Chapter 7: Trial Day

When I wake up the next morning, Alan's arms are still around me.

My back is against his soft stomach and his body is curved around mine perfectly, and I realize that I haven't slept this comfortably since before my family died. I don't move for fear of waking him up, and also admittedly because I just don't want to, but then when I look at the clock on his nightstand, see that it's seven o'clock, and remember with a start that the trial starts at nine. So, reluctantly, I slide out of his warm embrace.

He stirs when I sit up, and I turn to look at him as he rouses. With sleep still on his face, he looks more peaceful and happier, but that calmness is unparalleled to the purely joyous smile that appears on his face for a moment when he first looks at me. Then he seems to realize what is happening and where he is, and his smile fades.

My stomach flips uncomfortably, and I stand up as he sits up with a stretch. "Sleep well?" I ask politely, pulling my nightgown down.

"Very w—" he stops himself, clearing his throat to remove the coarseness from his voice and start his sentence over with less enthusiasm. "Fine, thanks."

I nod. "Good." Then, without asking, I head towards his bathroom before either of us can say anything regrettable.

After using the toilet, I splash my face with cold water and dry it with his hand towel, one that somehow smells of him, of cologne and detergent and something distinctly Alan. His bathroom is arranged neatly, but all I can look at is my face in the mirror. Instead of dark, sunken circles under my eyes and chapped lips—which I normally have to cringe at—despite only getting six hours of sleep, my face holds a glow, a richer olive tone like it used to, and a rested look that I haven't seen for a long time. I pull at the skin on my face in different places, looking from different angles and trying to decide if I actually look this healthy; after poking and prodding, I determine that I actually do. I wonder if I'm pregnant; then I remind myself I'm a virgin. Then I almost laugh out loud at myself.

Eventually I emerge from the bathroom feeling slightly calmer than before, thinking that maybe my healthy face is a good sign for the trial today. Alan's somehow already dressed when I come in, although he's still buttoning up his shirt, allowing me a small view of the thick hair on his chest. He looks up from his buttons and quickly finishes before stepping slightly closer to me; then I realize his eyes are lingering on my chest.

Looking down as covertly as possible, I see with horror that in the daylight my nightgown is sheer enough to see my nipples through the fabric. My eyes wide, I cross my arms over my chest, feigning cold, and say, "I'm going to go back to my room and get dressed. I'll meet you at the firm."

He slides on his suit jacket swiftly and looks up briefly from buttoning it, his eyes deftly moving away again to tying his tie in front of his closet door's mirror. "Would you like to drive with me? The courthouse is in a different direction than you're used to."

Every awful fiber of my being wants to say yes. "That's all right, I'll just follow you. It's good to have my own car…in case I need to leave before you or something." My excuse sounds lame even to my own ears.

He nods, though, accepting it, and opens the door for me. I make sure I have my keycard on the way out so that I don't get locked out of my own room, and at the door Alan gives me a long look that I simply return, not knowing what to say but not sure if I should leave just yet.

"Thank you," he says soberly.

I nod; we both know what he's referring to. Then he closes the door for me. I let out a long breath before heading down the hall.

At the courthouse, wearing the nicest dress I own, heels, the best makeup I can do, and my long hair up in as neat a bun as possible, I follow Alan and Denny through a surprisingly large crowd of people outside the courtroom. I feel highly conspicuous as we march through the press, Alan leading in front and Denny behind me with his hand noticeably present on my back. I allow it, for now, because today I'm feeling extra generous, and with the stress of all that's happening, it's actually nice to have a little extra bit of comfort. I'd admittedly rather have that comfort from Alan, but beggars can't be choosers.

When we finally make it into the courtroom, where the concentration of people is only slightly lower but much quieter, I'm able to finally take a full breath once we've sat down. I find that my hands are shaking violently, though, so I have to pinch them between my bouncing knees.

I jump when I feel a hand on my arm. I turn to my right to see Alan watching me compassionately. "It's all right," he says, his voice cool but calming. "You'll do great."

