"When one has one's hand full of truth, it is not always wise to open it."—French Proverb
"Finnegan Jacob Hudson. You will get down from there right now." The vehemence in Carole's voice told me that this wasn't the first, or even the third time he had been told to move. Idly, I wondered what he was standing on this time. The kitchen counters? The dining room table? The roof? All seemed like equally plausible possibilities.
I pulled the blanket over my head and pressed against my arms. I knew that I needed to get up and go help, but I just couldn't. Nearly a week of this and we were all at the end of our ropes.
"Now!" It wasn't loud, but there was no mistaking the threat.
A loud thud came from upstairs, the sound of Finn jumping off of whatever he had been perched on. "Go sit."
She wouldn't send him downstairs for punishment, because we had all learned that that only revved him up further. With most tantrums, as lack of audience calmed the situation until the person could get themselves back under control.
A year ago, and even two weeks ago, that would have worked with Finn as well. His temper can flare and be quite ugly when it does, but mostly it burns itself out quickly. He knows it as well, and generally stomps off to be alone until he can be calm again.
Now, though, being sent away, even just to another room turned a temper snit into a full on meltdown that could last for what felt like forever. So Carole ended up sitting with him until he settled down.
For the first two days after I testified, Finn had held himself together. The strain was there, in his constant pacing and restless movements, but he wouldn't talk about it, no matter how gently I probed or hard I pushed.
On day three, he imploded over the color of plate he was given for dinner. He liked the green plate, and had been handed the yellow one. That was it, and the massive upset that ruined dinner for everyone. The rage part only lasted 10 minutes or so, followed by another 45 of pitiful weeping. Dad and I sat at the table, pretending to eat, while Carole unsuccessfully tried to figure out what was wrong in the living room. Once he finally gave the crying up, he put himself to bed at 6:45 in the evening, moodily announcing that he had a headache. Whether that was true or not, he was dead asleep when I got brave enough to venture down there at 7:30, and didn't wake up before I went to school the next morning.
As mean as this sounds, I spent most of the school day hoping that he was coming down with something. I didn't want him to be ill, but at least it would give a reasonable explanation for why he had suddenly turned into Finn the Terrible.
Even then, though, I knew that illness was too easy of an answer. Finn was perfectly fine physically and falling apart emotionally. Having to testify at the trail loomed over him, a boogieman that he couldn't shake. Until he actually got on that stand, and saw for himself what it was like, his mind would keep inventing horrible possibilities. We still had two days to go, and he was so tightly wound that I couldn't understand how he hadn't snapped yet.
Things were both better and far worse then when he first came home. He was still talking, which was an improvement. Except 99% of what came out of his mouth lately was loud, rude, and mean. He hated our house. He hated going to the garage. He hated my music. He hated what Carole made for dinner, even though it had been his favorite last week.
He hated everyone and everything. Even though I knew that his aggression was coming from fear, it didn't make it much easier to deal with. The last time he had focused his hatred on Dad, but now we were all getting it. Even his beloved Mr. Shue had caught the ill side of his temper for picking the wrong songs during practice. Rachel had tried to intervene, only to receive a death glare so evil that it shut her up for what was probably the first time in her entire life.
See, there are some advantages here.
The basement door opened, and I had to smother a groan. I loved him, I did, but I just couldn't deal with Finn's drama right now.
Luckily, I didn't have to. Finn wasn't down the first step before Carole was calling out to him. "Finn! I don't think so. Get back over here."
"I want to go downstairs with Kurt. Please." The last word was tacked on, but not in a sarcastic way.
"No. Your behavior has been atrocious, and you're in trouble. Honestly Finn, if you're going to do something as foolish as climb onto the fireplace mantel, clearly you are not capable of making good choices. So you can come stand in my line of sight and I'll help you make better ones."
The fireplace mantel? That's a new one.
It certainly was. I would have been afraid that it would break under my own weight, and Finn had to weigh a good 50 lbs more then I did. He had probably only been up there for 30 seconds or so, though. Just long enough for Carole to notice and flip out.
