Derelict （n.） – Jameson
DERELICT (N.):
SOMETHING OR SOMEONE WHO IS ABANDONED, SUCH AS A SHIP LEFT TO DRIFT AT SEA OR A HOMELESS PERSON IGNORED BY FAMILY AND SOCIETY.
JAMESON
Three Days Later
“Because she’s a disappointment… and I don’t like discussing my weaknesses.”
Lucas’s words are still floating through my mind, along with the unwanted vision of Scarlett’s beautiful face.
Her perfect smile…
No matter how many cold showers I force myself to take, how many dockets I force myself to read, or how many times I stare out my window in the dead of night, memories of Scarlett remain.
She smiles at me in my office whenever I look up from my work, begging me to talk for “just one more hour.”
When I arrive home, she sits up on my couch and beckons me to come closer with her alluring hazel gaze.
And now, in the middle of what’s supposed to be an effortless and easy case, Scarlett is sitting on the edge of the witness box—glaring at me as I check my phone.
“Did Mr. Tate offer you any special privileges or deals in exchange for your testimony today?” Julia’s “I’m trying too hard to be a prosecutor” voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
“I don’t understand the question,” my witness says.
“It’s a simple yes-or-no one, sir.” She crosses her arms. “Is Mr. Tate paying you for your testimony today?”
“Define paying…” He shrugs. “I’m not sure what you’re implying by that.”
“You’re a forensic expert,” she says. “Are you attending this hearing out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I had a heart transplant last year, so I don’t think that metaphor really works right now…”
“No further questions for this witness, Your Honor.” She rolls her eyes. “The state rests.”
“Redirect?” The judge looks at me.
“No, Your Honor.” I stand. “I don’t believe I—”
“Permission for a brief sidebar with the defense?” Julia interrupts me.
“Make it very brief.” The judge looks at his watch, and Julia walks over to my table.
“What the hell is wrong with you this morning, Jameson?” She hisses under her breath. “Are you alive?”
“Obviously…”
“I was literally badgering your witness, bringing up things that are outside the scope, and you didn’t yell 'Objection!' once.”
“So, you’re finally admitting that you’re a terrible prosecutor?”
“Never.” She leans closer. “You and I both know this case is built on a house of cards, and as much as I despise your client… I don’t think he did this.”
“So, why the hell are we even here?”
“My bosses are pushing me to try this case.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Ask for a continuance and then promise me you’ll transform into your normal self so I can lose this one and gloat about being right to my bosses.”
I blink.
“Thank you for your understanding, Mr. Tate.” She returns to her table.
“Are we free to continue?” the judge asks. “Redirect?”
“No, Your Honor.” I smile. “I’d like to request a two-day continuance.”
“On what grounds, Mr. Tate?”
“Medical reasons,” I say. “My witness mentioned having a heart transplant.”
“He said the procedure was a year ago, Mr. Tate.”
“Well, the prosecutor and I have noticed some issues with his breathing pattern today and—” I pause. “I would hate for him to drop dead in your courtroom, sir.”
“Right.” He rolls his eyes and picks up his gavel. “The two-day continuance is granted, but there won’t be any other delays for this case. Clear?”
He bangs his gavel before I can respond, and my witness bolts from the court like a world-class athlete.
“Thank you, Jameson.” Julia smiles. “I’ll see the real version of you Monday.”
I wait for her to leave before calling Rachel.
“Do you still need me to fake a seizure in the middle of court tomorrow?” she answers on the first ring.
“Of course not,” I say. “I would never ask you to do something so despicable.”
“How many seconds do you need it to last?”
“Forty-eight, with some severe drooling if you can manage.”
“I’ve got you,” she says. “I’ve been practicing all day. What else do you need?”
“Can you check my personal cell phone?” I ask. “I left it on my desk.”
“No, Jameson.”
“I’m not making a request.”
“I’m not checking it again.”
“And I’m not repeating myself…”
She sighs. “The ‘Do Not Answer—Ever’ number has sent you three ‘Fuck you’ texts, two ‘Pick up the phone please’ messages, and a final ‘I hate that I ever met you’ since you’ve been away.”
“Thank you.”
“Want to tell me who this person is?”
“A ghost.”
“So, this isn’t something serious?”