I manage to smile just a little and thank him, but it's less myself I'm worried about than how well he, and in particular Denny, will perform in front of the judge, jury, opposing counsel, and even media who are noticeably and worrisomely positioned to see everything that goes on. I didn't realize that anyone else knew about the case at all.

The judge enters the room now while the jury fills the twelve seats to the right of the room, and everyone else rises. I notice Judge Wheldon shooting a glance towards Alan, who shoots back a funny smile-frown, and I furrow my brow, distracted just for a moment in wondering about the exchange. It's almost as if she were warning him to behave.

Then I see Denny waggling his fingers in a wave at the judge, trying to attract her attention, and my train of thought is shattered.

After a sharp rebuking look from the judge, Denny rises with zero chagrin and only slight disappointment and delivers the opening statement to the jury. It's peppered with indecencies and politically incorrect comments, but it's obviously effective at its roots, and I can see now why he's undefeated in court. I feel a small amount of pride in my choice of representation as he sits down and gives Alan and me the thumbs up.

Then the district attorney rises to give his statement, and all my hopes are shattered.

He's obviously more prepared than before, and his words are vicious and powerful, leaving me feeling devastated at my own prospects. He speaks of how I must be guilty because of all the evidence and the perfectly aligned events, and wraps up with a pithy sentence that's even more effective than Denny's words. The jury are obviously left doubting everything Denny said, and some of them even glance over at me with strange looks on their faces. I shrink into my seat, looking over to Alan helplessly, who's momentarily glaring at the district attorney, who in turn is giving him a smugly satisfied look of his own. I feel my blood boiling. The district attorney calls his first witness now, an old woman who lives next door to my apartment. I barely know her, but she speaks as if she knows me well—and not in a good way. She testifies that she's always thought me to be a reclusive, angry girl, especially since my family died—and that I was just "dying" (as she put it) to let out my "inner rage." I'm surely left with a lot more rage than usual hearing her words, and I wonder desperately if she was paid off or something to speak against me so flagrantly.

As Alan stands, buttoning his suit coat and smoothing his hands down his front, I frown deeply, hoping he can do something to salvage the situation. He walks up close to the witness stand, turns and paces for a moment, and then comes back with his hands clasped at his solar plexus.

"Eh, Ms. Wells," he begins, then gestures towards me, "you say you know my client well?"

The old lady nods.

"Ms. Wells, verbal responses, please," Judge Wheldon tells her. Ms. Wells nods again, and I see the judge just barely roll her eyes in exasperation.

"Ms. Wells, how long have you known my client?" Alan continues.

She furrows her brow. "About three months, since I switched apartments to live next door to her."

Alan nods. "And in your opinion, is that enough time for you to get to know someone?"

Her voice is wavering when she answers, "Yes, I think so."

"So, in what capacity have you gotten to know Ms. Ramirez?"

Her deep frown deepens further. "I…live next door to her."

Alan nods again, looking this whole time like he's planned this whole thing and isn't surprised in the slightest. "Yes, we've established that. So, besides…living next door to her, you haven't spent much time with her, have you?"

It takes Ms. Wells a moment until she finally shakes her head, then remembers the judge's order nervously and leans forward to the microphone to say, "No."

"Then it might be prudent to say that you don't know Ms. Ramirez very well at all."

"Well," Ms. Wells begins to protest, but her words die down. She finally admits, "I suppose so."

I see the district attorney shaking his head in frustration as Alan nods a third time. "Thank you, Ms. Wells." He looks to the judge. "No further questions, Your Honor."

I feel a sense of relief wash over me as Alan returns to his seat beside me and unbuttons his suit coat again. I'm impressed by his swift debunking of the old woman's frankly delusional account, and I allow myself a moment of studying him before finally turning to face forward again, this time able to breathe.

A new witness is called, this time by Alan, to confirm that on the night of Daniel's death, I'd just gotten home with groceries only fifteen minutes before Daniel showed up. It proves pretty clearly that I would have had barely any time to premeditate an attack on his life that night and was seemingly preoccupied, and I feel another wave of relief after the witness steps down from the stand.

