Jeff reached over to press a hand onto his mother's clenched fist.
"He'll do just fine, Mother," he whispered.
Unable to say anything in response, Grandma Tracy nodded. Together, along with Penny and Parker, they had watched the proceedings unfold. As they did, Jeff's eyes settled on the woman in the dock. All he could see was the back of her head but even that was enough to make his blood boil. How dare you touch my son? he thought. How dare you put him through this – put us all through this!
His attention was diverted, though, when the prosecution barrister – Molloy – began to speak.
"You are John Eugene Tracy, correct?" he asked.
"Correct," John replied, his voice steady.
"Do you know Grace Stephanie Thomas?"
"Yes."
"And is she in this court today?"
"Yes."
"Could you point her out to us?"
John raised his right hand and pointed.
"Yes. She's over there, in the blue suit jacket."
The barrister followed his finger and nodded.
"For the record, Mr Tracy has pointed out the defendant, who is seated between the two detention officers in the dock." He returned his attention to John. "Is it correct, Mr Tracy, that Ms Thomas abducted you from the hard shoulder of the M11 on Sunday the 20th of January, 2069?"
"It is correct."
"Could you outline for us what happened that evening and what happened subsequently?"
Even though Jeff had heard the account before, it did not make it easier to listen to. The barrister kept asking questions, getting John to reveal more and more information. As the statement went on, Jeff found himself clenching his mother's hand ever-tighter. By the time the barrister was rounding off his questions, it seemed as though there was not a dry eye in the gallery. How is he still standing? Jeff asked. How has he survived all this? In that moment, he had never felt more sorry for and yet more proud of one of his sons.
"Finally, Mr Tracy," Molloy said, "could you sum up, in a few words, the impact that Ms Thomas' actions have had on you?"
Jeff saw John swallow and he seemed to shrink a little, before he sat up straight again. When he spoke, his voice was crystal clear.
"Grace Thomas' actions nearly destroyed my life," John said. "She took advantage of my kindness. She took away my liberty. She violated my body over and over again. She subjected me to sexual activity that I never wanted – not just because it was non-consensual, but because I am not a heterosexual. I am gay." He stumbled a little on those words and there was a flurry of noise in the courtroom. However, John quickly recovered and the noise died down. "Grace Thomas forced me to become something that I never want to be again."
"And what is that, Mr Tracy?"
John breathed in deeply, slowly.
"Helpless."
There was dead silence in the courtroom for a few moments. Then the barrister addressed the judge.
"The prosecution rests."
The judge, robed and wigged, nodded and the prosecuting barrister sat back down. He was replaced by the defence – a woman named Dove. Here it comes, Jeff said. The cross-examination. Stay strong, son.
"Mr Tracy," the barrister said, pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, "you say that Ms Thomas made you feel helpless, correct?"
Even from the gallery, Jeff could see that John's eyes had hardened.
"Yes," he said.
"What height are you, Mr Tracy?"
"I'm six foot one," John answered.
Jeff closed his eyes for a moment. I can see where this is going.
"And how much taller than Ms Thomas do you think you are?"
"I'm not sure," John said.
"An estimate, even," Dove urged.
John thought for a moment before answering.
"I'd say I'm about nine, ten inches taller than her."
"And would you say that, at the time of the alleged incidents, you were physically stronger than Ms Thomas?"
John paused.
"…most likely, yes."
"And, Mr Tracy, do you think that it would have been possible for you to overpower Ms Thomas?"
John's face drained of colour and all Jeff wanted to do was go to his side. But he couldn't. Stay strong…
"In theory, yes," John answered, his voice quiet.
"So, you say Ms Thomas made you feel helpless. And yet, you admit that you could have overpowered her."
"It's difficult to overpower someone physically when they're holding a gun to your head."
Atta boy, John.
Dove was unconcerned.
"And did Thomas always have a gun in her hand?"
"Well, no. Not always."
"So, to use your words, 'in theory,' there would have been opportunities for you to overpower her."
John paused again, a sheen of sweat developing on his forehead.
"Yes," he was forced to say. "But physical threats were not the only means she had to control me."
"Ah, yes," the barrister said. "When asked by the prosecution how Ms Thomas managed to keep you imprisoned for so long, you claimed that she made threats against her daughter's life. You stated that Ms Thomas threatened to kill her daughter if you attempted to leave."
