Chapter 9
1183 Words
They didn’t let me stand in the corner this time. The guard shoved me right up to the table like they wanted my knees to knock the wood apart. The chain bit my wrists when I sat.
The courtroom felt different today. No whispering. Everyone wanted to hear every word. My name carried its own heat now.
The judge cleared his throat. “Prosecution, call your next witness.”
She didn’t smile this time. She didn’t have to. Her shoes clicked across the floor. She stopped by the rail and gestured.
“I call Ms. Rosa Delgado.”
A small voice answered behind me. Rosa stepped out from the second row, clutching the strap of her cheap purse like it was a lifeline. Rosa Delgado. She lived in the flat across from mine. Used to leave bread at my door when I came home too late to buy my own.
She took the stand. She wouldn’t look at me.
The prosecutor folded her arms, voice soft. “Ms. Delgado, how long have you known Mr. Hale?”
Rosa’s voice trembled. “About six years.”
“And how would you describe him to the court?”
Rosa glanced at me for half a second before her eyes dropped to her lap. “Quiet. He keeps to himself. Doesn’t talk much. Always paid his rent on time. Never brought trouble to my floor.”
A hush rippled through the benches. For a moment I thought maybe, just maybe it would help. But I saw the flicker in the prosecutor’s eyes. She wasn’t done.
“Ms. Delgado, did you ever see strange visitors at his door?”
Rosa swallowed. “Sometimes.”
“Men with weapons?”
She hesitated. “I never saw a weapon.”
The prosecutor stepped closer, voice gentle like she was helping a child. “Did you ever hear shouting? Any sign that Mr. Hale was planning something violent?”
Rosa’s fingers knotted together. “No. But… there were nights. Loud nights. He’d come home hurt. Blood on his clothes. I’d hear him pacing, talking on the phone, yelling sometimes. But not to me.”
The prosecutor turned to the jury, eyes wide like she’d found a prize. “So you did hear signs of violence.”
Rosa shrank smaller. “I… I don’t know…”
“Did he ever tell you who he worked for?”
Rosa’s lips pressed together. She looked at me again, just for a breath, like she wanted to say sorry. “No.”
The prosecutor spread her hands. “No more questions.”
My lawyer got up slow. His fingers drummed the table before he crossed to the stand.
“Ms. Delgado,” he said, voice steady. “You say you never saw him threaten anyone?”
Rosa shook her head. “No. He never did that in front of me.”
“You say he paid his rent. He didn’t hide. He didn’t run. He didn’t live in some bunker or safe house. He came home to the same hallway you did every night?”
Rosa nodded.
“And when he was hurt, did you ever see him get treatment?”
She blinked. “No. He stitched himself up. I could hear him sometimes. Talking to himself. Swearing.”
A sad laugh slipped out of my lawyer’s throat. He turned to the jury, palms open. “A man trying to patch up wounds with a bottle of vodka and a needle. That is your criminal mastermind?”
Objection. The prosecutor was on her feet. “Argumentative.”
“Sustained.” The judge tapped his pen.
My lawyer dropped it there. He patted Rosa’s hand. She looked like she wanted to cry but no tears came. She stepped down fast, slipping back to her seat without looking at me again.
The judge turned his eyes on my lawyer. “Anything further?”
He cleared his throat. “The defense rests.”
“All right.” The judge sighed. “Final arguments.”
The prosecutor launched in again, circling the jury like she was stalking prey. She repeated every stain. Every bullet hole. Every piece of money I never held in my hands but still bled for.
When she finished, my lawyer stood. I could tell his knees wanted to buckle. He forced them straight.
“He is not innocent,” he said, voice raw. “I won’t insult you by pretending he is. He’s guilty of being loyal. He’s guilty of obeying. But you want to cure the rot in this city by throwing out a branch and leaving the root.”
He pointed a finger at Edmund. Didn’t say his name. Didn’t have to.
“Look at the root,” he said. “If you care about justice at all, look at the root.”
He sat down. He didn’t look at me. I didn’t look at him.
The judge turned to the jury. “You have heard the facts. You know the law. Retire and decide.”
Twelve strangers vanished behind a door. The room exhaled. Reporters whispered. A camera shutter snapped behind my head. I heard Hannah’s breath before I saw her.
She was standing now, folder clutched to her chest again. Francis leaned close, murmuring something that turned her shoulders stiff.
I caught her eyes. She mouthed it again. Trust me. She glanced down at the folder. But Omar was right there too, stone faced by the aisle.
The jury returned quicker than I wanted them to. Too quick to be anything but bad.
The foreman cleared his throat. “Given the level of cruelty and how gruesome the crime scene was. To think that even a child was involved with something like that is nothing but unthinkable the Jury finds the defendant guilty on all counts.”
The judge didn’t blink. “Mr. Hale, you are hereby sentenced to Death by electrocution. You will be transferred today to Greywall Maximum Security.”
The words felt like cold iron poured down my spine. The guard locked the chain tighter around my wrists.
They pulled me up. The benches broke into noise reporters barking questions, camera bulbs flashing. Rosa had her head in her hands. Hannah was gone. Just a dark shape slipping through the side door. I prayed she still had the folder.
Outside, the rain came down hard enough to drown the noise. They pushed me into a transport van with steel bars instead of windows. One guard chained me to the floor rail. Another checked the lock twice.
The engine grumbled to life. Through the slit in the door I saw Francis under a black umbrella, smiling as he spoke to Omar. Edmund didn’t bother waiting. He’d already left. He knew I wouldn’t see daylight again.
The guard sat across from me, rifle across his knees. I leaned my head against the cold wall and let the rain wash the windows clean. Somewhere out there, Hannah was still running.
The van lurched forward. Greywall waited on the other side of the highway. Steel gates. Concrete towers. No way out.
- Writer