I had thought that we were beyond the control games, but apparently Finn was revving up for round two. As hard as he was making things on us, though, he wasn't having any fun either. So, yay, at least we were all suffering as a family.
If we could just get through the first day of Finn being on the stand (and I was sure that he would be up there more then one day. After all, this case hinged on him.), I think we'll be ok. Finn fears the unknown more then anything else, so once he was actually up there, and got into the rhythm of what was happening, the worst of this should go away.
At least that was what I kept telling myself. The truth was, I didn't know for sure. I knew Finn better then I ever had, and certainly better then anyone else with the possible exception of Carole, but that didn't mean I knew everything. Sometimes, it didn't seem to mean that I knew anything.
I pressed my face harder into the mattress. As much as I wanted to believe to the contrary, chances were just as good that Finn's behavior continued right through the trial. Seeing the Wrights put away might be a comfort, but if they were acquitted…I just wasn't going to think about it.
Finn hadn't closed the basement door, and I could still hear muted voices in the kitchen. I couldn't distinguish actual words, but no one sounded angry. They were probably making dinner together. Usually that was my job with Carole, but I was more then happy to give it up if it meant keeping the peace.
I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but I was dozy and half asleep by the time the door creaked open again. Footsteps padded down, but no one spoke. It was too heavy for Dad or Carole, so Finn must have been released from his punishment. No stomping or other drama, though, so keeping him close for a while had done the trick.
The blanket lifted and he crawled into bed with me. He dropped it back down and mimicked my pose so that we were staring at each other, heads in our arms. After a few seconds of staring, his lips quirked up into a smile that I couldn't help but return. Moody, mad, and messed-up, he was still my Finn. I scooted forward so I could give him a quick kiss. "Hello, Finn Hudson."
"Hey." This close, I could see the dark circles under his eyes and the worried lines on his forehead. No one should look this exhausted at 17 years old. "What are you doing under here?"
Hiding from him, though I wasn't about to say that. Luckily, he's pretty easy to fool if I say it lightly enough. "Looking for tiny little lint monsters in the back of the blanket."
"Oh. Can I help you?" He rolled onto his back, already scanning for the offending lint. He was still smiling, so I knew that he wasn't taking this any more seriously then I was.
"Of course. I can always use a good lint monster catcher." The mood in the room had lightened considerably, and I wanted it to stay that way.
I held up the blanket with one hand, and he traced random patterns on it, looking for the elusive lint. After a few minutes, his free hand slipped into mine. "I know that I've been acting like an asshole the past few days and I'm sorry."
Finn likes honesty, so I didn't even try to deny it. "You've certainly had better weeks."
"I don't mean to be. Like really, I'm not just saying that to get myself out of trouble. When I wake up in the morning, I tell myself 'Finn, don't be an asshole today. Quit making everyone freaked out, because this isn't their fault and it doesn't make you feel any better anyway.' But I still do it."
Did I go there or should I just keep quiet? I did my best to stay away from his mental health issues, since he had a therapist for that, and I didn't want to make things worse. But he had just provided me with the perfect opening, so I went for it. "Why do you think you do that?"
"I have to." He turned on his side so he could look me in the eyes. "Even when I don't want to, my body just does it, like my brain doesn't even get a say. It's kind of scary."
"I can see where it would be." Scary, but not that surprising. In many ways, Finn was mentally ill right now. He had no official diagnosis, but more then a few things had been tossed around. Anxiety disorder. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Acute Stress Response. So many different things, and I had no idea which, if any, he might actually have. Samantha wasn't willing to diagnose him with anything until after the stress of the trial was over, and she had a period of calm in which to evaluate him.
There had to be more, but those were just the ones that I had heard mentioned by either Finn or Carole, so they were what I was focusing on. Finn knows that what he talks about with Samantha is private, and he doesn't have to share it with anyone, but he sometimes does choose to tell me things. Together we had looked up some of the disorders, and put together a list of questions for him to ask Samantha about each. It was a win-win situation for both of us: I learned what was happening in his head, and Finn got some control of things in a healthy and productive way. We were both happy, and it kept him off of the fireplace mantel.
