"State your name for the record."
It was the second day of the trial, and the first full day without the added weight of opening arguments. The prosecution was still in the very beginning stages of presenting their case to a jury. Their first witness was the principal of the school, the one who had made the first call to CPS.
"Don Springer."
"What is your occupation?" Lead Prosecutor Mark Willamson asked, as he stopped his pacing momentarily to focus on his witness.
"I am a principal."
"Of?"
"Of Owatonna Christian School."
The name that tasted like salt in Caleb's mouth whenever he heard it. It had been an amazing school for the boys to be in, but that man and the teachers there had completely ruined it for them with their careless attitude, and their rush to judgment that had resulted in his arrest.
"And how long have you been in that position?"
"Approximately twenty years, sir."
"Very well. How long have you known Sam and Dean Winchester?"
"About two years."
The boys had been in another school in Blue Earth before they had moved to Steele County after the demon had broken into their previous house. This school, like the other one before that, had seemed, by all appearances, to be exceptional, and they had believed that until all this.
"When did you first start noticing bruise marks on Dean?"
"I can't give you an exact estimation, but about five or six months ago."
Caleb knew five or six months previously was when they had gone on the hunt together, and Dean had been grabbed in the arm by the spirit, thus unknowingly starting the nightmare they were in now with the courts and the legal system.
"Were they this serious?" Mark asked, showing him one of the photographs that had been taken of his arm.
"No. I noticed those, and I took a mental note of it, but didn't report it."
"Why not?"
"I didn't see a reason to. I chalked it up to him rough housing with his friends, or taking a fall somewhere."
"What about this mark?" Mark prompted, showing the second photograph which depicted Dean's arm with the most severe mark, the one from the spirit, and the one which the case centered around.
Looking at it objectively, from the point of view of the prosecutor, Caleb could see where the mark would look suspicious.
"Yes," Don the principal said. "That was the mark I observed, and the one that I decided to report."
"So you saw these marks over a steady period of time, and didn't report them until you saw them getting progressively worse, correct?"
"Correct, and all of these marks happened after they had come back from a break of some kind. The latest mark came after the kids had a spring break, and the other ones before that, had been in similar scenarios."
The implications were crushing for Caleb; the fact that the boys had allegedly been hit during school breaks so the bruises wouldn't be as prevalent on them. It was sickening to know that the prosecution would use that misguided testimony, and utilize it to mount a stronger case against him.
"When Dean came into school that morning, was he able to have any range of motion in that arm? Or did it appear that he was having difficulties using it?"
"I didn't see him for myself, but I was talking to his teachers and they did confirm that he was having problems using it to perform simple tasks like writing, or even raising it to ask a question."
Caleb shook his head in astonishment at the blatant lies that this man was saying about him. Someone he had once considered to be a friend. It was the most hurtful and heartbreaking betrayal that he could ever imagine from someone who he had once trusted.
"Liar," he whispered under his breath.
"What?" Dawn whispered back, as she leaned closer toward him to hear his answer.
"What kind of idiot would I have to be to send him to school if he couldn't move his damn arm like he's saying?" There was no way that he would have sent Dean to school if he had been having the kind of problems that the principal was describing.
"Did you call Dean into the office to see the injury for yourself?" the prosecutor asked.
"I did. I asked him if he was alright, and if his arm was okay, and he said it was."
"And again, you didn't see him move it well?"
"Correct."
"No further questions."
Relieved when the prosecutor was done doing his direct exam, Caleb leaned foreword in his seat when Dawn stood up to deliver her cross-examination of the witness. He knew that it would probably prove to be explosive, and he hoped that she would challenge everything that the prosecution had fed to the man, and the lies he had told about him.
"Is it true that you were once friends with the defendant?"
That would be a crucial question for him to answer. If he considered Caleb to be a friend, why wouldn't he just ask him where the bruises had come from instead of going to all the trouble of reporting him to CPS and starting a nightmare for everyone involved?
"I was, yes."
Then why the hell didn't you just come to me? Caleb thought, shaking his head in disbelief, as he tried in vain to control himself in front of the jury who would be studying his every move.
"Then why," Dawn said, mirroring Caleb's exact thoughts. "Did you simply not pick up the phone and ask him where the bruises came from?"
"You can...you can be friends with someone all you want to. But, when there's bruising to the degree that I saw, I had a legal obligation as a mandated reporter to contact the proper authorities."
"Okay," Dawn said, "and did you ever see Caleb Rivers hit Sam or Dean Winchester?"
"No."
"Did you ever see him punch them?"
"No."
"Did you ever see him grab at them or smack or slap them?"
"No."
It was obvious Dawn had gotten him to admit what she wanted him to admit. "No further questions," she announced clearly, before walking back over and sitting down at the defense table.
"What did you think?" Caleb whispered quietly.
"I got him to fold," she said, shrugging. "There was never any proof that he saw that you abused them. It's all just hearsay."
"I know."
There was a brief recess, before court resumed. This time, the prosecution put the officer who had first caught them on the highway took the the stand. It was difficult to even consciously think about that night. His terror had been nearly overwhelming, especially when the officer informed him why he was arresting him. And then to not know what happened to Sam and Dean until Dawn told him the next morning.
"How long have you been an officer?" Prosecutor Mark Williamson asked, as he focused intently on the man before him.
"Thirteen years."
"And what do your duties cover?"
"Making minor traffic stops in the county area, and carrying out warrants, that type of thing."
"And what were you doing on September 22 when you pulled over Caleb Rivers?"
Caleb found himself leaning foreword to hear what he had to say, knowing perfectly well what had happened, but wanting to know from the officer what his version of events were.
"At first it was a minor traffic stop. When I saw who was in the car and the two kids, I recognized who they were, and remembered the APB that had been put out for the vehicle."
"What's an APB?" The prosecutor asked, clearly retaining that information for the court records, as well as for the jury to hear.
"All points bulletin. An alert comes out for a car or person, and we act on it when we see the suspected car or individual."
"What did you do then?"
"Followed proper procedure, instructed him to step out of the car so we could talk."
Caleb remembered that; remembered the feeling of panic and dread that had settled in his heart, as he followed the officer's orders and got out. It had been the most terrifying moment of his life, not for him but for the boys, because he hadn't known what would happen to them if they took him.
"What was your conversation?" the prosecutor asked.
"I informed him of the court order against him, and told him that he had to surrender custody to the CPS offices."
"Where did you catch him?"
"Near Sioux Falls, South Dakota."
Outside the state showed not only serious intent, at least in their misguided eyes, to kidnap the boys, but to also flee with them. Feeling sick, Caleb momentarily bowed his head to regain control before looking back up at the officer in question.
"Did he admit that he had taken the boys without permission? And that he was committing a serious crime?"
"I did tell him that, yes, and he acknowledged it and apologized."
"What was his demeanor?"
"Calm, cooperative."
"And what about when he was being placed under arrest?"
That memory was seared into the back of his brain. Even though it had been horrifying to hear the cop say those words, and then be cuffed and placed in the back of the car, that had been nothing compared to the fear of the boys seeing that happen to him.
"He was calm, tense," the officer admitted.
"Did he resist?"
"No. The only request he made, was that I not handcuff him in front of the boys. He didn't want them seeing that, he said."
"And did you?" the prosecutor asked.
"No, we walked behind my car where I cuffed him then."
"Alright. No further questions."
