A/N: Hi everyone and welcome back to the story! I'm excited to finish it and looking forward to hearing what everyone thinks. Thanks to everyone who's left comments and nudges during the long hiatus. It was very appreciated and kept me inspired and eager to get back into the story.
Please see the end notes for update plans. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's an important one for the story.
A Street Over and a World Away
Chapter 9: The Trial
Jackson growled as he reached the bottom line of his American History notes and realized he had no idea what he had just read. It was ridiculous. He never had trouble paying attention when he studied. Was this what studying had been like for Isaac? Had he been too distracted and stressed out by his shitty dad to pay attention? How different would Jackson's own life have been if he had been the one to grow up in the house across the street?
He flipped back to the beginning of his notes, shaking his head to clear it. None of that mattered right now. He just needed to finish memorizing the key points for this chapter so he would be ready to quiz Isaac when he got home later. Isaac had missed class again that afternoon for a final meeting with the prosecutor in his father's case, and then after school Danny and Ethan had taken him to get his hair cut in preparation for the trial, which would start tomorrow morning. Their American History test wasn't until Friday, and there was a chance they might have to schedule make-up tests if the old asshole hadn't been convicted by then, but Jackson was going to make sure they were ready either way.
A knock on his bedroom door broke his fragile concentration. He frowned. It was too soon for Isaac to be home, so that meant–
"Honey, may we come in?" his mother called through the door.
"No."
"Son." His father's voice carried an edge of warning.
"Fine. Come in." Jackson spun his desk chair around to face the door and folded his arms as they entered.
"We have something for you, honey." His mother held up a scrapbook as she walked into the room followed by Jackson's father, who carried a couple of leather-bound binders.
"Family photos, really?" Jackson rolled his chair further away as they sat on the edge of his bed across from him. "You think I'll forgive you for lying to me my whole life if you show me some family photos?"
His mother gave him a tight-lipped smile and opened the front cover of the album. "It's not our family in these photos."
That piqued Jackson's curiosity, and he rolled closer so he could peer at the picture on the page she held up. It took a moment before he realized he was looking at an old photograph of Isaac's dad. He laughed at the man's long hair and out-of-style clothing. Next to him stood a tall, slender woman with curly blonde hair and a jarringly familiar smile. "Is that..."
"Your birth parents," his mother answered in a quiet voice.
Jackson didn't understand the tightness in his chest or the way his stomach somersaulted as he stared at the seemingly happy couple. They were outside beside a sprawling oak tree. She was draped around him, one foot kicked back in the air and her arm hanging over his neck as he kissed her hand, his an arm around her waist. "Why are they posing so weird?"
"This was their engagement photo," his mother answered.
Jackson raised his head in surprise. "You knew them that long ago?"
His father cleared his throat. "No, we hired a private investigator to put together a file on them."
"And I used some of the pictures to make a scrapbook!" Jackson's mother smiled and turned the page. "Here they are on their wedding day. Wasn't her dress lovely? And he looked so dashing in that tux!"
Jackson frowned at his parents. "Why are you showing me this?"
"We thought you'd like to see it, son," his father answered as he passed Jackson one of the leather binders. "Here. This is everything we know about them. Facts about their early lives, their families and relatives, past addresses...Mrs. Lahey's obituary." He cleared his throat and handed Jackson the second binder. "And here's everything we have on Camden."
"He's in the scrapbook too!" Jackson's mother declared as she flipped to one of the final pages. "Look how handsome he was in his army uniform." She sighed and shook her head. "Such a tragedy..."
"Stop. Just stop." Jackson slammed the binders on his desk and rolled his chair back. "This doesn't make up for anything."
"Son–"
"No. You can't just wave a record of their lives in front of my face and expect me to be okay with never getting to know them in person."
"We don't expect that," his father answered quietly.
"Of course this won't make up for what you missed." His mother sniffled and wiped her eyes as they started to glisten. "We never wanted to keep any of this from you, honey, but we had no choice."
"Oh really?" Jackson folded his arms.
"We signed a confidentiality agree–"
"Fuck that!" Jackson shouted at he threw his arms in the air. "Fuck your confidentiality agreement. I'm your son." He trembled as his anger boiled over and his composure started to slip. "You could have told me. You could have trusted me with the truth. I could have..." He clenched his jaw. "I could have gotten to know Camden before he died. I could have grown up having a relationship with Isaac. But you took that away from me. And for what? Some goddamn legal agreement?" His mother got up to hug him, but he held up his hand and shot her a warning look. "Don't."