The downside was that I now knew more then I had ever wanted about trauma and its effect on a child. Finn was no longer a baby, but his brain was still developing. In fact, since he was in the middle of puberty, his brain was doing the most developing it had done since his infancy and toddlerhood.
Trauma disrupts normal brain function. The brain goes haywire as adrenaline and other hormones are pumped into it. The heartbeat increases, the person become alert and tense, and the fight or flight reflex engages. Under most circumstances, the traumatic event passes, and the body relaxes back to normal. In some cases, even one extreme event could trigger life long problems, but most of the time it was business as usual.
But chronic stress and trauma, like what Finn had suffered, caused permanent brain damage. Gradually, the normal circuits of the brain rewired. They didn't die, but the old pathways were lost, as were the old ways of responding to and recovering from trauma. Finn's fight or flight reflex was constantly engaged and, unfortunately for us, constantly stuck in the 'fight' position.
Even without a diagnosis, other then whatever vague thing she put on his paperwork so he could stay on his Xanax; it was obvious that Finn had more going on then what could resolve itself. Love was healing, and it had helped already, but it wasn't going to be enough.
Honestly, it terrified me. Anxiety Disorder was frightening enough, but when I heard PTSD…that never goes away. Finn could get make improvements, and there was no reason to think that he wouldn't live a reasonably normal life, but it would always be there, waiting for something to trigger it off and send him spiraling back into trouble.
The rate of PTSD in abused children and teenagers was five times that of US veterans. Shocking, but true. And Finn had all the symptoms. Nightmares and trouble sleeping. Hypervigilance. Inappropriate emotional responses. Avoiding certain situations. Clinginess. Being easily startled. The only one I hadn't seen so far was flashbacks.
Wrong. You've seen the flashback; you just didn't recognize it for what it was. Remember what happened the first time Finn wanted to fool around?
Yes. But that hadn't been a flashback, had it? I had thought that it would look like it did in the movies with the hysteria, and the screaming, and Finn needing days to recover.
But I guess that real life isn't anything like the movies. Whatever diagnosis he ended up with, Finn would be living with this for the rest of his life.
Sometimes, like now, he could be so sweet and normal, just like his old self. But just as quickly, we were back to him acting like he was demon possessed. It was enough to give you mental whiplash.
"I don't think that there's any lint monsters on the blanket. Can we get out from under it now? It's hot under here."
It wasn't until we were both on top of the comforter, snuggling and working on our respective homework, that I returned to my train of thought. All things considered, Finn was doing very well. Yes, his behavior was taking a bit of a downward dip at the moment, but we were talking about someone who was too afraid to use the bathroom with the door closed when we got him back, and now was fine with huddling underneath a heavy comforter, so we were still coming out way ahead.
Finn was taking a highlighter to his workbook, doing every other line with excessive care. He always does that, though I have yet to figure out why, and asking him resulted in a shrug and a blank look. "Hey, Kurt?"
Trying to engage me in conversation is one of his patented tricks to get out of doing his homework, so I didn't even bother looking over. "Hmm?"
"You know that you're really…you know…..important to me, right?" He stammered a little, his voice small.
This seemed like it was something important, so I put my book down and gave him my full attention. "Of course I know that. I've never doubted that you and I are something special."
He wasn't looking back at me. Instead he was staring rather pointedly down at his work. "Good."
That wasn't what he had wanted to say to me, that much was obvious. Part of me was dancing at the thought that he might have wanted to tell me that he loved me, but I was trying to be realistic here.
Without looking at me, he reached over and laid his arm across my back. It was a possessive gesture, an unmistakable claiming of me as belonging to him. So what if he hadn't told me he loved me? Rome wasn't built in a day, and the words would come when it was the right time. I snuggled closer, glad to feel his body against mine.
Two days later, on the day Finn needed to testify, I would have accepted any words, loving or not. Finn hadn't gone totally mute on us again, but he was barely speaking. A direct question would be answered in as few words as possible, and as softly as he could manage. If he could whisper it in your ear, he liked that even more.
But only if he was asked directly. If we were sitting down to a family dinner, he let the conversation flow over and around him, but contributed nothing. He listened, and he was attentive to our words and facial expressions, but you had to directly draw him into what was being discussed.