Judge Wheldon calls a break now for lunch and time for the lawyers to talk matters over, and I stand and surreptitiously stretch with a stifled yawn. Alan and Denny lead me through the courtroom and back into the hall, where too many people once again close in on us rambunctiously. When microphones are jammed in Alan's face, he swats them aside and just takes my arm to lead me quickly through the crowd. I say nothing as media yell questions at us, Alan says "No comment," and Denny repeats loudly, "Denny Crane."

When we finally make it to the waiting/meeting room, I drop into a chair with a heavy exhale. Alan paces for a moment before sitting across from me, and Denny sits in another chair at the head of the table.

"That went well," Alan says, sounding almost convinced.

"Really?" I ask. "The D.A.'s opening…"

"Was powerful," Alan supplies, and I nod. "But it isn't everything. Both witnesses worked mostly to our advantage, despite Ms. Wells' rather vitriolic testimony."

Now he sighs. "However, the trial won't end today."

I furrow my brow. "You think it'll take longer?"

"Yes. Opposing counsel has another witness, and then you're going to have to take the stand." When he sees my immediate apprehension, he says, "Don't worry, we've prepared you for it, and I don't think it'll happen until the next date—probably tomorrow. But we'll go over likely questions from the DA again, just to be safe."

"I should be fine. I almost was a lawyer myself, after all." Denny looks up quickly from his nap with a questioning look, then falls back asleep after only a second.

"He'll be back with a stronger witness or some sort of expert testimony tomorrow," Alan warns, his tone serious. "His opening proved to me that he's out to get us, and with such a strong statement, there must be something up his sleeve to make him so confident. We need to be wary."

Now he looks directly at me instead of every once in a while at Denny— who has been practically asleep in his chair since we got in the room—making me straighten in my seat. "You're going to need to let out as much emotion as possible on the stand," Alan says. "Don't hold back on details; they will add realism to the situation and make the jury feel for you."

I nod again.

"Let out everything that you told—" He stops in the middle of his sentence, quickly adjusting his demeanor from one of rarely-revealed emotion back to his usual calmness. He moves his mouth around, readjusting his expression, before saying with pensive eyes, "Just don't hold back."

I take in a deep breath. I've never been good about letting out emotion in front of other people; it's a wonder I let myself cry in front of Alan Shore. Crying is something I prefer to confine to my dark room late at night, and not something I plan on doing in front of the jury, the judge, or, in particular, the prosecutor. Yet even so, I feel that I need to follow Alan's advice.

"Denny," Alan says, looking over at him, "do you have anything to add? You did take this case first, after all."

Denny opens his eyes and sits up a little straighter. "Well," he says after a moment, "it might be helpful to flirt with the judge."

I furrow my brow. "The judge is a woman."

He seems thrown for a moment, then waves his hand and says, "Ah, doesn't matter. It's hot just the same."

"I don't think she should do that, Denny," Alan says, but there's a hint of an amused smile on his lips.

"Okay," Denny says, in an unbelieving sort of tone, as if he knows he's right and Alan's not. "Don't say I didn't tell you anything useful."

I let out a breathy scoff, looking down at the table, and when I glance up after a moment, Alan is watching me, still with that little smile. It makes me smile back.

We return to the courtroom twenty minutes later, after eating a quick lunch of some sandwiches already in the courthouse, which I was barely able to stomach because of nervousness creeping up on me again. I know Alan said I wouldn't have to testify until tomorrow or even later, but I can feel the anxious anticipation for that slowly flaming up inside me.

The DA's next witness is another neighbor of mine, this one a man I don't know at all, who has barely anything helpful to offer except that he was already asleep during that time and dreamed that he heard a scream. It's so ineffective and weak that I almost wonder if it's some sort of trick, and from the look on Alan's face, I also wonder if he's thinking something similar.

When we're finally dismissed for the day and told to return two days later for the second and possibly final day of the trial, I ask Alan as much, but he barely gives me a reply except for a "maybe." He seems deeply distracted now, and I wonder what's going through his head. I know better than to ask him, though, so I just get in my car and drive back to the courtroom behind Denny and Alan.

