I am in the dock. What a peculiar thing to say about oneself. And for it to be true. Literally true. Not in the metaphorical sense. Which is how it’s meant nine times out of ten. But not this time. I am literally standing in the dock. I am in a brown suit. It’s not mine. They gave it to me. I’d never wear brown voluntarily.
The judge is talking now. He has been talking for ages. That’s because he’s repeating the same thing but with different words. Despicable, shameful, reprehensible. He’s called me all these things. He’s hamming it up. That’s what’s going on here. He’s in love with the sound of his own voice. I can tell. His neck has gone red with excitement. His fat lips are wet. He’s positively salivating. I bet his little willy – and it will be little – is twitching beneath his gown.
Every now and then I glance behind me and scan the faces in the courtroom. There aren’t many people here. Every one of them is a stranger. Good. I’m just checking. Just making sure that they’ve not snuck in behind my back. Dolores and Grace, I mean. I ordered them not to come. Dolores said I needn’t worry about that. She said she had no intention of coming. And that Grace would only be here over her dead body.
‘But that’s not a phrase I can use now, is it?’
‘Are you picking a fight with me, Dee? Really? Even now?’
She hung up.
The judge has an ugly face. It is big and loose and it wobbles when he talks. Even when he’s stopped talking. He had acne once. I can see the craters it’s dug into his skin. You never get rid of it. Not completely. All that pus and poison will still be there, just seething beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to erupt again. I bet if I stuck a fingertip really hard into one part of his face then another part would start to ooze. I’m being nasty, of course. It’s nothing personal. It’s just that he’s the one who is going to decide the rest of my life for me. That’s why we’re all here. That’s why I’m staring. Hoping to shove his verdict back down his throat. I’ve been told I should expect something in the region of twenty-five years. I’ve been told it would have been over thirty had I not pleaded guilty as soon as I did. That’s not why I did it. I wasn’t thinking about any of that. I just think when you carry something so big, you have to share it eventually. It has to do with being other. Of not wanting to be. Secrets isolate us.
There is a noise behind me and I turn around again. It’s not them. I realise that I may never see them again. My family. So-called. I realise that I don’t care all that much. I have started blaming them for my predicament. I know I did the deed. But they did nothing to discourage me. It could be argued their actions even encouraged me. I see Dolores at the front door – my front door – ushering me out of it. Closing it even before I am off the porch. I see Grace hunched over her desk, composing that last letter she wrote me, accusing me of leaving her as well as her mother, and of not loving her. How could she think such a thing? I’ve said before how carelessly cruel children can be to their old folk. And yet. And yet I wonder if she may not be right. I always just took it for granted that I loved them. Both of them. And that I always would. I just assumed it to be true. But I think now that I could learn to hate them. That I’m already learning to. I wonder where I’ll be then? Because if I don’t have them who do I have? But it’s true about love and hate being two sides of the same coin. It’s Day 2,003. I don’t give a fuck.
‘Your actions offend the sensibilities of all right-thinking people.’
And still he goes on. The judge. Perhaps this is my sentence. Listening to him drone on until he or I drop down dead. I look at his swollen lips flapping open and shut. Someone will have kissed those lips. Someone maybe still does. Now that is despicable, shameful, the other thing he said. I kick the rail in front of me. The sudden noise interrupts him. He pauses. He glances at me. He starts up again. I have an urge. I wonder how close I could get. If I leaped over the rail and charged. There are two policemen in the court today. They are as far from me as they are from him. The element of surprise would work in my favour.
‘You have committed a wicked series of offences and inflicted unfathomable, unprovoked brutality. Your crimes are heinous in the extreme and can only be those of a depraved, deeply disturbed human being.’
I said I was sorry. What more does he want? ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. When I was invited to say a few words. This was after the prosecution spoke and before the judge took over. The judge looked at me for a long while. He seemed unimpressed. Like I was being irreverent somehow. I think when people like me annoy him he must imagine we’re the ones who teased him about his spots. He wanted to know if that was all I had to say for myself? All, I thought? All? Isn’t sorry meant to be the hardest word? I shrugged at him. ‘I’m very sorry then.’
He is winding up now. At last. He is going through the list one final time. Murder. Guilty. Fraud by false representation. Guilty. Preventing lawful burial. I didn’t even know that was a crime. Breaking and entering. I shake my head. It bothers me that they think I’m guilty of this too. It means they don’t believe we were ever friends.
A door closes somewhere. I look back again. There is no one new in the court room. It was only someone leaving.
Twenty-two years. That’s my sentence. He’s just said it. Life, obviously, all murder is life. But without parole for at least twenty-two years. That’s the bit that matters. He’s looking at me for a reaction. I have nothing for him. I am not happy. Not unhappy. It is just a fact. I’m not required to feel anything about it. I stare back dispassionately. Without further ceremony he rises and sweeps out of the court room. I watch his gown billowing behind him. Everyone else is on their feet too. And Grace is among them. I see her now. She is picking her way between a row of seats. I knew she’d come. I knew she’d not abandon me. At my bewitching hour. She was here all the time. A firm hand lands on my shoulder. It begins steering me out of the dock. I look past the body it’s attached to. I am elated that she’s here. It’s reassured me no end. I lied about nearly hating her. How could I ever? I couldn’t.
‘Grace!’
She is taller than she was. And thinner. She is walking towards the exit at the back of the courtroom.
‘Grace!’
She turns. It’s not her. She is much older. She is pretty. I stare at a woman I don’t know. She stares back. I’m nudged from behind. Through a doorway. The door closes and she’s gone. I forget her almost immediately.