway?" I figured she had some idea, seeing as though she looked relatively calm. More calm than I was, and I wasn't the one who had to answer questions.

"I guess they'll just ask me…about Bosco…"

"What will you tell them?" I persisted. I didn't really care that I sounded abrupt.

"The truth, Charlie. What else would I tell them?" She slowly raised her hands and put them on her hips, challenging me for an answer.

"I don't know…" I sighed, turning to the window again. I guess she could see the wheels turning in my head.

"What," she spat, moving in front of me, one hand firmly planted on each of her sides. "You think he did it? You really think he killed that cop?"

"I never said that," I defended softly. In all honesty, I wasn't sure what I thought, anymore. I never thought my parents would divorce, though I knew it'd been for the better, but that had happened. Who's not to say this couldn't have happened either?

"But that's what you think, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Emily!" I finally shrieked, backing away from her. I glanced around the hallway, thankful it was lacking other people. "If it's easier for you to tell yourself that so many people messed up and locked up someone innocent, fine. If that's easier, fine, but don't pretend nothing could've made him do it. Don't pretend that they're telling us everything."

Emily stood, her back to the window, and moved her arms from her hips and folded them over her chest. "What would make him?"

"What?"

"What would make him," she repeated slowly, looking down at her heels. "You think something could've made him do this. So...what?"

Now I was shrugging. "Maybe something happened to Mom."

She snapped her head up. "What?"

"I don't know what, Emily!" I threw my hands up in despair. "What else would make him? I don't think anything else could." I was running out of ways to get through to her. I wasn't really sure I needed to keep trying – as far as I knew, she was just trying to tune out the fact that we were still in the dark. But I still felt a compulsion to tell her that regardless of whether or not I thought Bosco did kill this cop, there was a reason for it. Bosco wasn't supposed to be in jail. He wasn't supposed to be a killer.

Emily stood there for another minute or two, periodically glancing at me through watery eyes, before nearly tripping in her heels as she rushed passed me. "Excuse me," she snapped, sniffling. "I have to go… testify."

I moved back to my unyielding position in front of window, but not before powerfully heaving the still-full and unopened can of Coke into a nearby trash can with all of my strength.

--------------------------------------------------- //

I kept my eyes firmly planted on Ty as we entered the courtroom. I guess I wanted to make sure he wasn't going to puke again. He seemed relatively better, so I let myself look around. The place was bustling quietly with people as they reconvened. It was weird to see this room, normally so dead-silent and still, actually crawling and sounding with people.

Ty and I stumbled toward our original seats, or at least the general area. The room was huge, as were the benches, so neither of us could be too sure. Ty glanced at me a few times, his eyes glazed and ill-looking. Fortunately, some of the color in his face had returned. He finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Who did you say was next?" He turned to me, and then away, scanning the seats behind us. Nearly everyone we knew had already filed in. Lieu and Finney sat close by, joined by Kim, and finally Monroe, who Ty refused to give up an opportunity to glare at. She was quick to return the cold stare, and I rolled my eyes. Amidst something so important, the two still had time to play this childish game of who-could-hold-a-grudge-longest. I wanted to kick Ty, but I stopped myself in fear of him throwing up all over the place.

"Faith," I growled, sighing. It didn't sit well with me that she was supposed to relive what had happened to her. The defense was trying to prove that Bosco hadn't committed the crime to begin with, not justifying what he had done, so I was at a loss as to how her painful story was relevant. "She goes next."

I could tell Ty was about to ask me where she was, but our answer was already in the making.

"We're not discussing the fucking case!" the familiar voice was raised and high-pitched. It was loud, but irresolute. Her words shook with trepidation, and any sound of whispering or footsteps ceased, returning the room back to a state of complete silence. Virtually everyone had craned around to see Faith at the back of the courtroom, staring impatiently at a bailiff whom I presumed had interrupted her talking with Rose – Rose, who upon the explosive shriek had hurried out the door.

The bailiff was saying something quietly to Faith, who looked all kinds of pissed, but Ty and I weren't close enough to hear. By his lips, I'd have guessed it was something along the lines of "Ma'am, if you…"

"Go. To. Hell," were Faith's preceding words, growing louder and more impatient, and followed by the notorious sound of…chains. Heavy chains.

Once again, silence reigned. Faith even stopped wishing hell upon the bailiff long enough to watch Bosco enter, guarded as usual by two staid, robotic-looking uniforms. If it were at all possible, he looked even worse than he had before the recess. He was still a sickly off-white color, his jaws sharply protruding due to his sunken face. His skin was contrasted by the faded, oversized orange jumpsuit that he appeared to be drowning in.

Even the tacit-impartial jurors were staring at him with pity. I assumed only his colleagues and friends knew what used to be behind the washed-out shell that Bosco had become.

I watched him scan the room, his eyes like depressed coals rather than the cobalt beacons they used to be. But it was remotely comforting to see him looking elsewhere than only straight ahead as he'd been doing before, like some post-op lobotomy patient.

His eyes traveled slowly around the courtroom, to the judge's empty chair, to Walker's family who appeared to be trying to set him ablaze with their stony glares, and to me and Davis and the gap of space beside us. His eyes narrowed in concern, and for the first time, he said something.