"Jack, Mr. Lahey swore he would move away if you or Isaac found out." Jackson's father held eye contact with him and wrapped an arm around Jackson's mother as she reclaimed her seat on Jackson's bed. "It would have made it harder for both of you to know but be kept apart, and as long as they lived across the street we felt like we had some way of monitoring Isaac's well being."
"Oh really? How'd that work out for you?"
Jackson's mother let out a choked sob and turned her face against his father's shoulder.
He rubbed her back and stood, guiding her up with him. "Hang on to those records and the scrapbook, and let us know if you have any questions." He frowned and caught Jackson's eye again. "We truly are sorry. We only wanted what was best for you."
Jackson's mother sniffled and pressed the scrapbook into his hands before following his father to the door.
"Did you pick me or did he?" Jackson called after them.
"What?" His father paused in the doorway and turned back.
"To adopt. Did you choose me" –Jackson cleared his throat and set the scrapbook atop the binders on his desk– "or did he pick me to get rid of?"
"He chose," Jackson's father answered quietly.
"Oh." Jackson swallowed. It didn't matter. What did that asshole know about anything? About Jackson? Fuck him.
"We wanted you both." Jackson's mother clasped her hands together and shook them urgently. "So much!"
"Yeah, you said that," Jackson muttered.
"It's true," his father answered. "I don't know how or why Lahey made the choice he made, but–"
"Do you ever regret it?" Jackson leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Are you ever disappointed I'm the one you got?"
"Oh honey, no!" His mother rushed across the room and threw her arms around him.
Jackson went to push her away, but at the last moment ended up wrapping his arms around her instead.
"We've never been disappointed, Jack. Not in all these years." Jackson's father squeezed his shoulder. "Not even once."
Jackson clenched his jaw and fought back a wave of emotion. "It doesn't feel like that." Fuck, where had that come from?
"What?" Jackson's mother pulled back to look at him. A deep frown had settled on his father's face.
Jackson shrugged. No point in trying to take it back now. "You're drunk all the time," he answered, not quite trying to hurt her but not quite caring if he did. He narrowed his eyes on his father. "And you practically live at your office." He looked away, glancing at the wall over his bed. "Doesn't seem like either of you are too excited to have a son. Maybe it's me or–"
"It's not." His father's voice was rough as he clutched Jackson's shoulder.
Jackson reluctantly looked up.
"It's not," he repeated, this time in a whisper.
Jackson blinked as the man stooped and wrapped him up in a tight hug.
"I'm sorry." He rubbed Jackson's back. "It's not you, Jack. It's..."
"It's me," Jackson's mother said when it became apparent he wasn't going to finish his sentence.
Jackson shifted his attention to her as his father let go and stepped back.
"Lana–"
"No." She sniffled and shook her head as she sat on Jackson's bed. "It is, isn't it? You can't stand to be around me so you hide out at your office all day and night."
Jackson waited for his father to deny it, but he remained silent, avoiding eye contact with Jackson or his mother.
"I don't mean to drink so much," she said softly. "Every morning I tell myself I'm not going to drink that day. But then...well I decide one little one with lunch can't hurt, and it doesn't. And so I have another, and..." She stared at Jackson's bedroom floor.
"I don't know how to fix it," his father said with a humorless laugh. "I like to focus on problems I can solve, and there's always another case." He shrugged. "And if I'm not home..."
"If you're not home, you don't have to face it," Jackson continued for him with a scowl, his fists clenched in his lap. "You can pretend everything's fine and you have the perfect wife and son. Just like you always wanted."
"No." He shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his face before crouching in front of Jackson's chair. "That's not it at all."
Jackson wanted to look away but he couldn't. His father was a serious man, but he had never seemed more so than in this moment.
"You don't have to be perfect, Jack." He gripped Jackson's shoulder and rubbed it with his thumb as he held eye contact. "I love you just the way you are."
The words cut through Jackson's gut like a cold knife, and he wanted to shove him away, but all he could do was bite his lip and try futilely to maintain his composure. "I love you too." It slipped out with a snorting sob. Jackson was mortified.
His father pulled him into another hug, and Jackson further humiliated himself by trembling and getting tears on his father's shirt.
The embrace ended when Jackson's mother's let out an anguished wail.
"It's all my fault!" She covered her eyes and rocked side to side. "I ruined both your lives!"
"Lana." Jackson's father shuffled to the bed and sat down beside her. "Calm down."
"No!" She wiped her eyes with one hand and clutched his arm with the other. "I drove you away."
Jackson flinched as her mournful gaze landed on him.
"And I made you feel unloved."
"No, Mom." Jackson rolled his chair toward her, at a loss for how to make her stop crying but desperate to try. "You didn't. I-I always knew you loved me."
She looked at him with teary eyes, her expression unsure.