He was currently in the bathroom, taking a shower. Oddly, he had slept deeply last night, with no signs of distress. I, on the other hand, had been a nervous wreck. I must have woken 15 times last night, and there no hope of hiding the circles under my eyes, even with concealor. I finally gave up and sleep around three, and just laid there stewing. When it got to 5:44, one minute before the alarm was due to go off, I shut it off and woke him with a kiss instead. "Morning, Cowboy."
My words got me a strained smile, but he didn't say good morning back. He just got up and padded to bathroom, where he had remained. I listened as I got his suit out, but he wasn't singing in there like he usually did. My stomach clenched and rolled as I worried about what was going to happen today.
Actually, I was far more nervous now about Finn testifying then I had ever been about doing it myself. When I was on the stand, at least I knew that I was as prepared as possible, and that I had committed myself to telling the truth, no matter how painful it was to say out loud.
Finn was a wild card. He knew that he should tell the truth. He knew that it was a crime not to, and he knew that if he was caught in a lie, it was likely that it would blow the entire trial. He also knew that all of this came down to him. Dad, the gas station attendant, the owner of the bowling alley, even me, we were all window dressing. Finn was the main attraction, and he understood that he would make or break the case. I just don't know if it was going to be enough.
The shower shut off, and I heard his electric razor start. When he and Carole first moved in, he had only needed to shave once a week or so. I hadn't needed to shave at all. Now he had to do it daily. Time marched on, no matter how hard we tried to stop it.
I tapped tentatively on the door. "Finn?"
"Huh?" His voice was thick sounding, so he must be brushing his teeth at the same time.
"What do you want for breakfast? I could make some chocolate chip pancakes?"
"No, thank you. I'm kind of scared that if I eat anything, I'll puke in front of everyone." He opened the door and came out, traces of toothpaste still on his mouth.
Not that I was really looking at his mouth. I was too busy staring at the rest of his body. He had put his pajama pants back on, but not the top. His skin was still flushed and damp from the shower and my train of thought not only derailed, but ended up in a flaming heap of metal in a field somewhere.
More and more, he was showing himself off for me. At first I had thought that it was nothing but him becoming more comfortable in my presence, but now I was convinced that it was deliberate. At least that was what Mercedes claimed. Finn wanted to make himself sexy for me. The ego boost was amazing.
He was pretending that he didn't notice my staring, but I knew that he did. "Is my suit ready?"
"It certainly is. You really need to have something in your stomach, though, so you don't pass out. How about some oatmeal? It'll be easy on your stomach." Not to mention fairly inoffensive if it came back up. Finn's not given to a nervous stomach, but is he was already threatening to throw up…maybe just some crackers and Sprite instead?
"Oatmeal's ok, I guess." He dressed slowly, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as his hands shook. I stepped forward and fixed his shirt, smoothing the fabric over his chest and shoulders. I started to loop the tie around his neck, but he pulled back. "Can it wait? I feel kind of like I'm choking."
"Of course." I pressed a hand to his forehead. Cool, not clammy, which was a good sign. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, not right now. Just…you're still going to be in the courtroom, right? Where you showed me?"
One day last week we had both been allowed to go to the courtroom and check things out, so testifying would be a little less nerve wracking. There was a row in the front reserved for the close family of those testifying, which was another help. Finn not only knew that we would be there, but exactly where we would be seated. "I will absolutely be there. You don't need to be nervous, because all three of us are going to be there, supporting you."
He ran a hand over Wolf's tawny body. "I'm already nervous. But Samantha says that's good. If I'm nervous, I'll be focused, and I'll be sharp. They won't be able to trick me as easy. I just have to not get too nervous."
"You can do it." I hugged him as tightly as I could, trying to transfer some of my meager strength to him. "I'm going to make your cereal, so don't be too much longer."
As much as it hurt, I had to give him a little space right now. Finn's usually pretty social, but he liked to have a few minute in the beginning of the day to center himself. Today, more then most, he was going to need to be as calm as possible.
