A/N: I am not a lawyer, and have never sought legal help for anything. Unfortunately, it's very hard to research such a private kind of meeting, so after a week of futile research, I gave up and winged it. Feel free to let me know if there's anything major I need to change in the chapter.
Tango 2.2
I got home around 6, thankful for the end of the past three days' rainfall. Dad was sitting on the couch as I walked in the door, and upon hearing the door open, he called out, "Hey, Taylor, come here a minute."
I walked into the room, setting down my hoodie. "Yeah, Dad?"
"How was your day?" he asked, turning down the television, even though it hadn't been intrusive.
"Good. Had fun, played games, you know." It wasn't a lie, just vague. My shoulder would be sore for a day or two, though, so I'd have to be careful not to favor it. "How about yours?"
"Good, good. The DWU finally got a decent bit of luck, a few warehouse stocking jobs at once. Also, I got some good news, which is what I wanted to talk about. I got a call today, and it looks like we have a lawyer who is willing to hear our case against Winslow, and will accept suing for damages instead of pay."
"That's nice," I said, ignoring the knot of disbelief in my gut. "What do I need to do?" What would go wrong here? Besides Emma's dad being a lawyer, that is. Corrupt cops? Destroyed evidence? An inept lawyer?
"She said to bring any and all information you have on the bullying. I can let you use my computer to write up some stuff, if you need it, but-"
"Be right back." I rushed upstairs, digging the familiar pile of paper out of my closet. After some hesitation, I dug out a particular shoebox as well, grabbed my stained backpack, and dug the ruined clothing from Monday out of the wastebasket. I would wait for the other shoe to drop, but until then, I was gonna use every bit of evidence I had.
Carefully making my way downstairs while laden down with stuff, I walked into the living room.
"Taylor, what is all that?"
"This," I said, dumping the clothing and laying out the other items, "Is my evidence." I pointed at the items in order. "Clothes from Monday, permanently stained. Backpack damage from the same prank." I hesitated, but went on. "The papers are day by day accounts of my bullying since September, because I only started recording it this school year. There's also a list of vicious emails there too. Lastly, that," I said, pointing at the shoebox, "is Mom's flute. What's left of it, anyway."
He knew what I meant by that; not just literal damage, but a reminder of what we'd lost. I'd spent the first four days in the hospital holding a death grip around it, so we'd both seen it plenty. He didn't open the box.
"Taylor…" he said, staring at the pile of paper, "I can't believe you went through all this without telling me." He reached out to take the top page, the first day of school, but paused. "No. I'll wait till tomorrow to hear it. If I read it now, I'll never sleep."
I nodded. "That's okay, Dad." I knew what he meant. Rereading it still hurt me. Best to wait. "How about we put this in the truck, then make something for dinner."
He stood, grabbing at his pockets, and digging out his keys. "That sounds like a plan."
The next day, we spent the morning waiting. Dad didn't go to work, and I didn't go to 'Deep Facet', but neither of us had anything to talk about. We sat and tried to watch TV, but failed miserably; constantly switching past cartoons we weren't interested in, sports we didn't follow, talk shows we could care less about, and movies that we'd already seen. Toes tapped, seat positions changed, and I couldn't seem to find music I wanted to listen to. Some was too energetic, some too emotional and dark, some just not what I needed.
Finally, two o'clock came around, and Dad and I piled into the pickup. We'd be early, but it was better than waiting at home. The drive was dominated by the radio, tapping on the steering wheel, and the various other sounds of my dad's old but dependable pickup truck.
We pulled into the lot and made our way inside. I nervously stared at the box of evidence we'd brought as we walked, shifting my grip. My palms were sweaty, and I couldn't afford to drop it. My list would be disorganized and useless; the evidence would be tampered with, they wouldn't take it in court. I tightened my grip on the cardboard, indenting it slightly as we sat down in the diminutive waiting room.
A few minutes later, a blonde woman in business attire came around the corner. "Mister Hebert?" she asked. I stood up quickly, but fell in step behind my dad as he took her hand. "Good to meet you, Miss Dallon. Thank you for the help."