"Really." He nodded urgently and took the plunge. "I love you too."
"Oh honey!" She threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder.
"Okay, um..." Jackson felt fragile and he couldn't take any more. He patted her back a couple times and rolled away again. "Isaac says his therapist wants us all to have a group session. Let's do that."
They both agreed and mercifully left the room, giving Jackson some much needed space. He couldn't handle the prospect of seeing Isaac when he got home or even visiting with Danny when he dropped Isaac off, so he texted them both that he was taking a nap and locked his door. He needed to calm down and process the last few minutes, figure out what it all meant for his life.
As he straightened his desk, curiosity gnawed at his stomach and he found himself opening the scrapbook and flipping through pictures of his birth parents, trying to reconcile the carefree snapshots with the knowledge that the woman in the photos was dead and the man was an evil son-of-a-bitch. He spent the next couple of hours thumbing through the scrapbook and pouring over the binders his parents had given him.
-000–
I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" Mrs. Whittemore asked as she turned in her seat to smile at Isaac in the back. It was Wednesday morning and Mr. Whittemore was driving them to the courthouse for the trial.
"Fine." Isaac squeaked, struggling to get even that one word out. Jackson cut him a condescending glare that Isaac had learned to take as concern. He dropped his eyes from both of them and fidgeted with his hands.
Mrs. Whittemore hummed with sympathy and shifted her attention to her husband. "David, do we really have to put him through this? He's terrified."
"Yes," Mr. Whittemore answered with a huff. He glanced at Isaac in the rearview mirror. "It's going to be okay, son. Just stay calm and explain the facts like we practiced."
Isaac gave a quick nod and looked away again. He was trembling and his face felt hot. If he looked at any of them for too long he was sure he would break down.
Jackson cleared his throat and bumped Isaac's arm with his knuckles.
Isaac still didn't look up or say anything, but he gave another nod and opened his posture, hoping it would be enough to read as gratitude, or at least acceptance of the gesture.
Gratitude. Isaac owed them all so much gratitude. And there wasn't much time left.
"Thank you all ff-for..." He turned toward his window and held his breath to keep himself together.
Mrs. Whittemore reached into the back and squeezed his knee and Jackson even patted his shoulder.
It made it worse. Silent tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. He was going to lose them. It hadn't been long enough. Why couldn't his father's trial have been delayed a few times? Why couldn't he have at least made it until Christmas with the Whittemores? Taken those family photos Mrs. Whittemore had mentioned? It would have made it all feel so much more official and real, like the last two months hadn't just been a fantasy. Maybe he could have even kept one of the pictures as a memento of the life he had almost gotten to have, something he could look at when his father was passed out. He sighed and discreetly wiped his eyes. That was stupid. It was too dark in that damned old freezer to look at pictures anyway.
"You're not going back," Jackson said quietly, his fingers tightening on Isaac's shoulder.
He nodded. He wanted Jackson to keep believing that until the end of the trial. The brother thing really did matter to him, and he deserved a little more time to hold onto it.
-000–
As Jackson settled into the aisle seat in the witness section beside Isaac, his mother on Isaac's other side and his father next to her, he flashed back to sixth grade, when his dad had taken him and Danny on a tour of the courthouse, which he was reasonably certain had included this very courtroom. Sixth grade was also when…
Jackson glanced at Isaac. He was pale, his face clouded with emotion and his breathing halting and unsteady. Jackson's mother rubbed his back and whispered something to him, and Jackson clenched his jaw and balled his fists against his thighs.
We were in sixth grade the first time I heard Isaac's dad beat–
Jackson shook his head and tried again. He needed to get his testimony perfect.
We were in sixth grade the first time I heard the defendant abusing Isaac. He was screaming at him over a bad grade, and then I heard a thud and Isaac cried out. I know I should have told my parents but–
"You're gonna do fine, Isaac. Just tell the judge what you told me."
Jackson raised his head to see Isaac's social worker turned around in her seat in front of them, offering Isaac a reassuring smile. She had paid a visit to their home the previous evening as well as once a few weeks after Isaac had moved in.
Isaac opened his mouth but no words came out. Crap. If he couldn't even talk to his social worker privately before the hearing, how was he going to testify?
"Thank you Ms. Newcastle," Jackson's mother said as she squeezed Isaac's shoulders. "And thanks again for coming by yesterday to see him."
The woman smiled politely but there was a weariness around her eyes. "Of course. Have to make sure he's fitting in and comfortable in what could be his new home."
"Will be his new home," Jackson snapped, visibly startling her.
"I hope so," she said softly before turning back around.
Isaac looked at Jackson and once again tried and failed to speak.