We spend the last couple of hours of daylight going over likely questions from the DA as Alan recommended, although surprisingly, Denny handles most of it. Even though he has what seems to be a script of questions that he reads off to me, and I have plenty of practice by now, I'm surprised that Alan wouldn't handle this himself, and it makes me wonder if he's mad at me for something. Then I tell myself not to overthink anything, that he's probably just busy with another case and that this is primarily Denny's case anyway…yet the inklings of doubt still pervade my mind.

After the sun has set and it's totally dark, I'm still at the firm, but we've pretty much wrapped up everything important. Honestly, I don't want to be alone, and since Denny's more than happy to have me stay in his office and just chat, I've stayed this late without great compunction.

When I head to the firm's fancy bathroom after a little while, I take a little extra time to look at my face again in the mirror above the marble sinks. It still looks healthier than it has in a while, although now I look tired. Deciding that I should probably finally go back to the hotel, I walk out of the bathroom towards Denny's office to collect my things.

When I get there, though, Denny's gone, and it takes me a moment to see that he's sitting out on the balcony with another man. After a second I recognize the back of Alan's head, and I start to walk up to them before realizing that they're holding cigars and glasses of alcohol and looking very much like they're in some sort of ritualistic bonding moment. So I freeze several feet back from the door to the balcony, where they can't see me, guiltily but admittedly eavesdropping on their conversation.

"I think I'm falling for her, Denny," I hear Alan say, and I wonder who he's talking about.

"Who? The new Bella? Well, would you look at that."

When Alan says nothing to refute Denny's statement, I feel my heart skip a beat. Alan's falling for me?

Denny pauses. "Is she good in bed?"

Alan laughs as I feel myself blushing fiercely. "We haven't slept together, Denny."

"Sure. Oh, I bet she's spectacular in bed. She's ravishing."

Alan laughs again, a little quieter this time. "That she is."

I force myself to walk up now, before I eavesdrop anymore, and they both turn to me slightly startled. I can tell Alan's caught off guard and slightly embarrassed, like he's hoping that I didn't hear what he said. I give a small smile to him, not letting on to anything.

"I thought you left," Denny says to me gruffly.

"I'm sorry," I say, suddenly feeling the need to apologize—probably due to the eavesdropping. "I just…went to the bathroom, then realized I'd left my things in your office."

"That's all right," Denny says suddenly, his demeanor completely changed in the blink of an eye. He waves his hand. "Sit, sit."

There's no third chair, but I thank him all the same.

"Denny, there's no other chair," Alan says, furrowing his brow slightly but looking amused.

"That's fine," Denny says. "She can sit on my lap."

"Um, I'm fine standing," I say quickly.

"Suit yourself," Denny replies. "I'm very comfortable." He pats his stomach. "I'm quite rich, you know."

I nod, smiling despite myself.

With an animated expression, Denny mouthes "millions" as Alan asks me, "Are you worried about the trial Thursday?"

Stifling a laugh, I focus on Alan and reply, "A little." Honestly, right now I'm thinking more about what I just heard Alan said, incredulity still swirling through my head, than even my own case.

"Don't worry too much," Alan says now. "It'll work out fine."

Denny speaks up again. "I've never been defeated," he reminds me proudly. "I'll win this case for you."

I nod, smiling. "Thank you—both of you. Thank you very much."

They nod back, and I feel compelled to step up and give Denny a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Denny."

When I pull back, he beams with ruddy, round cheeks and says, "Good night."

Now, I look at Alan, who looks almost uncomfortably expectant. Swallowing, I step over to him and bend forward to give him a friendly kiss as well; but when my lips press against his soft, round cheek, I can't help but let them linger there for a moment.

I finally straighten and try to collect myself from my sudden interior burst of many emotions. Alan's eyes are closed, but now he opens them slowly to look up at me with indescribable emotion in his eyes.

"Good night, Alan," I say, blinking quickly.

"Good night, Bella," he responds, voice low and rumbly once again.

I walk away now. As I'm leaving Denny's office, I hear him speaking in an excited tone to Alan, saying, "What a magnificent woman." I can't help smiling on my way out the door.