Dallon? Why did the name sound familiar? I wracked my brain as we walked to her office, and nearly dropped the box when I remembered. The Dallon family were members of New Wave. She's a hero, and I'm a villain.
Great. Legal help never felt so life-threatening, and I hadn't even sat down with her yet.
She opened the door to her office, and held it for us. "Set the box over by the wall. Can I get you two anything before we start? Soda, water, coffee?"
"Tea?" I asked hopefully, "Or water, if you don't have it." I needed something. This wouldn't be easy for a lot of reasons, the least of which was the fact that my lawyer wouldn't hesitate to arrest me if she knew what I was.
"I'll see what we have," she said with a smile, and with that, she was gone for the moment. I realized how tense I was, and relaxed a bit.
"Nervous?" my dad asked, a look of worry on his face.
"You have no idea," I replied with a sigh.
I pulled out my 'glorified flash drive', and decided some classical music would be nice right about now, switching on the local college's classical/jazz radio.
"… listening to Classical 90.5. Up next, we have a treat: Lacrimosa, from Mozart's Requiem in D minor. This piece…"
Carol returned, bearing gifts. "Your tea, and I got you a water, Mr. Hebert." She sat down at her desk, got out a tape recorder, and set it aside on the oaken surface for the time being. "Okay, before we begin, I'd like to clarify a few things.
"This is currently a session of free legal counsel. I've invited you here to help you understand the options you have open to you, and am under no obligation or contract to offer my services beyond this point. That said, as this is legal counsel, this is a confidential meeting; the only people who hear about anything you say in this room are myself and whoever you, as the clients, wish to inform."
I decoded the legalese as best I could while the actual music started, and nodded when she asked if we understood.
"Okay then, with that out of the way… why don't you fill me in on the events leading up to this meeting? I have my colleague's account, but that was secondhand."
Dad spoke first. "Well, I wasn't made aware of the extent of the bullying until a few days ago. I think Taylor thought that I might not take it well if I knew. Taylor, would you like to fill us in?"
I froze. Where the fuck do I even start? "Um… well, I guess it all started two years ago, with Emma."
"Emma?" my dad said with a look of confusion. "Emma Barnes? What does she have to do with this?"
"Everything," I said with venom. "She's the one in charge of the bi- bullies."
"…What?!"
"If I may interrupt? You said 'Barnes', correct? As in Alan Barnes' daughter?" I nodded. "Well, that complicates things."
"You're damn right that that complicates things," my dad growled. "What is this, a joke? He meets me, I ask him a favor, and the whole time he's laughing because his daughter is harming mine? Then he sets us up with you so he can hear all about it, right?" He stood up, and I followed, and the music swelled with me. He'd met a lawyer, one who happened to be a member of New Wave, through Emma's dad? Had someone figured out that I had powers, connected me to Lung?
Outside, wings rustled, tails shivered in anticipation of a fight, and insects skittered through the walls looking for weak points. I wouldn't go down like this.
"Please sit down. I assure you, I had no knowledge of his involvement."
"As if we should believe that," I said angrily, the music calming down slightly in the background.
"Either sit down, or stop wasting my time and leave," she said flatly. "I'm sure you'll find legal help elsewhere, and have no trouble at all suing a lawyer's child with them. I'll abstain from the case, having consulted for the other party, but he'll still have my other associates behind him. So, either walk out, and pay someone else to represent you, or sit down, explain the situation, and take advantage of the legal help I'm offering you."
After a moment, we sat down again.
"Okay, now, you were telling me about Miss Barnes?"
"Right," I said, still angry, "Emma."
Filling them in on the events of that summer, and the following year that I hadn't documented, took the better part of twenty minutes. Carol stayed quiet throughout, no doubt not wanting to risk another interruption. Dad had to borrow a stress ball to keep himself from hurting his palms. As for me? I retreated into my troupe for the worst parts. The time I'd had to cut my hair to neck length to get tape out of it, the time I'd found crushed rotten eggs in my locker last April, the first inrush of hateful emails that made me change accounts; everything I could remember from the first year. After that, I dug out the pile of papers from the box of evidence.
"Finally, this year I started writing day-by-day accounts of their campaign, and began printing off copies of all the emails I got."
