22. Ryan #4
“Yes.”
“With Ryan Harrington.”
“Yes.”
He says my name like it’s a smudge on the record. I stare at the side of his head and think about all the ways I would enjoy this if the setting were different.
“You lied to your parents about where you were going, to see him.”
“Sometimes.”
“You communicated with him in secret.”
“Yes.”
“You became sexually involved with him, knowing your father had expressly forbidden that relationship.”
Ally doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t drop her eyes. She’s answered harder questions in the last hour than anything this man can invent. “Yes.”
My whole body has become a live wire.
Dad leans in without looking at me.“Sit.”
“I am sitting.”
“Stay that way.”
The attorney’s eyes flick toward me like he can smell it. I hope he chokes on his own tie.
“You also became pregnant during that secret relationship.”
“Yes.”
“And concealed that pregnancy from your father. For months. Because you knew he would disapprove.”
“No.”
The attorney pauses, thrown off his rhythm. “No?”
“I concealed it,” Ally says, and her voice is perfectly, deadly calm, “because I knew he would hurt me. Maybe badly enough to hurt the baby too.”
Arthur’s mouth almost moves. The attorney does not like that answer at all, because it’s the truth and it just went in the record in front of a judge.
He tries another angle. “Mr. Harrington also disliked your father.”
“Ryan hated what my father did to us.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Arthur is up again. “Objection. Counsel is badgering the witness.”
“Sustained.” The judge looks at Roman’s attorney over the top of his glasses, and his voice could freeze the room. “Counsel. Ms. O’Toole answered your question. You may dislike her answer. That does not entitle you to stand there and demand a different one.”
I could kiss that man.
The attorney’s neck goes red. He steps back and regroups and comes at it sideways. “Walter Harrington also disliked your father.”
Ally looks toward Dad. “Yes.”
“Mr. Harrington was involved in efforts to remove you and Tobias from your father’s home.”
“He was involved in helping us.”
“Helping you leave. With your father’s six-year-old son.”
Arthur rises. “Objection.”
“Sustained.”
The attorney reframes it, because he’s got exactly one card and he’s going to keep flipping it over. “Were you aware that the Harrington family wanted Tobias out of Roman O’Toole’s home?”
“Yes.”
“And you wanted that too.”
“Yes.”
“So you and the Harringtons shared an interest in portraying your father as dangerous.”
My ass comes halfway off the bench before I know I’ve moved. Dad’s hand clamps on my arm.
Mom grabs the other one. “Ryan,” she breathes.
Arthur is already on his feet. “Objection. Argumentative, assumes facts not in evidence, and mischaracterizes the witness’s testimony.”
“Sustained.” The judge’s expression has stopped being neutral. “Counsel, this is a pretrial evidentiary hearing, not an opportunity to harass a teenage witness about whether the people who watched the alleged abuse happened to dislike the alleged abuser. You will move on, or you will sit down.”
Roman’s attorney goes rigid. “Yes, Your Honor.”
I sit back. Barely. Mom keeps hold of my arm anyway, and honestly, she should.
Ally’s eyes come to me. I’m okay, they say. No. She’s not. But she’s still there. She’s still in that box and she hasn’t given him one inch.
The attorney tries the last thing he has. “You were angry with your father the night your mother died.”
“Yes.”
“You attacked him. Struck him. Repeatedly.”
“Yes.”
“While screaming that you wanted him dead.”
“Yes.”
He pauses, like he thinks he’s finally cornered her. “Would you agree that you were hysterical?”
Ally looks at him for a long, level second. The whole room waits. “My father had just thrown my mother headfirst onto marble stairs.” Silence. “I think I was allowed to be upset.”
Dad coughs into his fist. Mom shoots him a look. Even Arthur has to drop his eyes to his notes for a second.
Roman’s attorney does not find it funny at all. “Your emotional state could have affected what you remember.”
“No.”
“You were screaming. Crying. You’d been injured. You were afraid for your brother. And pregnant.” He ticks them off like he’s building a wall. “Yet you’re asking this court to believe your memory of those few seconds is perfect.”
Ally straightens in the chair. “No.”
The attorney stops, because it wasn’t the answer he’d built the wall for.
“I don’t remember every second perfectly.” Her voice is quiet and completely steady. “I don’t remember exactly where everyone was standing. I don’t remember who said what first, or how long it took the agents to reach us. Those parts are a blur. I’ll tell you that honestly.”
She looks past him. At Roman. “But I remember my father grabbing my mother.” Roman’s face changes.
“I remember her telling him no. I remember him putting both hands on her shoulders.” Her chin lifts, and her voice doesn’t shake, not anymore.
“And I remember watching him throw her down those stairs.”
The attorney opens his mouth.
She isn’t finished. “I remember the sound her head made when it hit the marble.” God. “And I remember crawling through her blood to get to her.”
Nobody in the room moves. Nobody breathes.
“So no. I don’t remember every second perfectly.” Her eyes stay on her father, and she says the last of it like a verdict. “But I remember exactly who killed my mother.”
Roman looks away.