Original Stories Fan Fiction / Horror Fan Fiction ❯ Watcher in the Darkness Book 3: Imprisoned ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

The first direct sunlight I'd experienced in weeks felt like foot-long needles being rammed into my eyeballs. I kept my head down and my eyes on the painted concrete floor as the largest of the three security guards snapped my restraints into place. The trio reeked of testosterone and simmering aggression. Two of the men kept a firm grip on my elbows as we left the holding cell, heavy nightsticks in their free hands. The third trailed a step behind us, Taser at the ready. The thick chain that connected my handcuffs to my ankle cuffs bumped against my baggy prison jumpsuit with every step.

Attack one prison guard, and they never let you live it down. Their paranoia was barely justified; I'd never given any indication that I even thought about trying to escape. No one wanted this trail over with more than I did, and it wasn't just because of my screaming migraine.

The headache was nothing new. For weeks, the crown of my skull felt as though it was about to split open.

The halls of the courthouse were more crowded than I'd expected them to be. Everyone stopped talking and stood to the side as I passed, and occasionally there was the flash of a camera. I would have sighed if my chest didn't feel as though I was breathing fire.

My lawyer waited for me at the defendant's table. Even after a dozen or so meetings, I couldn't remember the man's name. It was something long and Italian, but it was like my mind refused to waste brain space on it. He leaned back in his chair, chin in hand, scowling straight ahead at nothing in particular. He barely glanced up as the guards delivered me to my seat, then he muttered something under his breath.

He didn't like me, but that was fine. I'd made a point of being very unlikable to him. I was kind of surprised he'd bothered to show up.

Michael had kept his word, as I knew he would. Not only was he there, he'd managed to squeeze into one of the benches right behind my seat. It was standing room only, but I guess I should have expected as much. According to Michael, my case—and the fact I was being tried for the same crime twice—was pretty big news.

I didn't care. I might've been forced to listen to the priest as he watched me drink my cold blood every other day, but no one could make me pay attention. It sure as fuck didn't keep Michael from talking, though. He was always talking.

Goddamn it, my head hurt.

“Good morning, Toby.” Michael's voice slid into my ear like a cheese grater. “How are you holding up?”

I made a noncommittal sound, my head bowed. The tangled curtain of my hair didn't offer much shelter. There were too many voices, all talking about me. Too many eyes, too much judgement. I wanted nothing more than to go back to my dark, quiet cell.

My lawyer leaned away from me to whisper to his assistant…or fellow lawyer, or whoever the hell that asshole was sitting next to him. “What are you doing here?” I said, and the dryness in my throat made my voice rasp.

My lawyer let out a long, aggravated breath as he turned toward me. His perfectly groomed appearance was strained by the horrible burden of having me for a client. “I have to be here,” he said in a flat tone.

“Didn't I fire you?”

“Indeed, you did. Several times. But, once again, I don't work for you. If you really want to represent yourself, you need to fire me in the presence of the judge.” He maintained eye contact, but reached over to shove a manila folder under a pile of identical folders. “Remember, though, that your grandmother wants you defended. From these charges, and from yourself, if necessary.”

Something in the pit of my stomach shifted and my instincts began to blare an alarm. I knew beyond the cold shadow of doubt that that one of the papers inside that folder, covered in barely readable legalese, had declared me incompetent to participate in my own defense.

My hackles rose and I ground my teeth against the swell of fury that swept through my veins. Mother fuckers, especially Hlin. Always plotting, always one step ahead, always willing to do anything to get her own way. I should have known that bitch would pull something like this. The second I tried to fire my lawyer, he was going to whip out that paper and use it to slice my balls off. I had no choice but to accept his help.

Story of my life. I was powerless, just like always. Thanks to Hlin, I would never be punished for murdering Elaina's mother, the only woman I'd ever loved.

There was no way around it. I had to kill my lawyer.

The solution was so obvious, so perfect and simple, the realization of it was like a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders. I could get rid of this dick hole, and make sure that no other lawyer would touch my case, all in one brutal step.

Sure, I was technically adding yet another innocent life to my overall body count, but…he was a defense attorney. How innocent could he possibly be?

