Chapter Sixteen.

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Marley

            A very large part of me doesn’t know how to not be anxious about this trial.

            I mean, I’m only going to face the murderer who killed my friend, nearly killed me, and ruined a large percentage of my life. Yeah, if only logic like that made sense.

            “Now Marley, you remember what we went over, right?” James persists as he leads me up the marble steps to the courthouse, dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase.

            Distracted by my nerves, I only nod halfheartedly. “Yeah, answer their questions exactly how I answered yours, and it should turn out fine.” Though I’m not completely able to believe that, I force myself to try and have the faith that this appearance won’t be for nothing.

            “Right, right,” James takes a deep breath and straightens his tie a bit once we reach the courtroom. Though I can’t tell if we’re late or early or on time, people are already filing in the large space, reporters included, which I hate to admit only makes me more nervous.

            “You can do this,” I whisper to myself, following James inside and heading to the front of the room, passing all the looks of judgment, sadness, and awe at my appearance.

            Everything is a blur as I’m moving, really. I see the people’s faces, but not like I really should. I know they’re there, but it’s like I’m looking straight through them and they don’t register enough in my mind. James is a little clearer than the others, but that’s it. It’s all hazy and like a dream, a surreal, nightmarish dream.

            When I sit down, I notice the jury sitting to the side, calmly lined up and patiently waiting for the trial to begin, like the rest of us.

            I remark to myself that this group of strangers is going to decide this man’s fate, and if it’s not guilty I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. What can I do with myself after that?

            James is talking to himself- or maybe it’s me, I can’t really tell because I’m not listening closely enough- going over all the evidence and points he’s planning to make throughout the trial.

            It’s in that moment where the room, previously buzzing with quiet chatter, ceases all motion. It’s a remarkable thing, that everyone just shuts up for a moment, barely moving or even breathing.

            I think I’m the last to realize as to why, but when I turn my head a bit, I see that coming through a side door is a man in an orange jumpsuit, handcuffed and guided on both sides by police officers with guns in their belts.

            The man in the jumpsuit looks to be in his late thirties maybe, and has a lot of dark stubble on his face, his hair longer to about his chin. He stands surprisingly tall for someone in chains, gaze sweeping the audience without fear, making eye contact with anyone that dares to look at his face long enough.

            It’s in that moment that he turns to look at me, and even across the room, those eyes pierce right through me. They’re the dead blue from before, from that night when my life fell to shambles.

            He grins crookedly at me, in a way that would be endearing on anyone else, but here is just wrong. A hand even rises a bit in its cuffs to give me a sickening little wave, but doesn’t last long as the two officers shove him into a chair next to his defendant before going to stand along the wall in case of an emergency.

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