"How could you have been so fucking stupid?!" Sinclair exploded as soon as he and Prescott were alone in his office just down the street from the courthouse.
Prescott appeared unfazed by his attorney's outraged tirade. "It was just one sentence, Sinclair," he countered evenly. "I'm not in prison yet – I'm free to make any comments I like. After all, who's paying your quite generous and overpriced fee?"
"I know damn well who's paying it, you idiot!" he responded, eyes blazing. "Why do you think I'm so upset at you? Are you trying to sabotage everything I've done? Did I not warn you against speaking to him?"
"Calm down, Sinclair. All I did was make one little comment as he passed by. I couldn't help myself," Prescott admitted. "He's just so fucking incredible. Just because I'm not around him doesn't mean my opinion has changed of him."
"Listen, Lane, you're paying me a lot of YOUR money to handle this case and get you out of this damn predicament. If you won't follow my advice, then I'm just wasting my time here. What's it going to be?" he said pointedly, pacing back and forth in front of his client.
Lane stared scathingly at his attorney for several seconds before he sighed in disgust. "All right – I'll abide by your stupid rules. I won't speak to him. But I won't promise not to look at him," he warned the other man. "While he's on the witness stand, that's my only chance to see him." Prescott just couldn't help it – Justin continued to absolutely fascinate him. He was all he dreamed about at night; he still somehow had to have this man.
"You're taking a big risk here, Lane," Sinclair admonished him, stopping now to turn and stand next to the other man's chair; his client's obsession with the young artist could very well prove to be his undoing. "You better hope I can somehow knock him down a peg or two on the witness stand. So far he's been pretty infallible up there. He's not making your case look good at all," he cautioned him strongly. Biting in lip in thought, he continued, "I have to figure out his weak areas and exploit them."
"I don't want him hurt," Lane emphasized. "I still care about him."
"Look – right now we're fighting for your very survival here. You need to play this game the way I decide to handle it, or you're going to fucking blow it and wind up with your ass in jail for the rest of your life. Do you understand?" he asked the other man roughly, hands on hips.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Lane acknowledged. "Just go easy on him," he repeated.
"No can do, Lane," Sinclair argued. "Either we play this my way, and you go along with it, or you just tell me right now you can't. Because there is no middle ground here. Like you always say to me, you didn't become successful playing it safe. Well, I didn't, either. So you are either going to have to trust me on this, or we're through. And I'd hate for you to have to get another attorney NOW," he pointed out.
"Okay," Lane grudgingly acquiesed. "We'll have to play it YOUR way. But I don't like being bound by someone else's rules."
"Well, in this case, if you aren't bound by MY rules, you could very well wind up instead being bound over to jail permanently," he said emphatically, as Prescott nodded his head in muted understanding.
The subject apparently resolved, Sinclair moved on to the other pressing issue at hand. "We still need to decide if you will testify in your own behalf or not. I've secured the opinion of an expert witness who, for the right amount of money, of course, will agree to testify that you likely were temporarily insane at the time you drugged Taylor and took him on board your yacht. He will attest to the fact that this condition is possible under instances of extreme duress or stress, which shouldn't be hard to prove for a man in your position of great responsibility. But I think we need to delay making a final determination as to your testifying until after Taylor's is concluded and I have a chance at cross examination."
"I will try and go along with whatever you feel is best," Lane answered, deferring to his attorney's expertise for now. "But I want a say so in it. After all, this is MY life we're talking about."
Sinclair sighed in exasperation. "Very well – but you'd better think long and hard about your answer if it winds up conflicting with mine," he warned, before wrapping up their conversation. "Let's meet again 30 minutes before the trial reconvenes tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. to review everything."
Receiving a text message that his limo driver was waiting outside, Prescott concluded their meeting as he walked out the attorney's 2nd floor office. "Okay – I'll see you tomorrow, then."
Justin had been uncommonly quiet on the drive home; Brian knew he had to be mentally exhausted after spending several hours on the witness stand. He knew how he himself had felt yesterday during his own testimony. However, he also feared that the most difficult part of Justin's testimony may be yet to come, for tomorrow, he would not only be asked to recall his battle to recover in the hospital from his drugging, he would also be subject to Sinclair's cross-examination of him. He knew this man could be brutal when he was trying to protect his client, and he didn't trust either of the men to play fair when it came to his partner.