Jackson bumped their shoulders and broke eye contact before the expression on Isaac's face could get to him. "So how good is this prosecutor anyway?" he whispered, directing the question to his father. He had met her earlier in the week and had wanted to ask his father about her then, but he hadn't been ready to offer him the perceived olive branch that would have come along with that conversation.
"Candace Rosa," his father said. "She's new to Beacon Hills so I haven't known her long, but she's experienced and has a very solid track record. She moved recently from Orange County."
Jackson nodded. That lined up with his own independent research into the attorney. It was possible his father might have known something that wasn't public record, but since that didn't seem to be the case, he started to relax.
"And what about the asshat's attorney?"
Jackson's father smirked as he answered, "Cyrus Anthony. He's a public defender, three years experience. Decent record, but not as good as Rosa's."
Jackson forced a confident grin onto his face and glanced at Isaac. "Hear that? We'll probably be home by lunchtime."
"Yeah," Isaac mumbled, dropping his eyes to his knees.
There was a stir of commotion a few minutes later as Lahey entered the courtroom in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, following a youngish man in a cheap suit and flanked by two heavyset corrections officers in uniform.
Jackson wasn't prepared for his reaction as the air left his lungs and the blood in his veins turned hot. He was pretty sure he had never hated anyone more in his entire life, and it was all he could do not to spit at him or lunge for him as he walked up the center aisle toward them, his gaze fixed on Isaac.
Jackson snarled under his breath and stepped closer to his brother, brushing against him as he tried to shield him from view and never taking his eyes off the bastard as he walked past. "You're done," he mouthed to him.
His eyes flicked to Jackson's face.
"Jackson."
He said Jackson's name without emotion, with barely even any interest. It was a cold blade to Jackson's chest, a reminder that he had never meant anything to this man he shared DNA with. Hell, maybe he should have been surprised the bastard had even bothered to learn his name.
Jackson was still glaring across the courtroom at the back of his head when Ms. Rosa strode into his field of vision, pausing just long enough to give the family a brief nod of acknowledgment. She didn't quite smile but as her gaze landed on Isaac, Jackson got the sense that she would fight for him.
"I think I'm gonna throw up," Isaac groaned in a choked whisper as soon as everyone had passed.
"Oh sweetie!" Jackson's mother gripped his arm, her eyes wide.
"What did he say?" Jackson's father asked, leaning forward and regarding Isaac with concern.
"Don't," Jackson barked at Isaac under his breath.
"All rise," shouted a bailiff at the front of the room as the judge's chambers opened.
"You can't now. It's too late," Jackson whispered.
Isaac sighed and nodded, his eyes closed.
Jackson grumbled and wound an arm around Isaac's back as they stood. "It's okay, I gotcha. I'll come with you if you need to get up."
Isaac nodded again and leaned into Jackson.
-000–
Isaac's vision tunneled and his stomach churned. It was all he could do to remain standing until the judge took his seat and everyone followed suit.
He missed the opening arguments and most of the first hour of the trial. This was important. He needed to pay attention, hear what the attorneys were saying, get a sense of how the proceedings were unfolding…but he wasn't in the courtroom. He was at home in his bedroom, freaking out as his dad bellowed his name.
His closet. He saw it as plainly as if it had been in the row in front of him, smelled the scent of his laundry detergent as he scrambled inside and shut the door behind him. More shouts. The thud of footsteps reverberating through his body.
He swallowed as the dim light filtering through the slats in the closet door became obscured by a silhouette.
The door flung open.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN HIDE FROM ME?!"
That was the first night Isaac had ended up in the emergency room. It must have been–
"Five years ago."
"And did you file a report at that time, Ms. McCall?"
Isaac blinked, his vision spotting as his mind cleared and he honed in on the prosecutor as she examined her first witness.
"I did," the nurse answered, her eyes finding Isaac's in the courtroom.
He looked away. She had been his nurse five years ago too? He didn't remember her from then, only from his final– no, his most recent stay in the hospital. It probably wouldn't be his final one. His dad was going to beat the shit out of him as soon as they were reunited and he'd probably end up back there. They wouldn't take it seriously, not with the man having just been acquitted and his 'innocence' proved. Isaac choked.
"And did anything ever come from that report?" Ms. Rosa asked.
The nurse shook her head. "Not really. A CPS agent interviewed me and reviewed Isaac's chart, but he determined the injuries were consistent with the accident as described by Mr. Lahey." She pursed her lips and glowered at Isaac's dad. "I knew that was BS."
"Because of your experience as a nurse?"
"Because of my experience as a mom." She met Isaac's gaze again as he looked up. "I have a son about his age. He lives with his father, but I spend enough time with him to know when a boy lying. I should have pushed harder." Isaac read the apology on her face and bit his lip as his composure further cracked.
