Friday, October 27, 2017
The first week of the trial was over and Jeremy laid on his cot shivering. That blond D.A. fuck had done a good job of winning over the jury; there was no denying it. His play seemed simple: bombard the jury with repetitive testimony of the massacre’s events, to make them feel as if they were there. First responders and wounded survivors telling their accounts of March 11. Every story was the same, with minor personal details altered by each witness.
Linda and Wilbert cross-examined as best they could, but were hindered by emotional testimony and avoided probing the witnesses any further.
Jeremy’s body spasmed violently and his teeth chattered as he reflected on the long week behind him. Jeremy felt cold, hard fear pulsing through his veins. Only a week into the trial and it was already clear that he had no chance of surviving a death penalty verdict.
Why on Earth would these people let me walk on the insanity plea? I killed thirteen innocent people and ruined countless lives.
The thought overwhelmed him and he vomited in his toilet, spitting out chunks of the sandwich he’d had earlier in the day. His hands shook out of control as he attempted to wipe the vomit remnants stuck to his lips.
“I’m going to die in prison,” he cried on his cot. He thought of how pets were put down with a quick injection that gradually slowed their heartbeat. He would die with regret in his heart after his experiment had gone terribly wrong.
I was in way over my head.
Jeremy spent the rest of the night wondering what death felt like. Was it simply like falling asleep and never waking up? Was there a light? Would his deceased family be waiting for him on the other side?
He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but his mind wouldn’t allow it. His conscience needed to confront and accept death right now. Every time he closed his eyes the screams from that day echoed. He couldn’t recall what the gun sounded like in the quiet office, but the shrills from his coworkers would forever ring loudly in his soul. He remembered how the smell of gun powder and blood had filled the air. He’d never known blood had a smell, but when gallons of the bodily fluid had poured from his victims, the metallic odor hung around.
The images from that day ran through his mind. He’d never taken the time to absorb the scene, always too worried about the next steps he had to take. Blood and bodies scattered across the floor had been all he could remember. Hearing testimony and seeing the crime scene photos had disturbed him in court. The bodies laid out on the ground like stuffed mannequins.
Blackness filled the quiet jail cell; it had to be after midnight. All Jeremy could hear was the ringing sound of silence, his breathing, and those damned screams from over a year ago.
“I should’ve never done it,” he admitted to himself. “I can’t die this way, for the whole world to see.”
After three more hours had passed, Jeremy pulled the sheet from his cot, tied it around his neck, and pulled the ends tight in opposite directions. It reminded him of the last time he’d worn a tie around his neck, standing outside the Open Hands office as a young and excited college graduate ready to give it to the world.
He squeezed tighter, until the feeling gave way to choking, cutting off the blood supply and oxygen to his head. His fingers lost their strength and released the sheet before he collapsed into darkness.
Jeremy jolted awake, unsure of how long he’d been out. It could’ve been five minutes or a couple hours for all he knew, in the darkness. The sheet was still around his neck and he pulled it off quickly, grateful no one had seen. Had an officer walked by and noticed his noose, Jeremy would have been sent to the mental hospital, the trial would have been delayed, and who knew what ugly chain of events would follow.
Did I just try to commit suicide?
He hadn’t necessarily had suicidal thoughts as he tied the sheet around his neck, but had felt compelled to do something, anything to get rid of the fear that had bubbled up in his soul.
And it had worked. The shivering stopped, the disturbing thoughts of death left, and he almost felt like his normal self. Instead of doubtful thoughts plaguing his mind, he remembered Linda’s last conversation with him, after the trial had ended on Friday.
“I think that was a really strong first week for us,” she said. “We’re in good shape going into the next two weeks, where the testimony will start to focus on your mental state.”
“How was that good?”
“The prosecution came out of the gate with emotional testimony—strong testimony—and they have at least one more week of witnesses. Moving forward will be more doctors and the science behind mental health, pushing the emotional testimony further back in the jury’s memory. I think Geoff actually played this wrong. He wanted to come out with a heavy punch of emotion, but now he might lose the jury to boredom. We need to capitalize on the next week and we may be able to get out of this thing alive.”
“So there’s no more emotional stories coming?”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself, there’s still more. I expect they’ll end with a bang. Your old coworker, Elayna, she suffered some serious brain damage and can’t speak anymore. She’ll be their last witness.”
Jeremy had had a good relationship with Elayna. She was a big baseball fan like him, and they would sometimes spend Friday lunch breaks at the bar next to the office, watching whatever day game might be on. It would hurt to see her in bad shape and he was glad he could brace himself for it.
“I just wanted you to know we’re still in this,” Linda told him. Her voice sounded fake, but Jeremy rolled with it. “Have you been paying attention to the jury at all?”
He shook his head.
“From my experience, three jurors usually decide the whole case. Three jurors pay close attention and take detailed notes throughout an entire trial, and go into deliberation to sway people to see things their way. I’ve seen only two jurors take heavy notes: the older woman in the first seat, and the man in the suit. I’ll be focusing on these two during our cross-examinations and of course the closing statements. If we can convince them, we may be able to convince all of them.”
Ms. Serious might be my savior? Who would have thought?