Brian glanced over at the blond, whose head was turned toward him while he slept in the passenger seat, his hand tucked underneath. In his sleep, Justin looked peaceful and worry free. But Brian knew that was just a temporary illusion. Several times, especially over the last month or so as the trial neared, he found himself awakened by Justin's nightmares at the hands of his ordeal with Prescott. Only after holding him for several minutes and reassuring him with words and caresses would Justin finally slip off into a fitful sleep for the rest of the night. Brian knew he would do anything to help keep the bad dreams at bay, if only he knew how to do that. He sighed, as his right hand reached out to gently tousle the soft, blond hair, receiving a satisfying sigh and a slight smile in return from the man he loved. You don't deserve this, Sunshine, he thought. He resolved to do whatever it took to keep his partner safe.
"This session is now in order. The courtroom recalls Justin Taylor to the stand," the bailiff announced to the crowd at precisely 9:02 a.m., as the judge, jury, and attorneys took their customary places in the room.
Justin looked over at Brian, again seeking the support and reassurance only this man could give him. Brian squeezed his hand gently, whispering to him, "You can do this, Justin. I'll be right here," he added, smiling softly. "I'm not going anywhere." Justin nodded before he rose slowly, again noticing everyone's eyes on him. He took a deep breath before proceeding to walk once more toward the witness stand. As he passed Lane, he couldn't bear to spare so much as a glance his way; after the man's comment to him yesterday, he held his breath, silently begging him NOT to say anything else; his nerves were totally frazzled. Fortunately, no words were forthcoming from the defendant this time as Justin sighed silently in relief.
"The witness will be reminded that he is still under oath," the bailiff reminded him, as Justin nodded in acknowledgment and sat back down in the witness chair.
Greg resumed his questioning. "Now, Mr. Taylor, it was established yesterday that you had lunch with the defendant on the day in question, correct?"
"Yes."
"And you stated that immediately after drinking a toast with the defendant, you felt dizzy and lightheaded before you passed out?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"Okay. After you lost consciousness, what was the next memory you recall from that day?"
Justin's eyes misted over as he remembered his hospitalization in Lancaster. "I was told I was taken to the hospital by the local police and treated in the emergency room. To be honest, I don't remember any of it at all for the first several hours. I was so tired and groggy until the effects of the medicine started to wear off. I don't remember any of it until I finally came to after I was moved to a regular room. It's all pretty much a big blur until then."
"I see," Greg responded, pointedly turning to stare at the defendant. Let the jury be aware of what you did, Prescott, he thought. Taking a slightly different direction, he asked his client, "I understand, also, that you have had numerous allergic reactions to medicines in the past?"
"Yes, I have," Justin verified.
"Can you describe some of these reactions to the jury?"
"Well, before I found out which medications I was allergic to, I would break out into a severe rash, my throat would close up, and I would have a lot of difficulty breathing."
"And your doctor at the hospital, Dr. Morrissey, did he indicate there were problems with the GHB you ingested?" Greg inquired.
"Yes, I had to be placed on oxygen and given several medications to prevent nausea and muscle spasms, and my vision was blurry for several hours." He looked over at Brian to gauge his reaction; understandably, his partner's face had taken on a look of hatred – hatred at the man who had done this to him, undoubtedly.
"And when you were discharged from the hospital, Mr. Taylor?"
"It was late the next day," he advised him.
"And did you experience any after effects from the drug you were given?" he pressed him.
"Yes."
"Can you describe these symptoms?"
"Well, I had muscle weakness for a couple of weeks, as well as some memory loss for a while. I also had bouts of nausea, especially early in the morning, for a week or so afterward." Looking a little embarrassed, he added, "I've also had frequent nightmares."
"What types of nightmares?" Greg asked.
Justin looked down, away from everyone's prying eyes, especially Lane's; the tension in the room was palpable as everyone hung on his testimony. "Mainly ones where I'm reliving the drugging and I'm on board his yacht, unable to escape or move." He closed his eyes now, trying to will himself not to think about what happened, or worse, what MIGHT have happened had Brian and Carl not found him in time. Thoughts of terror at the hands of his captor, however, still invaded his mind now despite his desperate hope not to think about it yet again.
"And did you require counseling for these nightmares you were experiencing?"
"Well, I probably should have," Justin admitted. "But I really didn't want to go that route. Besides, Brian helps me when I get them. He's better than any counselor could be," Justin advised, flashing a look of gratitude at his partner, receiving a return look of affection from him in return.
Greg felt satisfied that Justin had sufficiently described in detail what he had endured at the hands of Prescott . "Your Honor, I have no further questions for the witness at this time; however, I would like to reserve the right to redirect."