The prosecutor had more questions, and then the defense attorney took his turn cross-examining her, but Isaac was out of it again, racking his brain to remember if someone from CPS had interviewed him back then. Did he forget? Did he not realize what CPS was and think the agent was just another doctor? Or did they decide there was no need to talk to him? Would it have even mattered? Was there a reality in which Isaac would have fessed up to what had happened? Would the Whittemores have heard about it and adopted him then?
The trial continued. Mr. Whittemore testified followed by Mrs. Whittemore. They didn't say anything he didn't already know – thank god. It was confirmation that they weren't hiding anything from him, and he took it as fact when they established that they wanted to adopt him. It probably wasn't entered as official court record, but he smiled and looked hopeful each time they said it. Maybe the judge would notice and it would influence his decision. He didn't even care if his dad were acquitted if maybe somehow the judge still decided to strip him of his parental rights and send Isaac to live with the Whittemores. Although having his dad living across the street wouldn't have been ideal…
"The prosecution calls Jackson Whittemore to the stand."
Jackson squeezed Isaac's shoulder before striding to the witness stand. After being sworn in, he sat with an impassive look on his face as Ms. Rosa approached the stand.
"Jackson, can you describe what you heard coming from the defendant's home on the evening of October seventh?"
"Yes, I heard shouting." Jackson paused for a moment and leveled a furious glare on Isaac's dad. "Mr. Lahey was screaming at Isaac about flipping a backhoe. I heard some thuds and crashing sounds and…" His eyes flitted to Isaac. "I think I heard Isaac cry out. But then I left my room and I couldn't hear them anymore."
"Was it the first time you heard what you thought was a domestic dispute at the defendant's home?"
Jackson scoffed and shook his head. "No. I heard stuff like that more times than I can count going back years." There was a gasp and a chorus of disapproving hums throughout the courtroom. "We were in sixth grade the first time I heard the defendant abusing Isaac. That time he was screaming at him over a bad grade, and just like the night of October seventh, like most nights, I heard thuds and bangs, and Isaac crying out. I know I should have told my parents but…"
"Go on."
Jackson looked at Isaac then away again, dropping his gaze to a point on the floor in the middle of the courtroom. "I didn't think it was any of my business, and I thought it might cause trouble."
"For Isaac?" the prosecutor asked.
"For myself," Jackson answered softly but clearly.
Isaac's gut twisted and he couldn't help the flash of anger and hurt that Jackson's words caused, but he soothed himself with the knowledge that Jackson wouldn't disregard him like that anymore.
"How so?" Ms. Rosa asked.
"I thought my parents would get involved."
Ms. Rosa chuckled. "Looks like you were right."
"Yeah." Jackson glanced at his parents and gave them a soft smile. "Thankfully."
"Jackson, have you ever seen Mr. Lahey strike Isaac."
Jackson frowned and shook his head. "No."
"Then is there any chance you misconstrued what you heard?" Ms. Rosa asked. "Could it have been" –she shrugged, obviously playing devil's advocate– "a movie or TV show they were watching? Or maybe Mr. Lahey yelled at Isaac but didn't strike him."
"Not a chance," Jackson answered, narrowing his eyes.
"How do you know?"
"Because when I heard stuff like that there was usually evidence the next day. I'd see Isaac limping or bruised, or he'd miss school completely. And sometimes I heard Mr. Lahey saying what he would do."
"Could you elaborate?" she asked softly.
"He'd say he was going to lock Isaac in the freezer overnight." Jackson paused and glanced at the judge, then out at the courtroom. "I've never seen it, but from what I gather they had a chest-style freezer in their basement. I-I don't think it's plugged in."
Isaac shook his head even though Jackson wasn't looking at him.
"He'd say he was going to hit Isaac too, or that Isaac needed to take it like a man."
"And has Isaac ever confirmed any of the abuse to you?"
"It's not something we like to talk about," Jackson answered, pursing his lips and meeting Isaac's eyes, "but yeah. He's confirmed it."
"Okay Jackson. Thank you. No further–"
"Can I say something else?"
She motioned for him to continue.
He turned in his seat and fixed his gaze on Isaac's dad. "I don't care what happens in this trial. I mean I do but…" He shrugged. "Because you're never going to lay a hand on Isaac again. Or I'll make it my personal mission to destroy you."
Laughter and applause reverberated through the courtroom. The judge banged his gavel. "That's enough. Order in the court."
"No further questions, Your Honor," Ms. Rosa said.
As Ms. Rosa returned to her place, Mr. Anthony, Isaac's dad's defense attorney approached the stand to cross-examine Jackson.
