Stoking The Fire

Chapter Twelve

We're at the end of the third total week of the trial, now. Today is the day for closing arguments, and with any luck the verdict and judgment. To say this has been absolute hell on me has been an understatement. Being next to Nick has helped so much, and having Greg behind me, both offering what comfort they can in barely perceptible touches, is probably the only thing that's kept me sane.

But having all this - years of dirty laundry just spread out all over the place for what feels like the whole world to see? That shit's embarrassing. You can't help but feel shame and guilt, even if you were literally just an innocent victim in the whole thing. Victim blaming has done so much harm to our society over the years, I swear. Speaking of, I'm currently sitting on the stand, staring down Mr. Samuels grinning greasily at me, while I can feel the muscle in Nick's cheek jumping from here.

"So, Ms. Hanson, here we are at the climax of everything, and we've all heard the lovely sob story that you've spun for this courtroom and its occupants. We've all seen the mountains of so-called evidence the lab has presented as 'corroboration' of your story. I guess what I really have to wonder is - why go through all of this when you have all of your high-powered friends wrapped around your little fingers?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, perhaps I should rephrase that better, you know, have an actual question for you to answer that you haven't been coached on but can still understand." He continues to wear that oily grin, and I nail him with the full version of my thousand-yard stare before he finally shuffles a bit. "Well, are you going to answer my question?"

"I will when you actually ask one." I state, voice dead calm and deadly quiet.

"Right, I forgot that part, how rude of me. Okay, so, Kari, can I call you Kari? After all this time, I feel like we've really gotten to know each other well. So, Kari, what is your endgame in all of this? What is your goal? What do you expect, nay, want to come from all of this? Why do you hate your mother so much that you want to put her through all this and watch her suffer?"

I blink a few times, ice cold. "First of all, that was three questions. Secondly, No, you may not. Thirdly, I'll combine the last two for you, and use simple words that I'm sure won't break my pretty little brain." I pause, and hear several muffled coughs that sound suspiciously like stifled laughs.

"I don't hate my mother. I'll admit I used to pity her and her inability to break out of her own cycle of abuse, but now I feel nothing. I felt fear due to her actions, sure, but her? Utter indifference. Which leads to the last part of your question. I don't want anything from her, or from this. No, I take that back. What I want, is for all of this to stop. I want her to essentially forget I ever existed, and once I leave this courtroom, I want to forget that she ever existed. I don't want to ever hear her name again. I want nothing to do with her medical, legal, financial, or property issues ever again. I don't care about getting my money back. I don't care about getting revenge or making her pay or having anything to do with her in any form or fashion from this date forward. I just don't have any emotion left for it." I finish, and stare at him.

He stares at me for several moments, as if trying to find a way to twist my words or figure out another question to trip me up, but the judge clears his throat menacingly and Samuels lamely mutters "No further questions your honor," while I'm allowed to step down from the stand and take my seat again. Nick is rigid as stone and nearly vibrating with anger, but as I sit down he grips my hand tightly under the table, and I can feel some of that melt away a bit. Especially after his thumb starts stroking the back of my hand.

We sit like this for the entire time it takes to make both closing arguments, then it's indicated that it's time for the jury to make deliberations. They indicate that it shouldn't take too long, somehow, and we're all released to wait nearby. Outside in the hallway, Nick walks away to make several phone calls, and I'm standing by myself when I see Sanders approaching from the right.