"May I see?"
I passed her the stack, and she began leafing through it, carefully placing sheets aside in an orderly manner.
"This is well-documented. Much of it is unproveable, I'll admit, but if even a tenth of this stack could be corroborated, we might actually have a case." She looked back up at me. "Do you mind if I photocopy these, so I can read through them on my own time? You can keep the originals, of course."
"Sure," I replied with a small frown. I'd expected up to go through them all today, but I supposed I should take it as a good sign that she wanted to read them later.
"Excuse me a minute, then. Go ahead and get out the other evidence you brought, if you would." She left the room, and I dug out the various items. Dad pulled out a few items himself, from a folder he'd added to the box this morning. A few minutes later, she came back, sat down, and looked to the shoebox, the folder, and the pile of stained clothing. She turned back on the recorder.
"Okay, chronological order please, with dates."
Right for the big one, then. I opened the shoebox, and carefully, so as not to cut my hands, removed the twisted piece of metal. It was clean, but I could still imagine the raw stench of its former resting places wafted around it.
"This was my mother's flute. On October 20th last year, I took it to school with me, for a bit of support. My mom… she was the best thing in our lives, and it tore us apart when she died, so I just wanted to hold onto this one memory." Carol nodded knowingly.
"I don't know how they got into my locker: I'd changed combinations just the week before; but they did, and they stole the flute. I searched all over school, and eventually found it… torn up like this, and smeared with garbage and rotting food, in a dumpster behind the kitchens. I- I couldn't just leave it there, it was the only thing I had left of my mom. So I went to get a bag, but t was gone when I came back. I broke down right there and cried, next to a stinking dumpster, and spent the next few days of school begging them to give it back."
"Did you actually see any of them handling the flute?"
"No…"
"Well, that makes it harder to make the charge stick, unfortunately. How did you get the flute back?"
I froze up at the blunt question, my response about the charges dying on my lips.
A hand found mine; my dad. "It's okay, Taylor. Take it slow."
I breathed in, out. Let myself calm down, focusing on making a single rat do a passable waltz as I dealt with my emotions. Memories of terror, rage, pain, and blood were all set aside, leaving only the music and my thoughts. Finally, I opened my eyes, took in a deep breath, and began to, in detail, describe the events leading up to the worst day of my life.
The lull; the flute in the locker; the fear and anger, the horrible sensations of rotted, bloody cotton. No detail was too small, no moment left unmentioned.
I wasn't doing this to get back at them. It wasn't about the trauma. Not about the injustice, or the pain, or the destruction of property. It wasn't even about the powers I'd had forced upon me.
Emma had committed a betrayal of the highest order, and she would receive judgement for it.
We went over every little facet of my injuries; the infections, the delirium, the diagnosis of PTSD. The month of rehab and counseling in an inpatient mental hospital, where I discovered my coping mechanism of music (and my powers, but I wasn't going to admit that). Dad's file turned out to be police reports, hospital bills that the school refused to cover despite their settlement, and the medical reports that corroborated my story.
Finally, my words failed me; there was nothing left to say. We'd spent twenty minutes on an entire year of bullying: we'd spent nearly forty more on just the locker.
Carol, however, seemed unfazed by either the time or the content. When I finished, she said, "Well, Miss Hebert, you have had quite the ordeal. My sympathies." She gave us a small, sad smile. "Trust me when I say that I understand how horrible people can be."
I nodded my thanks at the paltry, but well-meant comment. She's a cape too, I reminded myself, she's not lying.
"I assume the other evidence you've brought is documented in your list? If so, we can move on to legal options."
"Yes, it should be."
"Good. Let me go fetch those now, before I forget. Would you like another tea?"
I looked to the bottle, surprised to find it empty. "Yes, I would, thank you," I replied sheepishly. She nodded and left.
I let the calm flow away. The therapist had said that it wasn't healthy to ignore your emotions, so I tried to stay in my own head when I could. That was the longest I'd done that since… well, since the hospital.
"That was easily the most difficult conversation I've ever had," I said, sighing in relief, "I'm glad it's over."