John's voice was stronger this time.
"Yes, she did."
"Well, Mr Tracy. I find it hard to believe that Ms Thomas who, after she was abandoned by her husband, dedicated her life to raising her daughter, would make such a threat. Is it not actually the case that there were no such threats, that that you have invented this detail to help defend yourself, to make you seem, as you stated, 'helpless'?"
One of John's temples throbbed. Jeff pressed his lips into a tight line. Don't lose your cool…
"That is not the case," John ground out.
"I think it is, Mr Tracy," Dove said. "In fact, I think the circumstances inside Ms Thomas' residence are very different to what you have described."
The line of questioning continued in much the same vein for over an hour. Pride swelled within Jeff as he watched his son stand up to all that was thrown at him. Not helpless any more, he thought.
Eventually, the defence started to conclude her cross-examination. However, she still had one final blow to fell.
"Mr Tracy, did Ms Thomas keep the doors and windows of the house locked at all times?"
John hesitated.
"I don't know."
"Didn't you try the doors and windows to see if they were locked?"
"If I had, and if one had been opened, I would not have been able to leave."
"Ah, yes, due to the supposed threat. Mr Tracy, did Ms Thomas keep the doors and windows of the house closed at all times?"
John hesitated again. He looked as though he was about to crumble.
"No," he said. "Sometimes she left the front door open."
"So, there were times when Ms Thomas, a woman you readily admit you could have overpowered, left the front door of the house open. The front door of the house that you say you were imprisoned in. Is that correct?"
John did not answer. After a moment, the judge spoke.
"Mr Tracy, you must answer all questions asked of you," she said, her voice impassive.
John nodded and swallowed visibly.
"Yes."
Dove nodded.
"And, 'in theory,' as you like to say, could you have walked out of this open door?"
"Yes. Eventually, I did."
John's voice was so quiet, almost distraught, that Jeff's heart leapt into his throat.
"Indeed so," the barrister said. "You left Ms Thomas bleeding on the floor, having just given birth. You took her child – her children – away from her. You didn't attempt to call for medical aid."
Looking down at her notes, Dove went for the jugular, just as Jeff had predicted.
"So, Mr Tracy, you have stated that you could have overpowered Ms Thomas and that you could have left the house before you eventually did. And yet you did not. So here is my theory. Ms Thomas may have abducted you." There was a ripple of sound through the gallery. "However, she did not know that what she was doing was wrong. Ms Thomas, at the time of the alleged incidents, was not of sound mind due to past trauma and significant medical issues. She was not in control of her actions.
"But you were in control of your actions, Mr Tracy. You could have left but you did not. You claim that a woman who is nine or ten inches shorter than you, of significantly less muscle mass, a woman whose love for her daughter has been demonstrated by her provision of care as a single parent, physically and psychologically prevented you from leaving the house – a house that, at times, had a front door that was left lying wide open.
"Rather than being 'helpless,' as you have claimed," the barrister said, pausing, "I think it was more a case of you being unable to help yourself, which is a very different thing. And now, in the cold light of day, you have made these claims to stop yourself from being perceived as weak. You could have left but you did not."
Giving John no further opportunity to speak, Dove turned to the judge.
"The defence rests."
The court usher appeared to lead John away from the stand and, as he did, the judge spoke.
"I think this would be an appropriate time to break for lunch," she said. "Court will reconvene in one hour's time."
This time, when John left the courtroom, it broken Jeff's heart to see that his head was no longer held high. His chin was almost on his chest.
~oOo~
As soon as she saw him, John found himself enveloped in a hug from his grandmother. She didn't say anything – She probably can't say anything, he thought – but the warmth of her embrace conveyed her love and support.
When she finally withdrew to arm's length, John gave a soft sigh.
"Can we go find a coffee shop or something?" he asked. "I need to get out of here."
"We don't have to come back," Jeff said. "You don't have to sit through the rest of the trial."
"I know," John said. "But I want to. I need to hear the defence. I need to know."
Jeff nodded and clapped his son on the shoulder.
"Okay," he said. "Let's find something to eat first."
John allowed himself to be led away. As they exited the courthouse, the defence barrister's words kept swirling around in his head.