Usually I make Finn double portions of everything, but today I barely made a half one. I didn't make anything for myself, even though I would have never let Finn get away with not eating. If he was afraid he would throw up if he ate something, I was positive that I would.
He appeared just s I was setting his breakfast on the table. "Do you want some coffee?"
"N-no." He stuttered a little bit, revealing how nervous he was. "I'm jumpy already so it would probably make me even worse and then things would be really, really, bad. Just milk or water, please."
I could hear Dad and Carole moving around upstairs. Whatever was happening up there, no matter what they were actually feeling, they wouldn't come downstairs until they were both calm and in total control of their emotions. Finn would take his cues off of them, and off of me. So all three of us had to hold it together.
Finn ate his breakfast in tiny bites. "No one else is coming, right? Not Rachel or Mr. Shue or the rest of the club?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full. And no, it's just going to be the family." The rest of the club had been willing, but Finn had made it very clear that he wanted them to stay away. I knew that he didn't want everyone to know what had been done to him. I also knew that he was fully aware of the fact that all of the details would come out in the press whether he like it or not. But even having those few extra hours or days of everyone not knowing was a comfort to him, and he had so few of those these days.
"I had a dream about Puck last night." He finished his breakfast and took a final gulp of milk.
"Really? What did he say?" Finn hadn't seemed restless at all last night, so I could only assume that it hadn't been a bad dream.
Dark eyes met mine. "He said he missed me, and that he didn't blame me for him getting killed. He also said that Drizzle is doing really good. I'm glad, because I really wanted her to be my baby. Even though she's not, it's good that she's safe and happy."
I nodded, though it was more as an encouragement to keep going then anything else. None of us really knew how Baby Beth was doing. I think that Quinn had some contact with the adoptive mother, but none of it was face to face. To the best of my knowledge, Quinn hadn't laid eyes on her daughter since the day she was born. "I think that it's very nice that you're worried about Drizzle. Did Puck say anything about the trial?"
He actually laughed, a sweet sound that was nearly a giggle. "Yeah. He said to not be such a fucking worrywart, just like I always am. Oh, and not to cry like a pussy on the stand. He said he'd make sure they revoked my man card if I did."
That sounded like the Puck I had known. "If you cry, you cry. I did."
"Oh, yeah, he said to tell you hi and thank you for taking such good care of me because I'm too fucking stupid to take care of myself." Finn grinned to himself, totally caught up in what he was telling me.
"You aren't stupid, Finn. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that." His lack of self-esteem worried me.
The look I got suggested that I might be the one who was stupid. "I know that. I'm just telling you what Puck said. He also said good luck to both of us. For being together, not about the trial. I don't think he's very worried about the trial."
Even though I (and presumably Finn, though you could never be sure with him) knew that this was nothing more then a dream creature, a figment of Finn's imagination, I didn't want Finn to stop talking. 'Puck' was a product of Finn's own subconscious, and was thus an intriguing look into his mind. "He always did possess an overabundance of confidence."
"Is overabundance having too much, or just enough?" The more he talked, the more color returned to his face.
"In most cases, it's having too much. This time, though, we need all the confidence we can get." I pressed my lips to his, unsurprised when he licked at my lips to try and deepen the kiss. "You're naughty."
He grinned against my mouth, but didn't say anything. Finn loves to kiss and be kissed. I don't know if it's because he that's the only thing that his previous girlfriends would let him do, or what it was, but I couldn't complain. I had never thought of myself as a particularly sexual creature, but when Finn kissed me…..wow. It was like there was a direct line to my groin. Sometimes he didn't even have to get tongue involved before I was rock hard and panting desperately.
Ok, maybe I could complain a little. I had always suspected that blue balls was something that the sports teams made up to get girls to put out for them. So you got an erection and didn't do anything about it. All you had to do was wait until it went away on its own. How badly could it possibly hurt?
As it turned out, it was like having them shoved into one of Dad's steel vises. I wanted Finn to touch me again, but I didn't know how to ask. Usually I resorted to touching myself, but sometimes I couldn't get away and somewhere private to take care of things and doing it in front of Finn just felt wrong.
