Chapter 6
The focus I keep on my hands is so my mind won’t think about the first time I ever stepped into a courtroom.
When I think about that day, I mourn the boy’s life who was fated to a tumultuous road of death, blood, and violence.
Before me, there was him, and I wish more than anything that I could find my way back to that boy who saw the world in the most beautiful girl.
I didn’t know her name, and I didn’t know how she came to the orphanage, but she was there. Until she wasn’t anymore.
It isn’t until Isla’s sweet perfume pulls me out of my thoughts that I realise she’s arrived, dropping her bag to the floor and taking a seat beside me.
All black outfit again, which isn’t a surprise, but that’s not what gains my attention.
It’s the bandage on her hand, the sweat on her brow, and the terrified expression on her face.
“What happened?” I nod my head toward her palm, and she ignores me.
My entire body shifts toward her, and when she pulls out her laptop, there’s one distinct item missing from her finger.
Did she end it with him?
Did he hurt her?
“Listen to me very carefully,” she says in a low voice, turning to face me. “You’re a stand-up man, trying hard to rewrite your past. No matter what they throw at you, you stick to that story, and let me handle the rest, okay?”
Her demanding eyes send blood rushing straight to my cock.
“Where’s your ring?”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes and turning away to type something on her laptop.
“You’re in handcuffs at a bail proceeding, and you’re worried about my relationship status?”
“Did he hurt you?”
She stills, her fingers hovering over the keys, and one look at her eyes is enough of an answer.
He tried.
I’m about to ask her to show me where he hurt her when the bailiff addresses the room, his voice like a megaphone, cutting through the space.
“All rise. Court is now in session, the Honourable Judge Veruca Paisley presiding.”
The chains around my wrists clink together as I stand. I can’t say I’ve never thought about being here again because it fucking haunts me. I carry it with me everywhere I go, and being in these chains again just reminds me that this is all my life will ever be.
Contained.
Cold.
Lonely.
“Everyone but the jury may be seated,” the judge says, and we take our seats.
I scan my eyes over her arms in search of any further harm and up towards her neck. There doesn’t seem to be any other marks on her skin, but that doesn’t ease the volcanic anger starting to rumble inside me.
The judge continues to address the jury, but everything she says is muted.
My entire focus is on Isla and the slight shake in her hands before she clenches them shut to stand.
My body is here, but my mind is somewhere else.
Somewhere dark, the walls smudged with dried blood, and it isn’t until Isla’s voice warps me back into focus that I listen and realise the prosecution has already called the witness to the stand.
The man looks to be in his thirties, with curly light brown hair falling over the front of his forehead, clean-cut clothing, and perfectly manicured hands.
Emmett doesn’t understand my obsession with hands, but they can tell you a lot about a person.
For example, this man has done zero hard labour in his life.
“Mr Rudd, can you please explain to the jury what you saw the night of Mr Albani’s murder?”
The witness shifts in his seat as his eyes meet mine. I’ve never seen him before in my life.
“I was out with my friends, having a drink at the pub down the road from the apartment complex. They all left in a cab, but I stayed behind because I had a lot on my mind, so I wanted to take a walk.”
The doors to the courtroom open, and immediately upon laying his eyes on whoever has walked in, his entire body stiffens. The person responsible for this reaction clears their throat, and when I turn to see Ezra Casella taking a seat behind me, the entire courtroom falls silent.
“Mr Rudd, in your witness statement, you said you saw Mr Faris leaving the apartment complex with blood on his hands. Can you please confirm the time this happened?”
The witness looks shaken up, his fingers pressing into the skin of his hands until his nail beds become white. “I-I don’t,” he whispers.
“Mr Rudd, answer the question,” the judge says pointedly.
“I think it was just after ten.” His voice shakes, his eyes darting from mine to Ezra’s.
I didn’t see anyone that evening when I left Tony’s house, and I definitely didn’t have blood on my hands. I know a set-up when I see one, but the question isn’t why am I being set up, it’s who is behind it?