"Jackson." He smiled. Jackson scowled at him. "I appreciate your loyalty to your brother."
Jackson grunted.
"I have a brother too. I'd do anything for him."
"Mr. Anthony," the judge cut in, staring down his nose at the defense attorney. "Is this going somewhere?"
"It is, Your Honor." He gave the judge a pleasant nod. "I'd – well not under oath of course – but I'd even lie for him."
"Objection, Your Honor," Ms. Rosa declared as she rose to her feet.
"Sustained." The judge tapped his gavel. "Keep your personal feelings, and leading implications, out of this, Mr. Anthony."
"My apologies, Your Honor." He turned his smile back on Jackson. "Jackson, is it possible your bond with your brother is coloring your perception of events?"
It looked like Ms. Rosa was going to object again, but Jackson answered first.
"No. I formed my perception before I even knew he was my brother, when I didn't even like him."
Mr. Anthony's smile momentarily faltered, but he pressed on. "And yet you've never even seen, with your own eyes, Mr. Lahey raise a hand to Isaac, have you?"
"No, but it doesn't take a genius to–"
"Isn't it at least possible you jumped to the wrong conclusion? For instance if Isaac had an accident or hurt himself, it stands to reason that there might be raised, concerned, voices as his father dealt with the aftermath."
"Objection, leading the witness," Ms. Rosa said.
"Sustained. Mr. Anthony, leave speculation out of it."
Mr. Anthony raised his hands and physically backed away. "Jackson, is there any chance you jumped to the wrong conclusion?"
"No."
Mr. Anthony arched his brow. "You can be that sure, even though you weren't there and only heard things from a distance?"
"I have no doubt," Jackson answered, crossing his arms.
Mr. Anthony's smile faded completely as his lips pressed into a thin line. He hesitated before continuing, "No further questions, Your Honor."
Isaac was the final witness for the prosecution, and then it would be time for the defense – who had only one witness, Isaac's father – to make its case. Isaac was grateful he wouldn't have to speak after the man since he was positive his testimony would completely and utterly rattle him.
"Good afternoon, Isaac," Ms. Rosa said as she approached the stand.
Isaac found he couldn't get the words out to return the greeting, but he forced a smile and raised his hand in acknowledgment. It didn't escape his notice that he was the only witness to be greeted so far, and he doubted Ms. Rosa was simply having a burst of friendliness all of a sudden. She still hadn't begun her questioning and it was obvious she was waiting for him to gather himself. He glanced at the judge, who was likewise regarding him with a patient, neutral expression.
Mr. Whittemore smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up, and Ms. Whittemore clasped her hands together and leaned forward in a show of support. Even Jackson was regarding him with open concern.
Isaac swallowed and forced down his nerves before trying again with his greeting. "Good afternoon, Ms. Rosa."
She smiled and nodded, meeting his eyes and seeming to almost ask his consent before beginning. He gave a tiny half-nod and she started.
"Isaac, please describe the events of October seventh in your own words."
He was ready for this question and had practiced it several times with Mr. Whittemore and by himself in his room. He fixed his gaze on Ms. Rosa's shoulder and launched into it.
"My dad owns the Beacon Hills Cemetery. I used to work there for him after school. I was on the backhoe that day and had just finished digging a grave when I heard a noise in the woods. I don't know what it was, but it was creepy and I didn't want to drive past the trees, so I started to back up and turn around…but I was still distracted and the next thing I knew one of my back wheels fell into the hole. It, like, happened in slow-mo, and I tried to stop it, but I could tell the backhoe was going to flip over, so I jumped off."
"Were you hurt?" Ms. Rosa asked.
"No."
"And how did your father react?"
Isaac licked his lips, resisting the urge to look at his dad. "He was with customers, a family who had just lost the grandfather, so he didn't say much. He told me to get cleaned up and go home for the day."
"And was that the end of it?"
Isaac shook his head, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he needed to answer verbally, so he forced out a quiet, "No," between clenched teeth.
"What happened when your father got home that night, Isaac?"
Isaac's resolved faltered and he looked at his dad. He was regarding him with an expression that was… paternal Isaac decided. It wasn't the way Mr. Whittemore looked at Jackson – or at Isaac himself more recently – but 'paternal' was still the only way Isaac could think to describe it; it was how his dad had always looked at him in situations like this, situations when their private business was in danger of being exposed. It spoke of expectations and family responsibilities. It reminded him that he wouldn't have anything if he lost his dad, that he owed the man everything, that his dad loved him and only treated him the way he did because he kept messing up.