Suddenly he pulled back and sat back down. At the same time, I heard our parents on the stairs and sat myself, yanking my shirt down to cover an unfortunate problem that had developed.
Carole was at Finn's side instantly, her arms wrapped around him. "How are you feeling this morning, Sweetheart? Are you doing alright?"
He nestled against her, hiding his face. "M'ok."
"Did you eat? Let me make you some breakfast." She tried to pull back, but Finn refused to let her go. His head shook frantically and he mumbled against her. "No, I already ate. I want you."
This was something I had been noticing more and more. Finn had always been sensitive to other people's emotions, and tended to base his own off of what he was picking up. Carole babied and coddled him, so he acted small and pathetic with her. I expected him to be tough, and he did his best. He wasn't always successful, but he did try. Dad mostly stayed hands-off, and Finn ignored him in return.
But what were his real feelings? If I had to guess, I would say he was somewhere in between what he was showing the two of us. He was far from helpless, but maybe he wasn't as tough as he pretended to be with me either.
"If the boys have eaten, we should probably get going." Dad wrung his hands nervously.
Carole rested her chin on top of Finn's head. "Are you ready, Finn?"
He nodded. "I'm good. I'm going to get up there, and I'm going to tell the truth and it's going to be alright. Puck told me so."
Our parents exchanged worried looks, so I jumped to Finn's defense. "Finn had a dream about Puck last night."
They relaxed, which irritated me. We never talk about it, but we still have lingering fears for Finn and his mental health. He had been though so much, and already had one small nervous breakdown. What if it happened again, but worse? What if Finn couldn't recover this time? Even more irritating, I worried just as much.
"What happened in your dream, Buddy?" Dad spoke for the first time.
"He said that the trial would be ok and that he missed me and some other stuff that I'm not telling you because it's private." As he spoke to Dad, Finn uncurled from Carole and sat up straight in his chair. Whether he and his mother believed it or not, he was getting stronger by the day.
"Did you tell him that you missed him back?" He poured some coffee into a travel mug. "And do either one of you boys want a cup?"
We both shook our heads. Finn slid out of Carole's grip and stood up. "I'm ready, and I'm going to do it good. I've got this."
"Good, good. Do you want to try driving?" He held the keys out to Finn, shaking them a bit in temptation.
My boyfriend grinned, and relaxed further. "Uh-uh. It would look really bad if I hit someone on the way to court. Maybe later."
The air was oppressively heavy as we piled into the car. The day itself was beautiful. Sunny with fluffy white clouds, and unseasonably warm for Ohio this time of year. It seemed almost obscene that it should be so pretty outside when such ugly things were about to be brought up.
Finn held an open book for school in his lap, though he clearly wasn't reading it. It was just there for show, so we would leave him alone. No one believed that he was doing anything with it, but we all respected his wish for a bit of privacy.
Word had gotten out that Finn would be testifying today, and the place was an absolute madhouse. Finn saw all of the reporters and flinched his body against mine. I reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. "It's alright, we're all here. Don't say anything to them. Ok? No matter what they say or ask, just don't say anything." I was afraid that anything he said could be misinterpreted or twisted around.
"Ok." The book slid off of his lap, totally unnoticed. "Don't say anything. Got it."
As soon as the four of us left the car, we were swarmed. Voices called out in a confusing jumble, so quickly that I couldn't match the voices to the people. "Finn? Finn? Finn, can you tell us what you'll be saying today? Finn, is it true that there will be sexual assault charges brought up? Did you actually witness the murder? Finn, is it true that you've refused a plea bargain for Mrs. Wright?"
He jolted at that last one, as if such a thing had never been discussed. It might not have, especially in front of him. But before he could do anything, or even determine which person had spoken, Dad stepped in between him and the line of people. "Finn won't be answering any questions, period. Back off."
Dad's not a very big guy, but he can be intimidating when he puts his mind to it. He was already steering Finn towards the front door. "Go away. Everything he has to say will be said in the courtroom."
Finn was tense when I gave him a final shove through the door, his eyes darting nervously. "I forgot where to go."
