The Darkness Within

Chapter one

Chapter One

Kira Roland

Four days prior...

The courtroom is damp, heavy with raging emotions. From the defendant's table, the rounded lawyer has a dull, resigned look on his face, whilst the defendant's expression is of pure rage. Both men know that the defendant will likely be sentenced to several consecutive life-sentences.

From the plaintiff table, the two men wear looks of victory. They've already presented a case with damning evidence that the defendant has murdered a great deal of people in cold blood. Everyone in the courtroom—jury included—know that this is an open-and-shut case. Unfortunately, I still have to take time out of my life to deliver an expert testimony.

The witness stand I sit on is small and uncomfortable, a space that gives me a niggling sense of anxiety. I've never likes small spaces—especially if they're confined.

Thankfully, this space isn't too confined—but I still take care to keep facial expression calm and measured, not wanting to give away one of my fears to anyone in the courtroom.

Being a female psychiatrist working with truly horrid human beings doesn't leave room to show weakness.

"Ms. Roland," the judge—Franco Santoro, a man known for giving out hefty sentences says, the barest note of fondness in his tone, one unrecognizable to anyone else in the room. I'm quite familiar with Santoro—I've given expert testimonies in his courtroom at least a dozen times. He appreciates my professionalism, and cut-around-bullshit manner of speaking. I've also known him for longer than I've had a job. "Would you introduce yourself to the jury?"

I incline my head. "Of course. My name is Kira Roland."

The plaintiff's lawyer, Henry King, rises from his seat and approaches my stand. I've also met him in a courtroom on several occasions—he's arguably the most ruthless lawyer in all of Colorado, having sent dozens of criminals, namely murderers, to The United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility, ADX for short, in the last five years alone.

I've seen him at national work functions on several occasions, and he even asked me to dinner last year. I stuck to my cardinal rule; keep my business life separate from the rest of it. Gaining a measure of my respect, he'd taken the declination with marked ease, never pushing again and not demeaning me. I now consider him a respectable colleague—a high status in my mind.

"Ms. Roland," he greets with a formal nod. "How are you currently employed, and what are a few of your employment tasks?"

Although he already knows the answer, we have to get mundane topics such as this out of the way for the sake of the jury, and report.

"I am a forensic psychotherapist within a private practice, head of my department." Something no other 24-year-old has ever been able to say, because most lead some semblance of a social life, and aren't wholly work-oriented. "I've been a forensic psychotherapist for three years, traveling at my firm's command often. I'm licensed in Washington, Oregon, California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Texas, New York, and Pennsylvania, and have worked a minimum of two cases in each state. I've been offering expert testimonies for the last eighteen months across my licensed states following in-depth psychological evaluations with defendants."

A few surprised and admiring looks come from the jury, as well as the defendant's lawyer. The defendant, a pudgy man named Alexander Madison, glowers at me.

"What is your educational background?" Henry questions.

"I got my bachelors degree in psychology at University of Denver, and Masters in forensic psychology from the same school. I got a minor in a few languages, as well."