"Trust me," Dad replied, "It wasn't easy for me, either, and I just sat here. You did good, kiddo."
"Thanks, Dad," I said with a weak smile.
Carol returned once more, toting two stacks of papers and a bottle of tea. One of these items went to her desk, the other two went to my lap.
"Sorry for the interruption," she said as she sat down. "Best not to leave testimony in a place the potential defendant could see it. Speaking of which, let's talk legal options.
"So, first and foremost, I am interested in this case. Miss Hebert, you seem like a fine young woman, and your story is heartbreaking. These kinds of abuses should never go unpunished, and if you do decide you want me to be your legal representation, I will fight this on every avenue of attack I can to see that justice is served. There are, however, some issues I need to point out.
"First: Alan Barnes, father of one of the defendants of the supposed suit, is a member of this firm. Luckily, he's an expert on marital disputes, while I take all forms of civil and criminal cases, which means I'm more used to this kind of case than him. Unfortunately, though, in order to take the case without putting my position in the firm in jeopardy, I need permission from the other partners, which means sharing some of the information you've given me."
"Go ahead," I said. "Whatever you need."
"Thank you. I believe we have enough to convince them of the merit of the case as it stands. Which ties in nicely to the second problem; you don't have enough evidence. I could make a few minor charges stick, but the list and printed emails are not enough without evidence to back them up. This means I need to hire a private investigator, which means more expenses, which means I could no longer sue solely for damages without taking an unconscionable amount."
"We aren't suing because we want money," Dad said with a wave. "You can have as large a percentage as you need- within reason, of course," he added after a moment.
"I might be able to offer some money towards a P.I., myself, if you need it." I certainly had little else to do with my money right now.
"Good. On to the third problem: The story you've shared supports several separate cases, some criminal, some civil. We're going to have to put a lot of work into something so large, and in the meantime, your daughter will need to go to some form of school. Pulling her out was the right decision, but there's only so long she can be gone without being declared truant. I suggest either transferring to Arcadia, or taking an online course and working toward a GED. I'll leave that up to you.
"So, with all this in mind, and keeping in mind that I need to negotiate terms of payment before I fully take the case, do you want me to move forward with reading these papers and talking to the other members of the firm? If not, I may be able to recommend another firm, although I can't vouch for them as much as I can myself."
"Can you give us a minute alone?" my dad asked.
"Of course," she said, already getting up. "Just open the door when you want me to come back in." She grabbed her water on the way out.
"What do you think, kiddo?"
"I don't really know if we have a choice here, Dad. She's doing a lot to help us out, both financially and legally. I don't like the complications she brings, but I also don't like the idea of facing an entire firm like her with someone else we don't know. I say we go with her." And hope I never have to face her on the streets, I added mentally. It wouldn't do to possibly injure my own lawyer.
"I agree, she's a good choice. God, I can't believe Alan would do something like this. I wish I could give him a piece of my mind."
"He might not know," I said, "Emma's gotten really good at acting."
"You might be right. I hope you aren't, though."
That confused me. "Why?"
"Because," he said heavily, "If he's innocent, then we're tearing apart my best friend's family just to get at his daughter. We're already likely to be doing that with the other girls, but… I hope he's complicit in this, because then… it might be okay."
We sat for a minute in silence. Finally, I said my opinion. "I don't look forward to that, either." I could imagine the hurt look on Mrs. Barnes' face, the betrayal on Anne's. "But this needs to happen. They can't win, or everything I've gone through will be meaningless."
"I know, little owl." He put a hand on mine and squeezed it. "Let's call her back in."
I got up and made my way to the door. Opening it, I invited Carol back in.
"So," she said as she closed the door, "have you made a decision?"
Dad and I glanced at each other, and by some unspoken agreement, I spoke. "Well, Mrs. Dallon," I said dramatically, "You're hired."
She grinned. I had to suppress a shiver at the vicious confidence her perfect smile conveyed. It was almost like a cat who had finally seen a mouse to chase; not hungry, just relieved of boredom.
"Thank you for the opportunity, Miss Hebert. I won't let you down." She sat down at her desk. "Now," she said as she pulled up her keyboard, "let's get to work."