You could have left but you did not…
~oOo~
The trial proceeded as they thought it would. The case for the defence went on for weeks and, as April slid into May, John found himself once again curled up in an armchair in his bedroom at the apartment that had become his temporary home. He watched the rain sluice down the long windows. Everything seemed miserable. Everything seemed grey.
The defence case had seemed interminable. They had sat through hours upon hours of what could only be described as a sob-story. All the tiniest details about Grace's childhood, her parents' divorce, her husband's 'disappearance,' her mental health record, her fitness as a loving parent – John snorted – were examined. Her barrister seemed to have extricated witnesses from all manner of places that could testify that Grace was a strange creature, but harmless, really. Or indeed that, at times, she was a person who didn't seem to know what was really going on around her. Someone who couldn't tell the difference between right and wrong.
John snorted again. She knows the difference between right and wrong, he thought. She simply chooses to do wrong.
That was the line of questioning that Molloy was trying to follow in his cross-examination.
And now it was nearly over. Tomorrow, both sides would give their closing statements and the jury would retire. John shuddered. I hope they can see through the tissue of lies that the defence is weaving. And I hope it doesn't take a century for them to come to a decision.
His ears pricked as he heard something unusual. It sounded like the apartment door opening and shutting again. Who could that be? he asked. We're all meant to be in for the night. He glanced at his watch. It was ten p.m.
There was a knock at the bedroom door. John's brows furrowed.
"Come in," he called. "And Grandma, if it's another sandwich, honestly I'm not –"
His words fell away.
Dripping from the rain, looking utterly bedraggled, was a figure he had not been expecting.
"Elijah?"
"Ionadh!"
John leapt from the chair and embraced the Irishman, his mouth and eyes wide open.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.
Elijah wrapped his soaked arms around the other man and there was a chuckle – perhaps more like a cackle – from behind them. John looked over Elijah's shoulder to see his grandmother grinning widely.
"Well, you didn't want a sandwich," she said with a wink, "so I brought you something else."
John held the other man at arm's length. Elijah closed his eyes against the deluge of water that was streaming from his hair.
"I got off at the wrong station," he said in explanation. "Bloody trains."
John reached up to brush some soaked red hair out of Elijah's eyes.
"I would have paid for a cab," Jeff's voice came from the background.
Elijah turned and shrugged.
"Didn't think," he said.
Jeff rolled his eyes.
"That much is clear. Come on, Mother," he said, "we'll leave them to their hellos."
They retreated back into the living area and John ushered Elijah into the bedroom.
"You need to take a shower," he said, "otherwise you'll catch your death."
Elijah rolled his eyes but did start to strip off the top few layers of his clothing.
"All right, Mom," he said, the second word uttered in the worst approximation of an American accent John had ever heard.
Dumping the sodden clothes in the hamper, John shook his head.
"I can't believe you're here," he said.
"Your granny and your da thought you could use some more moral support," he said. "Plus, since the trial is almost over, we do have that vacation to take. It's easier to get to Ireland from England than it is from the arsehole of the South Pacific."
"Hey!" John said. "That's my home you're talking about."
"That's as well as may be," Elijah said as he peeled off his sodden t-shirt, "but it's still in the arsehole of the South Pacific."
John tried not to stare but it was an impossible task. He had seen Elijah without a shirt before, usually in the context of the pool, but that didn't mean it had become a boring sight. In spite of everything he had been through, the tension seemed to fall away from him as Elijah drew him in for another embrace.
"I'm glad you're here," John whispered, his fingers sliding over the other man's slippery back.
"I always will be," Elijah said. "And, no matter what happens tomorrow, it's still another day. Cha d'dhùin doras nach d'fhosgail doras."
"'No door ever closed, but another opened'," John translated. He nodded. "That's a nice way to think about it."
Elijah drew back a little, bobbing his head in agreement.
"Now that all the pleasantries are said and cheerleading is done," he said, "where the hell's the shower in this place?"
"That way," John said, pointing to the en suite. "Be my guest."
As he watched the other man retreat, John felt as though his strength had increased tenfold.
No door ever closed, but another opened.
Hopefully tomorrow, the door would close on the past and in its place, the door to a bright future would swing open. John wrapped his arms around himself as he heard the shower start to stream. In some ways, I think it already has.
~oOo~
Ionadh: surprise.