Chapter 10 #2
The courtroom is smaller than I expected, paneled in dark wood with the military justice system's formal trappings evident in every detail.
Hutchins sits at the defendant's table in his service uniform, stripped of rank insignia, looking smaller than he did in the wetlands with a knife in his hand.
His attorney, a sharp-featured captain with graying hair, shuffles papers with brisk efficiency.
The prosecution presents their case methodically over several days.
Photographs Hutchins took of me, timestamped and geotagged.
Detailed notes about my schedule found in his quarters.
Damaged equipment from my office with his fingerprints.
Security footage showing him loitering near my workspace.
Witnesses who heard his rants about women destroying the military, who saw his obsession with my presence on base.
When it's finally my turn to testify, I take the stand with my spine straight and my hands folded in my lap. The prosecutor, a no-nonsense major named Williams, approaches with a tablet in hand.
"Miss O'Rourke, can you describe the first incident that made you aware someone was targeting you?"
I take a breath, centering myself. "I found a note on my desk approximately three months ago. It said that I didn't belong on base and should leave before something bad happened."
"And what did you do with that note?"
"I reported it to base security and filed an incident report with my supervisor."
Major Williams nods, making a note. "Were there additional incidents after that?"
"Yes, ma'am. Over the following weeks, I found several more notes with similar messages. My office was vandalized—files damaged, equipment moved or broken. Someone entered my cottage and rearranged personal items to make it clear they'd been inside."
"How did these incidents make you feel?"
Hutchins' attorney objects. "Relevance, Your Honor."
The judge, a stern-faced colonel with a chest full of ribbons, considers. "I'll allow it. The witness may answer."
I meet Major Williams' eyes. "They made me feel watched. Unsafe. Like someone was trying to frighten me into quitting my position."
"Did you consider leaving?"
"No, ma'am. I was hired to do a job, and the work was too important to abandon because someone didn't want me there."
Major Williams walks me through the escalation—the explosive device, the photographs discovered by security, the final confrontation in the wetlands. I describe each incident with clinical precision, keeping my voice steady and my emotions controlled.
"Can you describe what happened at the eastern retention pond on the day of your attack?"
I take another breath. "I was conducting a routine habitat survey when Master Sergeant Hutchins approached. He blocked my retreat and began making statements about women and civilians not belonging in military spaces. When I attempted to leave, he grabbed my throat."
"What happened next?"
"He began to strangle me while explaining why he'd targeted me.
He admitted to leaving the notes, vandalizing my office, attaching a bomb to my vehicle, and placing the camera to photograph me.
He stated explicitly that he wanted me to leave the base and that my death would send a message about women not belonging in military environments. "
"Did he express any remorse?"
"No, ma'am. He said it was necessary. That others would understand what he was doing."
"What happened when he attacked you?"
"I used a speaker unit from the habitat barrier to strike him. That created enough distance that when Master Sergeant Porter's K9 partner Duke arrived, the dog was able to subdue Master Sergeant Hutchins before he could attack again with the knife he'd drawn."
Major Williams lets the testimony sit for a moment before continuing. "Miss O'Rourke, during this confrontation, did Master Sergeant Hutchins express any remorse for his actions?"
"No, ma'am. He said women and civilians undermine military readiness. That proving his point was worth the consequences."
The cross-examination is predictable. His attorney suggests I misinterpreted harmless comments, that stress from my work made me paranoid, that my relationship with Devlin influenced my perception of events. I don't budge on any of it.
"Master Sergeant Hutchins admitted his actions during the confrontation," I say calmly when the attorney implies I'm exaggerating. "His own words confirmed everything. Security footage supports the timeline. The evidence speaks for itself."
After what feels like hours but is probably less than one, I'm dismissed from the stand. I walk back to my seat in the gallery on legs that feel steadier than they should. Devlin is waiting in the hallway when court recesses, Duke at his side.
"You did good," he says.
"Just told the truth." I crouch down to scratch Duke's ears, needing the grounding contact. "Evidence does the rest."
The trial stretches over several more days.
More witnesses, more evidence, the defense attorney making increasingly desperate arguments that fall flat against the mountain of proof.
When the panel finally retires to deliberate, I'm back in the gallery next to Devlin.
His hand wraps around mine, warm and solid.
The wait isn't long. Less than an hour before the panel returns, their expressions giving nothing away. The judge calls the court to order, and the panel president stands.
"Has the panel reached a verdict?"
"We have, Your Honor."
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. Devlin's thumb strokes across my knuckles, a small gesture of support that steadies me. The courtroom is silent, everyone waiting.
"On the charge of stalking, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the charge of assault with a deadly weapon, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the charge of destruction of government property, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the charge of sabotage, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the charge of attempted murder, we find the defendant guilty."
The words wash over me like a wave. Guilty. On every count. Hutchins' face goes gray, his shoulders slumping. His attorney puts a hand on his arm, but he shakes it off.
The judge thanks the panel and moves to sentencing. Dishonorable discharge. Federal prison time stretching into decades. Hutchins' military career ends in disgrace, his toxic beliefs thoroughly rejected by the institution he claimed to be protecting.
I feel no triumph watching him being led away in restraints, his wrists bound behind his back as guards escort him from the courtroom.
Just exhaustion and relief that it's finally over.
That I can move forward without constantly looking behind me.
That justice, for once, actually worked the way it's supposed to.
Devlin and I leave the legal building in silence. The afternoon sun is warm on my face, a stark contrast to the climate-controlled chill of the courtroom. Duke is waiting in the back seat of Devlin's truck, tail thumping when he sees us approach.
When we're alone in the vehicle with Duke's panting filling the silence, Devlin turns to me.
"What are we doing?" he asks quietly. "You and me."
The question hangs between us. I could deflect, keep things light, avoid committing to anything. But I'm tired of running from things that matter.
"I don't know exactly," I admit. "But I know I don't want to stop. Whatever this is, I want to keep figuring it out with you."
Devlin's jaw tightens. Then he reaches across the console to cup my face with one calloused hand, his hazel eyes intense.
"I love you," he says.
My heart hammers against my ribs. "I love you too. And I'm done letting the past make decisions for my future."
"Good." He leans in to kiss me, right there in the parking lot with Duke watching from the back seat. When we pull apart, we're both breathing harder. "So what now?"
I think about my father who died too young, about Tyler who never got the future we planned, about all the loss I've carried. And I think about the choice I'm making right now to honor their memories by actually living instead of merely surviving.
"Now we build something," I tell him. "And we stop apologizing for wanting it."
Duke barks from the back seat, approval clear in the sound.
Devlin laughs, and I realize I'm smiling too—not the careful, guarded expression I've worn for years, but something real.
When he starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot with my hand still in his, the future stretches ahead of us like uncharted territory.
I don't know what comes next. But for the first time in years, I'm ready to find out.