"Understood, Mr. Matthews," the judge acknowledged. As Matthew nodded briefly at Justin to indicate he thought the young man had done a good job of answering his questions, he returned to his seat as the judge turned to the defense attorney. "Mr. Sinclair, you may cross examine the witness."
Justin fidgeted a little in his seat; this foreboding, formidable man was quite intimidating to him. He took a calming breath while he awaited the other man's probing questions and sought out Brian's comforting support.
"Mr. Taylor, you indicated in your prior testimony that you met the defendant approximately 18 months ago, correct?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"All right. When you met the defendant, Mr. Taylor, you indicated he was, in your own words, charming, polished, elegant, polite and refined. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Justin verified, somewhat haltingly. Why do I feel like the shoe's about to drop here?
"How would you categorize the defendant's intelligence? His business acumen?"
"I'm not sure what you mean exactly," Justin answered hesitantly.
"Well, I'm sure during the course of your interaction with Mr. Prescott, the two of you conversed at length. After all, you spent two evenings alone with the man. What was your impression of his intelligence? What did the two of you discuss, for instance?"
"Well, we discussed current events, life in Pittsburgh and New York City, and art."
"I see. So did the defendant seem out of touch with reality during those discussions?"
"Well, no," Justin admitted. "He seemed very intelligent to me," he replied honestly.
"And did you enjoy his company during that time, right after you first met?" the attorney clarified.
The blond was silent for a few seconds. He HAD enjoyed the other man's company during that time, even relishing in the special attention the other man had given him. Looking over at Brian, however, he was dreading having to relive that period while he and Brian were separated. It was a painful period for both of them, a time in which they had finally learned from their experience and used it to draw them closer together.
"Mr. Taylor. Did you hear the question?" Sinclair queried.
Looking somewhat uncomfortable, Justin finally replied simply, "Yes."
"And during the time you had dinner with him initially, and then flew with him to New York City for your second encounter, were you in fear of the defendant?" Sinclair continued to probe.
"Well, no," Justin began. "But the last time we met, I was in…."
"Just answer the question yes or no, Mr. Taylor. After all, you went out twice with this man in the same week, and were alone with him both times. That doesn't sound like someone who's afraid of their companion, does it? Yes or no, Mr. Taylor," he reminded him. He stared with steely eyes at the younger man, daring him to challenge his rationale.
Justin sighed a little, frustrated that he couldn't elaborate further on his answer. While he didn't fear being in Lane's company initially, he WAS a little afraid of the man when he had to admit to him that he loved Brian and did NOT want to leave with him. He recalled being VERY angry and maybe a little frightened at the same time, before Lane finally released his hold on his sleeve and agreed to let him leave the man's jet. Justin finally answered softly, "No."
"Now, Mr. Taylor, let's move forward to more recent events. You testified that you did not realize the defendant was responsible for the anonymous gifts you received until you were reunited with him at the Chez Laurent that day in Lancaster. Correct?"
"Yes. That was the first moment I realized it was him, when he ADMITTED it was him."
"And you also just now attested to your impression of the defendant when you first met him as someone intelligent and with a firm grasp on reality. Is that your testimony?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"Please, Mr. Taylor, stick to a yes or no response," Sinclair cautioned him, not wanting to give Justin any extra wiggle room in his answer.
"Yes," Justin answered, somewhat angrily. This pompous man wasn't allowing him to elaborate at all in his responses.
"So, I ask you, Mr. Taylor, don't you think it odd that a man of Mr. Prescott's stature – someone so powerful, influential, and capable of getting anything or anyone he wants – would go to such great lengths just to obtain your affection? Doesn't that seem out of character to you?" Sinclair then softly chuckled, as if he found it outlandish to think that a normal, sensible person such as Prescott would behave in this way – unless he had temporarily lost his touch with reality, of course. "What is your response, Mr. Taylor? From everything you observed and heard about the defendant, did the actions he took that night seem like normal behavior for him?"
"Well, no," Justin stammered.
Not allowing Justin any possible chance to elaborate on his response, Sinclair hurriedly continued. "Did this man ever offer you any type of drugs before, Mr. Taylor?"
"No," Justin admitted.
"So does it not seem very out of character for the defendant to be using a drug on you?"
"Well, I suppose, but…"
"But you yourself have used recreational drugs before, haven't you, Mr. Taylor?" Sinclair suddenly asked accusingly.
"Objection, Your Honor!" Matthews quickly rose from his seat. "That question has no bearing on the issue at hand. It is TOTALLY irrelevant," he insisted.