“Mr Rudd, when you saw Mr Faris at the apartment complex outside, did you perhaps see him leave the building?” The prosecution pushes, making the witness squirm.
“I don’t know.”
“Objection, your honour, leading.” Isla stands beside me, looking every bit the powerful woman I sense her to be.
“Sustained,” the judge says. “Prosecution, next question.”
“Right.” The prosecutor looks at me and smiles, the thick moustache above his lip moving along with his mouth. “Mr Rudd, do you know Mr Faris?”
The witness looks up from his hands, avoiding eye contact with me. “No.”
I take a deep breath, my mind going back to the day I felt my heart being ripped out of my chest, never to beat again.
The head of the orphanage was a cruel woman, but she didn’t show it.
To the outside world, she was everything she portrayed herself to be.
I can still hear the screams from children coming from the room down the hall.
The one with cages. She’d force us to cram our limbs inside the cages like dogs, bent in every which way for hours until we learnt our lesson.
The only lesson I took was the lesson of sheer lividity. The lesson that one day, I’d come back to that place with a sole purpose to terrorise and eradicate those sick fucks.
But this isn’t the only thing that haunts me.
The day someone else touched her and tried to taint her innocence was the day I left my soul in the incinerator because in that very second, I knew I’d do anything to protect her.
Her screams live in my head, causing seismic waves of rage anytime my mind goes back to that day, back to the sight of her curled into herself on the cold floor, with him standing over her, stuffing himself back into his trousers.
It didn’t matter that he was twice my age and size.
I needed to watch the light leave his eyes, the poisonous breath leave his lungs, and that’s exactly what I did.
I took it.
I didn’t think about where I’d end up because all I saw was that she needed me.
And I’ll always be there for her.
Her eyes are seared into my mind, the panic and fear unfurling in waves, surrounding her pupils.
I didn’t even have a chance to ask for her name in the thirty days she’d been at the orphanage with me.
Little did I know, I’d be spending the rest of mine searching for her in strangers, in the women I sleep with, and in my dreams.
I’ve fallen in love with a ghost, and she haunts my every waking moment.
“Your honour, my client has worked hard to put his past behind him. He donates to charities and is a businessman who owns Ophidian Orphanage. He’s put countless hours into visiting the children to ensure they’re being cared for.
He’s not a threat to the community, and the prosecution does not have clear evidence to show my client was involved in Tony Albani’s murder. ”
Isla’s voice pulls me out of my dark place.
As the room warps back into view, so does the sound of her heels clacking on the old wooden floor as she makes her way to the judge, handing her an envelope.
“You’ll see in these photos that Mr Faris shares a connection with each and every child that lives at Ophidian.
He’s not just their provider, your honour, he’s their idol. ”
“I think I’ve heard enough,” the judge says with a bored expression. “Bail is set for thirty thousand pounds, and considering the nature of the charge, under strict conditions. Mr Faris must not leave the country.”
Isla clenches her fist by her side, and the gleam in her eyes is back. I see it in her, like I feel it beneath my skin. She likes winning. The rush, the thrill, the power of knowing you’ve successfully gotten what you wanted.
“Is there anything further?”
“No, your honour.” The prosecutor lowers their gaze to their table, displeased.
“No, your honour.” Isla takes a seat beside me.
“Court adjourned.”
People file out of the courtroom one by one as I wait for her to look at me.
“Thank you,” I say with a sincerity in my voice that has not been heard by anyone in a long time.
She avoids eye contact as she riffles through the papers on the table. “Just doing my job.”
Her response annoys me, because I know this isn’t just a job for her.
“Look at me,” I demand in a low voice, and she freezes, unable to. She turns to me, and her hazel eyes seem like they’re drowning in secrets. “What happened to your hand?”
The bob in her throat explains everything I need to know, but I won’t stop until she tells me herself. Until she admits that her fiancé is a piece of shit who abuses women because it makes him feel some sort of power. I will not stop.
Gathering her things, she stuffs them in her bag and, without answering my question, she stands, leaving me with a challenge.
Don’t fret, Little Nycto. I accept.