His gaze flicked to the Whittemores. Mrs. Whittemore, trembled in her seat, on the verge of tears as she waited for Isaac to continue. She hadn't quit drinking, but in the three days since she'd made the promise not to drink in front of him, he hadn't seen her do it. Mr. Whittemore radiated a quiet strength, his face calm and reassuring. If Isaac messed up and said what his dad wanted, Mr. Whittemore wouldn't hold it against him; he'd just try to fix it. And Jackson…Jackson's whole world looked like it depended on whatever Isaac would say next. Jackson would never forgive him if he fucked this up…but they'd still be brothers.
"What happened when your father got home that night, Isaac?" Ms. Rosa repeated quietly.
His dad was still giving him that paternal look.
It was a lie.
"He beat me," Isaac answered, turning his head and meeting the prosecutor's eyes. "He came home and he screamed at me, and he beat me, and he kicked me down the stairs. I don't remember what happened next, but I do know that if I hadn't woken up in the hospital, I would have woken up crammed into the old, broken chest freezer in our basement."
"Had your father ever locked you in the freezer before that night, Isaac?"
"More times than I can count." The words came out dull and emotionless as a thousand nights blurred into one.
"When did it start?"
Isaac swallowed and glanced toward his empty seat and the rest of the witnesses. "It's like the nurse and Jackson both said…about five years ago. I was in sixth grade. I screwed up a math test, and I think he was just in a bad mood anyway. That's when it started and it never" –his voice broke as a burst of emotion erupted in the back of his throat– "it never stopped after that."
"Did it escalate?"
"Yeah."
"Did you ever suffer any broken bones or serious injuries?"
The room lurched and the blood pounded in his ears. He closed his eyes and nodded before forcing out a quiet, "Yes."
"I refer the court to Exhibit A, Isaac Lahey's medical records."
He took deep breaths and kept his eyes closed as he choked down a wave of nausea.
Ms. Rosa asked him something else, but the words were a jumbled mess that didn't make any sense.
She spoke again but he couldn't open his eyes, much less his mouth, or he would throw up, or pass out, or both.
Sweat dripped down his face. The room spun.
More voices. More jumbled words. Sounds too distant to make out.
He flinched as someone struck– stroked his head. The voice nearest him still wasn't making any sense, but it was familiar and reassuring. He leaned forward and let Mrs. Whittemore hug him.
"What happened?" he whispered after several minutes.
"We're on a recess, sweetie," she answered, giving him one more squeeze before letting go.
He reopened his eyes to find her pressing a glass of water into his hands. The courtroom wasn't empty, but everyone was talking amongst themselves and the judge was no longer in his seat.
"I'm sorry." He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, finding it cold and damp.
"Shut up," Jackson answered as he stepped around his mother and lightly punched Isaac's shoulder before patting it and leaving his hand in place.
"Am I done?" he asked, inwardly pleading with them to confirm he was.
"Ms. Rosa just has a few more questions for you," Mr. Whittemore answered as he joined them beside the witness stand. He had been standing by the prosecution table, talking to some people Isaac didn't recognize.
"Okay." Isaac let out a long, deep sigh. He could do this. He could get through a few more questions if he had to.
Mr. Whittemore gave Isaac an apologetic frown before continuing, "And then it'll be Mr. Anthony's turn to cross-examine you."
"Fuck." Isaac covered his mouth with his hand, an embarrassed heat displacing the clammy coldness on his cheeks. "Sorry."
Jackson laughed and Mr. Whittemore smirked while Mrs. Whittemore didn't visibly react.
The recess was long enough for Isaac to visit the restroom and even get a bag of chips and a Coke from the vending machines. The snack helped ease his nerves, and he was actually relieved that the judge had only called a recess instead of sending everyone home and having his testimony carry over into the next day. There's no way he would have been able to relax, and certainly not sleep, with this hanging over his head.
Soon enough, the recess ended and he was called back to the stand so Ms. Rosa's questioning could resume.
"Isaac, I know this is a difficult question but I have to ask: Why didn't you tell anyone about your father's abuse?"
Isaac's throat closed. He and Mr. Whittemore had prepped for this question too, but it felt completely different here on the stand. His therapist, Dr. Johnson, had helped him understand why the victims of domestic abuse so often protect the abuser, and he had begun to untangle and work through his feelings. It even felt like he was on his way to getting past some of the guilt…until now.
In an instant all his guilt and shame came flooding back as everyone stared at him, silently asking why an otherwise strong, healthy teenager had let a middle-aged drunk knock him around, why at the very least he hadn't even opened his damn mouth and said something, anything.
It must have looked like he was lying. The Whittemore were right across the street. He could have told Ms. Morrell, the school guidance counselor, or any one of his teachers. He could have come clean on one of his hospital visits; Ms. McCall seemed easy enough to talk to and willing to listen. Why hadn't he told anyone? Did he even deserve their help if he was too weak to ask for it?