"Objection sustained," the judge decided. "Please keep your questions to the issue at hand, Counselor," he warned Sinclair, who raised his hands midway in an apparently apologetic gesture. "Yes, Your Honor," he acknowledged politely.
Deterred in his quest to undermine Justin's lifestyle, the attorney felt he had proven how out of character it would be for his client to perform the actions he did in Lancaster; turning to the judge now, he advised, "I have no further questions of this witness, Your Honor."
Judge Mason turned to the prosecutor. "Mr. Matthews, redirect?" he asked the other man.
"Yes, Your Honor," the prosecutor affirmed. Rising from his seat, he smiled slightly at Justin to try and reassure the younger man. "Mr. Taylor, you were trying to testify earlier to your experience with the defendant during the last time you saw him prior to receiving your anonymous gifts a few months ago. Was this at the airport just before you said your final goodbye?"
"Yes, sir," Justin verified.
"And what was your impression of the defendant during that time? Were you indeed afraid of him?" he asked him pointedly.
Justin sighed softly. "Yes, I was – a little. He didn't want me to leave him and did not take the rejection well. He kept trying to get me to change my mind, and wasn't happy that I wouldn't."
"Did he try to prevent you, then, from leaving?"
"Yes, for a short time," Justin responded, reliving some of the sudden apprehension that night, when he became afraid that Lane might not let him leave.
"And just to clarify the time you spent with Mr. Prescott. From the time you first met him until the time you said goodbye to him at the airport in Pittsburgh, less than a week transpired – correct?"
"That's correct."
"And you had never heard of this man until you met him for the first time the day after the benefit?" Greg asked his client. He felt it important to stress that no one could possibly become intimately familiar with a relative stranger in less than week's time, let alone know how sane a person was.
"That's correct," Justin confirmed for him.
Greg smiled, satisfied he had gotten his point across. "Your Honor, I have no further questions of Mr. Taylor," he verified, turning to the judge.
"Very well, Counselor. Mr. Taylor, you may step down," he instructed Justin.
Justin couldn't help sighing in relief as he once again stepped from the witness stand and turned toward the swinging doors separating the trial area from the spectators in the audience; he deliberately did not glance toward Lane as he passed him; he only had eyes at that moment for his partner, who was watching him intently.
As Justin walked toward Brian's seat, he heard the Judge advise, "We will dismiss for the day due to the hour. Trial will resume tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. This session is now adjourned," he stated, as he rapped his gavel on the podium.
Brian stood to greet his partner, who once again looked mentally exhausted. As the rest of the courtroom poured out of the back of the room, he reached to wrap the younger man tightly in his arms, trying to somehow transfer some of Justin's burden onto himself. The blond's slender arms reached around Brian's waist as he placed his head on the man's chest. "I am so relieved that's over," he murmured softly, as the two men now stood alone, continuing to hold each other.
"I know you are," Brian whispered in his ear. "And I'm glad that part's over with, too. But nothing's going to be completely over until that fucker is where he belongs – in jail." He tightly squeezed Justin's shoulders briefly before finally releasing his hold on him. "Let's go home, Sunshine, and try to find a way to release some of your tension," he said smirking, eyebrows rising. "I'm sure we can think of something to take care of it."
"Brian," Justin gently teased his partner. "I'm not in the mood for yoga tonight."
"Don't worry, Sunshine," he said. "I've got some OTHER kind of contortion in mind." Taking Justin's hand, he pulled him gently toward the side entrance, planning to avoid the ever-increasing media circus right outside the front entrance. Thankfully, they had been able to continue avoiding the massive, noisy group dying for a juicy, salacious piece of gossip about that day's trial events; Brian assumed there would be plenty of publicity-hungry "anonymous" sources that would just love to spread the latest tidbit of news regarding today's proceedings.
As they exited the side door, Justin turned to Brian. "Brian, I need to use the bathroom for a minute. Will you wait for me here?"
"Sure, Sunshine," Brian replied, taking up a stance on the opposite side of the bathroom as Justin entered the men's room. He casually noticed a sheriff's deputy standing about 10 feet away from him, speaking with Sinclair, who inexplicably appeared to be loitering there for some undetermined reason. Arrogant, pompous asshole, Brian couldn't help thinking. You and Prescott sure fucking deserve each other.
Justin walked into the large, two-sided men's room, turning toward the right set of urinals against the wall. He, therefore, did not notice another man presently using a urinal on the left side of the facility; that is, not until he walked back toward the center of the room to wash his hands and came face to face with the other lone occupant – Lane Prescott.