“It never was, and it never will be,” I say. “I’ll see you back at the office.”
I end the call and opt to remain in the courtroom. I retake my seat at the table and spend the next few hours reading through documents without a single image of Scarlett crossing my mind.
It’s not until a security guard alerts me that I have to leave that I realize it’s been five hours.
Packing up my things, I leave—grateful that my distraction phase is over.
The moment I step into the hallway, I see Scarlett standing in front of the grand staircase, holding her phone out to me.
Fuck.
That evening
There’s a man in a light gray pinstriped suit leaning against the front door of my condo when I step off the elevator.
Since the only way up to my floor is via key code or password, I’m confused as to how he managed to slip by security.
He looks at me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and I can sense that this isn’t a friendly visit.
I keep my distance, weighing my options: One, immediately call the police and risk getting the security team fired. Two, take matters into my own hands and get my own hands bloody if it calls for it. Three, turn around and return to the firm.
“You have five seconds to get the hell away from my door.” I settle for option two. “I didn’t approve any visitors.”
“I don’t remember you being this rude, Jameson.” He doesn’t move. “Then again, you were only a young college student back then.”
“Please walk and talk at the same time.” I gesture to the elevator. “I don’t have time for you, whoever you are.”
“Oh, that hurts me deeply, Jameson.” He utters my name like it’s a cancer. “I remember everything about you perfectly. Good to see how much you’ve progressed as a defense attorney over the years.”
“There are ten seconds standing between you, a broken jaw, and a fractured eye socket.”
“You even make threats like a lawyer.” He smiles and finally moves off my door. Then he holds up a few envelopes. “I was just making sure my letter made it to you, and I also picked up the rest of your mail.”
“Mail tampering is a federal felony.”
“I’m confident I’d beat the charges, but if you want to experience your first loss, go for it…”
Not wanting to give him another second of my time, I walk toward him—stopping when the features of his face become clearer under the light.
His gray eyes are still as cold as they were decades ago, the same shade as they are in the monochromatic memories I can never forget.
His smile remains as crooked as his soul, and despite being a millionaire several times over, he can’t wear a decent suit to save his life.
If there was ever a way for me to get away with murdering this man, I’d take the chance and build my firm over his grave.
“I’m giving you one last chance to crawl back into whatever hellhole you’ve escaped from, Peter Hansel.” I force myself to say his name.
“Hmmm.” He doesn’t flinch in the slightest. “I bet you’re struggling to sleep as a certain case date draws nearer, and I’m really worried about you.”
My blood boils with every syllable that drops from his mouth, and I can’t help wondering if spending the rest of my life in prison might be worth it.
“I’m only here because I want to save you from wasting your time.” He’s still talking. “I know how hard life must have been for you all these years, and I bet you’ve exhausted every coping mechanism on this planet.”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.” I step closer, my fists clenched. “And the next words out of your mouth better be ‘I’ll never disturb you again.’”
“I’ll never disturb you again.” His smile returns. “But also... I would suggest that you leave this case—and you know exactly what I’m talking about—as it is. It’ll hurt you and give you more sleepless nights if you don’t.”
“Are you threatening me, Peter?”
“I’m warning you.” He presses my mail against my chest and moves past me before I can hurt him.
He’s stepping onto the elevator within seconds, saving me from assault charges.
I quickly unlock the door to my place and step inside. Unable to think, I drop the mail on my counter and feel the sudden urge to call Scarlett.
I can’t, though...
I scroll through my other contacts, searching for someone—anyone—who I can call at this hour to talk to for no reason, but there’s no one.
Flipping through the mail, I spot the manila package Peter personally delivered.
There’s no stamp on it, just a mere “Let it go” scrawled across its back and the seven words that have owned me for decades on its front:
The State of Pennsylvania versus Jameson Tate
I don’t need to open it.
I know this case so well that someone could blindfold me, and I could recite every interview and eyewitness statement by heart.
Pushing it aside, I spot a small blue package with “Hudson University” as its return address.
Intrigued, I open it, but there’s no letter inside. Just something small and shiny with a tag of some sort.
I dump it onto my counter, watching the sapphire charm necklace I bought for Scarlett roll across my counter.
The tag around its clasp begs me to flip it over, so I oblige.
FUCK YOU, JAMESON.