The Witness

11

I fought the urge to throw up at John's tell-tale fake cough.

He didn't have to actually say anything; we both knew what it meant. But he proceeded to wreck my morning anyway, his eyes never leaving the road as he drove me to campus.

"Ivy is coming to visit us," John stated flatly. At times, he could be completely emotionless. Whenever he talked about Ivy, his entire face went blank. "She'll be coming for lunch on Friday. I'm making chicken parm."

Another meeting with my Marshal?

Nothing had changed! Why did I have to endure an afternoon of the same survey questions with Ivy? Who cared if John made my favorite meal? I hated these meetings.

Mainly, I hated the humiliation that came with them - not that I was ever openly mocked. The shame was all internal. Self-inflicted.

No matter how logically I approached Marshal meetings, I always held a small glimmer of hope that I would be told I could go home. The night before each rendezvous, I prayed to whoever would listen that I could leave this shrimping town and never look back. I wished for that with every fiber of my being.

Every. Single. Time.

Clearly, that dream hadn't come true. And with each shattered dream, courtesy of Ivy, my outlook on life grew a notch darker.

Fuck you, Cinderella - your stupid stepsisters had nothing on Witness Protection. Keep believing, my ass.

When was the last time I'd been optimistic about any part of this situation?

*****

July 22, 2008

"Excellent, truly excellent!" The prosecuting attorney gripped me by the shoulders, appearing to be at a loss for whether he wanted to hug me or kiss me. "After your testimony...tomorrow ought to be the last day of this, Sam. Ready to do it all one more time?"

"Sure am!" I breathed, allowing his excitement to infect me. I seemed oddly awake after a day spent confined to the limited movements a pencil skirt allowed. Was this euphoria what lawyers felt all the time?

Probably not. After a second glance, the attorney looked more exhausted than me.

Sleep sounded very nice. Despite the heavenly bed at the hotel, which felt like a marshmallow fort with its multitude of pillows, my nightmares had followed me.

Today, after finally getting my chance to take the stand and testify, I felt a pressure release. One more day, and then it would be over.

Just 24 more hours.

"Are you ready to go, ma'am?" A female officer asked me sternly, yet politely. Despite my initial complaints, a police officer was stationed with me at all times when I wasn't in the courtroom. I hadn't received any true privacy in four days. Yet, even that didn't bother me now.

One more day, right?

"Absolutely!" I quipped, my smile unarguably gleaming across the entire hall. Most of the staff and jury members had left for the evening, but I knew that Jurors 1 through 5 were staying at the same hotel as me. I wouldn't ever know their names, but I knew their faces. This week, the hotel parking lot had more squad cars than guest vehicles. But what did I care? I was only 24 hours away from getting my life back on track! "I'm feeling like ordering a pizza tonight. Is Officer Rochester relieving you on night duty again?"