"I'm sorry." He gasped, fighting back another wave of emotion.
"No one's blaming you for anything, Isaac."
He thought she might retract the question, but she didn't, just waited calmly for him to continue.
He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw before answering. "I was scared."
"Scared that he'd punish you for speaking out?"
"Objection," Mr. Anthony called, jumping to his feet. "Prosecution is leading the witness."
"Sustained." The judge tapped his gavel. "Ms. Rosa, please rephrase your question."
"What were you afraid of, Isaac?"
"I was afraid he would punish me for saying something," he answered. He licked his lips. "And I was afraid no one would believe me."
"And did you–"
Isaac kept speaking, needing to get this out. "And I was also afraid people would believe me."
Ms. Rosa arched her brow and Isaac continued.
"I was afraid they would put me in foster care. I was afraid of losing my dad, and my home. I was afraid wherever I ended up would be worse than where I was. I was afraid I'd be sent to a new school and I wouldn't know anyone. I was afraid I'd stay at the same school and everyone would know." His voice broke. "I was afraid my dad would never forgive me…I was just afraid. Letting it happen and taking it seemed– Well, I knew what to expect."
"Thank you, Isaac."
"But fear wasn't the only reason I didn't tell anyone."
"Go on."
"I didn't think I should," he said softly, staring at his hands in his lap. "Like morally. I thought it would be wrong. Disloyal. I thought that since he was my dad. And he loved me. That…That maybe it was okay. That maybe family was just like that for some people." He swallowed. "And I guess it is. But…" He shook his head and looked up. "It's not okay. He never loved me. I know that now because I've seen what real family is supposed to be like." He laughed softly and glanced at the Whittemores, briefly making eye contact with each one. "And it's still messy and complicated, but it's not abusive."
"That's very profound, Isaac," Ms. Rosa said before turning her attention to the judge. "No further questions, Your Honor."
Isaac braced himself as Mr. Anthony stood and approached the stand to begin his cross-examination.
"Isaac, that's a real good story you just told, but I need to clarify a few–"
"Stop."
Isaac flinched and everyone's heads turned as his dad stood. The corrections officers also rose and hovered beside him, ready to restrain him at a word from the judge.
"You don't need to question the boy." His face was unreadable as he looked at Isaac, making Isaac's own face burn as every nerve in his body quivered. "I'd like to change my plea, Your Honor."
"What are you doing?!" Mr. Anthony rushed to the defense table, physically blocking Isaac's dad from view as the two whispered vigorously to each other. After a little while, Mr. Anthony raised his hands and stepped aside, clearing the way for Isaac's dad to address the judge directly.
"I'd like to change my plea to guilty, Your Honor."
The judge looked to Mr. Anthony for confirmation and he nodded.
Isaac's mouth went dry and his heart stopped. What the hell was happening?
"Very well." The judge rapped his gavel. "The state finds the defendant guilty on all charges."
Isaac's gaze found Jackson's as they blinked at each other in disbelief.
"Mr. Lahey, the court sentences you to five years in state prison. Your parental rights are revoked and your son is to be remanded into the temporary custody of the Whittemores."
Isaac's heart sank. Temporary?
The judge turned and smiled at Isaac. "Pending the approval of the Whittemores' petition for full adoption." He tapped his gavel again. "Court adjourned."
There was a sea of activity as everyone moved at once.
"What just happened?" Isaac wondered aloud as he stepped away from the witness stand only to be enveloped in a group hug by the Whittemores.
"We won, dumbass," Jackson answered, squeezing Isaac closer.
-000–
End Note: As things stand now, there will be eleven chapters total and an epilogue. I originally intended ten chapters and an epilogue, but next chapter expanded quite a bit – and I think you guys will really like it! It's turned into one of my favorites. It will be out in two weeks, on or before April 15th. I can guarantee that date because it's almost ready. In a perfect world Chapter 11 would be ready roughly about two weeks after that…but realistically that's a bit unlikely. I'm hoping to have 11 out around 4-6 weeks after 10. It's remotely possible it'll be faster and could even be ready two weeks after 10, but I'm definitely not promising that. What I am promising though is that the epilogue will be ready within a week of Chapter 11 going up. Here's a more concise, list version of that timeline:
Chapter 9: Live now
Chapter 10: By April 15th
Chapter 11: Ideally by April 29th.
Probably between May 13th and May 27th.
Possibly longer, with eventually as the only hard deadline.
Epilogue: Within 1 week or less of Chapter 11.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Feedback is always greatly appreciated!