I set my feet as wide as I could then gathered the chain slack in both hands. I wrapped the cold, heavy links around my wrists to give them a deliberate pull. Just below the murmur of the crowd, I heard the groan of straining metal. The chains were strong, but not strong enough, and the pulsing vein on my lawyer's throat called to me.

How I'd kill him wasn't in question. I would use my bare hands and teeth. It would be the first taste of real blood I'd had in months, and my dry fangs throbbed at the idea. Where and when was a no-brainer, too. I would do it right there, in the courtroom. In front of Michael. In front of the judge. In front of everyone who had gathered to gawk at the lowest point of my life. In front of Karen—

Karen…

Oh, dear god, there she was.

Karen sat in the second to the last row, pressed between an older man in a suit and a middle-aged woman in a thick red sweater. Almost perfectly camouflaged by the sea of generic faces, Karen's sweet jasmine scent made her glow like a lighthouse beacon. It was the first time I'd seen her since that night in the ICU, but she appeared healthier than ever, if not particularly happy. She had gained her weight back, and her color. The sunlight glistened off her sleek black hair, and her dark eyes were intent behind the veil of her lashes.

Our gazes locked, neither of us blinking, as the bottom dropped out of my stomach. The shock of seeing her after so many months of only dreaming about her caught me flatfooted. So much so, it took a second or two for me to realize her lips were moving.

…Shit.

I couldn't move, even to turn my head. Even to blink. My body was a wooden statue, but one word resonated over and over in the wide, open cavern of my mind.

Bitch.

Bitch!

Bitch!

I heard the thud of a heavy door opening as the judge entered the courtroom, then the bailiff instructed everyone to rise. My feet planted into the floor as my knees locked and my back straightened. I found myself standing, facing the bench. I tried to flex my arms to break out of my cuffs, but my hands hung useless in front of me. My body was so relaxed that my shoulder slumped. I could only stare straight ahead, but inside my mind, I was screaming every filthy word I knew.

I realized the judge was talking to me. “…the second degree murder of Justine Walters, second-degree aggravated assault of Justine Walters, and finally, second degree exsanguination with resultant reanimation of Justine Walters. Do you understand these charges that have been made against you?”

My head tilted forward twice in a nod, then my throat and mouth worked together to form the words, “Yes, your honor.”

My lawyer, who had only ever seen my hostile side, gave me a strange look.

The judge was intent on whatever he was writing. “And how do you plead?”

No. No, no, no! “Not guilty, your honor.” Fuck!

I closed my eyes and the rush of blood through my ears drowned out the judge's reply. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribcage. The drought in my throat began to burn as my breath rushed in and out of me.

I was aware of my lawyer talking, and of the judge's response, but not of what they said. I heard Halloran make a self-righteous remark, then my lawyer said something smart-assed. People laughed. They were talking about me, debating my fate, but it didn't matter what they were saying. Only one thing mattered.

The white noise of my rage faded then I could make out the judge's words again. “Bail is set at two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars.” It was a stupid amount, but in no way beyond Hlin's ability to pay. “I have it here that the defendant waives his right to a trial by jury, and prefers instead to have a bench trial?” The judge looked at me for the first time since he'd entered the courtroom.

I'd waived my right to a jury trial? When? I could do that? Why would I do that? “Yes, your honor,” I said. God damn it all to hell, Karen.

The judge nodded once in acceptance. “So be it. Then, in the interest of not violating the defendant's sixth amendment rights any further than they already have been, the trial date is set for May twenty-first of this year. Court is adjourned.”

So, a little more than two weeks. The din of the crowd reached a crescendo as control of my body was returned to me. I spun around, but Karen was gone.

“Thank you.” Michael's gratitude and relief was obvious. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and there was no way in hell he wouldn't notice their rock-hard tension. “Thank you for not going through with the guilty plea. Justice would not have been served.”

A sense of calm as cold and empty as an open grave settled over me. Karen had slipped away, but that was fine. Everything was fine. By that night—the next afternoon, at the latest—my bail would be posted and I would be free.

That was exactly how much longer Karen Harris had to live.