My ass he had forgotten where to go. We had gone over this part a million times, complete with diagrams. I tugged his shoulder so that he would lean down and I could whisper in his ear. "Do you not know where to go or do you just want an extra minute with us?"
"Extra minute." He shook his hands out nervously, the same way I had seen him do on the football field before a major play. God, that seemed like a million years ago.
By now, I knew Finn well enough to know that just because he wanted us around, didn't mean he wanted us to fuss and stress him further before the trial. He just wanted a minute to gather his thoughts.
Abruptly he straightened. "I'm ready. You and you and you all sit where you're supposed to, and I'm going to do this."
With those words, he turned down the hallway where the witnesses would stay until it was their turn. My chest ached as I watched him walk away. This wouldn't be like last time, when he left us and didn't come back for months.
"Well, that's that. Let's go find our seats." Dad's voice was falsely pert.
Sitting there, I realized that this was going to be a different sort of torture. Yes, I already knew everything Finn was going to say, but to hear him have to repeat it and not be able to comfort him was gong to be hard. And that was only the prosecution, who was on our side. Watching the defense try and pick him apart was going to be devastating.
I picked my nails down, then dug at my cuticles until they bled. I had destroyed all of them on my left and hand and was starting at my right when I heard them call for us to rise for the judge. Numbly, I stood, then sat back down for the review of the previous days testimony, and a brief interlude while the two lawyers argued. I was so focused on my self-mutilation that I almost missed the most important words of all. "The prosecution calls Finnegan Hudson to the stand."
It wouldn't have seemed possible, but Finn looked incredibly small and fragile when he walked to the stand. Each step was slow and measured, and his eyes darted back and forth as he looked for us. When he saw us, I mouthed 'go Finn' at him and hoped that he understood.
A quick smile quirked at his lips, and I knew that he had. Then he made the mistake of looking over to his right, and saw Joseph. The smile fell of his face and his eyes went wide. For a second, I thought that he was about to bolt, but he managed to pull himself together.
As much as I hated to see him suffer, this could end up working to our advantage. There was no faking Finn's immediate reaction upon seeing Joseph and the jury was sure to have seen it.
He took his seat and rested a hand on the bible, solemnly swearing to tell the truth. Even when it had the book to brace it, his hand visibly trembled.
"Hey, there, Finnegan. Is it ok if I call you Finnegan?" Mr. Robison started him out the same way as he had me.
"Finn." His head had dropped, and he mumbled his answer into the shiny wood of the witness stand. "You can call me Finn."
"Finn then." He paused until Finn looked up and made eye contact. "Do you understand why we're here today?"
"Yeah. I'm here so I can tell the jury what happened, and so they can decide whether or not someone needs to go to jail." Finn's voice was still small, but very clear.
"That's right. I'm just going to ask a few quick questions to set the stage. Can you give me your age, please?"
"I'm 17. But when it happened, I was only 16, because my birthdays in May. But I'm 17 now." Two questions in and he was already nervous and confused.
"Since we're going to be talking about March, we'll go with 16 years old. Now I want you to describe the members of your family."
"Me and Mom. We're the blood family. My Dad died in Iraq when I was just a baby. Now we have Burt and Kurt, because they're the family we picked out. Well, mostly Mom did the picking, but she did a good job. Burt's pretty much my stepdad, except him and Mom aren't married yet. Kurt is Burt's son, so that kind of makes him my brother, but we're the same age and we know each other from school. That's the whole family."
"A small family, then. Where do the four of you live?"
Finn was smart enough not to give the address. "Mom and I moved in with Burt and Kurt, but I think we might be looking for a new house soon. Or maybe putting an addition on to the one we have so there's more room."
The panicked look drained slowly out of his facial expression. He had made it to the courtroom, and he was doing just fine. Mr. Robison saw it, too, and he moved forward. "I'm going to ask you to go back to the date of March 19, 2011. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes." Before my eyes, something amazing happened. Finn stiffened up and straightened his shoulders. His eyes hardened and sharpened to a laser focus. Whatever happened from here on out, he had decided that he wouldn't be pushed around, and he wouldn't do anything to disappoint Puck's memory.
The courtroom wasn't going to know what hit it.