So he only mouthed it. But it was a step forward, anyway.

"Where's Ma?" we watched his lips forming the words and we both shook our heads sadly. I think I caught Ty as he finished mumbling "She left", and I wasn't sure if it was for the better. I mean, we couldn't do a whole lot of explaining from where we sat. Especially when Bosco's guards were following his every gaze with suspicion as if they thought we were talking in some sort of code.

Bosco looked unsatisfied with our answer, but I'd figured as much. He moved forward slowly at the chagrin of his watchdogs that appeared prepared to tackle him, or shoot him, should he make any attempts to escape, or lash out. He was that dangerous, after all.

Both me and Ty knew exactly who he was scanning the room for, and it only took him seconds to spot her near the back door before their eyes locked. They held a wistful gaze for what seemed like forever. They'd shared a good amount of sad gazes, but we'd never seen one this hopeless, or this dejected.

Bosco formed the name "Faith," ever so slowly, and she did the same with his name, only she actually said it. And loud, too, before brushing past the disgruntled bailiff who reached out to stop her.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, battling his arms with hers. He was considerably taller and stronger, but she fought him nonetheless, a fountain of tears scathing her already-reddened face. So many tears, that Davis and I could see even from our seats.

"Sully…" Ty tried to alert me, nudging my shoulder. He was looking in the opposite direction, at the back door where Bosco had entered.

"Wait, Ty," I ordered, still dividing my attention between Faith, and then Bosco. Faith was still struggling against him as he tried to keep her from racing toward 'the defendant'. I hadn't realized how much that term had bothered me, but it was hollow and cold, and it should never have been a title used for Bosco.

"Let. Go. You son of a bitch!" Faith continued, determined to reach her partner.

The room was now at a full-fledged whisper war. Amongst Faith's inconsolable screams were the quiet, yet strained words of everyone else – mostly Walker's family, who were having their own argument. I wasn't entirely familiar with my distant, deceased "friend"'s family, but I guessed his mother and ex-wife were the ones who had stood up and were angrily motioning toward Bosco.

Their gestures must not have caught Bosco's attention, because he was still staring at Faith who had succumbed to the grip of the officer and had now buried her face into her hands.

"Faith…don't…" Bosco started, seemingly alarmed by his own voice. It was the first time any of us had heard him speak the whole day. His face was twisted in anguish, and his voice sounded foreign. He tried to pull his hands to his face, only to be stopped suddenly, and sharply, by the chains that held his hands below his waist, and gave little slack to move them.

"Sully, I really think you…" Ty was still tapping my shoulder, more impatiently than ever and his tone that of warning. I watched Kim glance around before rushing to Faith's side, before I turned around, and mirrored Ty's shocked stare.

"Michael…" I mumbled slowly as the realization that Walker's brother had just entered, and done so in a style far from peaceful. The door was still swinging wildly in his wake as he approached Bosco from behind.

"What?" Ty questioned.

I had little time to answer, before Michael's anger-fraught announcement shook the courtroom back to its original state of silence yet again.

"Murderer!"

Things are going well, I thought bitterly. I leaned close to Ty. "Walker's older brother, Michael."

"I know that!" Ty hissed. "He was in here earlier staring at Bosco like he was gonna kill him. What the hell is he doing?"

I was too glued to Michael's actions to answer my partner. But the truth was, I had no idea what he was doing, aside from confronting the person who had killed his brother. In a way, he wasn't at fault. From the twisted version of a brother that Matthew Walker had portrayed to his family, and the distorted version of a cop he'd shown the community – Michael was only seeking revenge against a murderer. Still, I knew Ty was probably sharing my urge to shout out "rapist" but we both knew it probably wouldn't go over so well. We gritted our teeth, instead.

The creaking of a door cause a few of us to dart a fleeting a second of attention to the front as Judge Harrison crept in; unaware of the turmoil the room had found itself in. It was a short-lived redirecting of our sights before Michael's voice echoed again.

I couldn't imagine how powerless Bosco felt, entrapped in a coil of weighted chains, unable to defend himself. I didn't doubt he had somewhat become resigned to the fact, but never would he be content with such a reality.

Michael advanced forward, causing the uniforms to get between the two men. Bosco was staring down the spitting-image of the man he'd killed, despite his lack of mobility due to the chains, his eyes dark, beady and unrelenting. He looked uneasy, but far from afraid.

Two more bailiffs rushed in, each roughly taking Michael by the arm and impeding his attempts at revenge, at least for the moment.

"You will pay for this!" Michael's overwrought shouts didn't stop as he was dragged down the aisle and out the courtroom. I watched his eyes shift away from Bosco for the first time, traveling very slowly across toward the other aisle where Faith crouched, leaning against Kim for support. He held his stare for a few seconds, I suppose long enough to make it obvious to Bosco just who he was looking at. He shifted his brown eyes back to Bosco, sneering. "That's a promise you son of a bitch!"

The door eventually swung shut, drowning out his ensuing barrage of threats and expletives. I looked at Ty, who appeared less likely to vomit, and now, more on the verge of passing out. He was eyeing Bosco, who was being shuffled, virtually backward, toward the defendant's table.

He gave Davis and me a fleeting glimpse before looking past us, at Faith, and swallowing hard.

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