Fugue State (7 page)

She shunned the truth in his words. “I’ve dealt with a lot worse. I’m a survivor. More than that, I’m a fighter. I’ll just keep fighting. Until the fight is
won
.” Warmth spread across her face as her color returned and thoughts of redemption flickered in the back of her mind.

He held Alexa’s hands in his own and forced a smile through quivering lips. “I love you, Alexa, like you are my own. But you’ve changed so much. I hope the goodness inside you shines through when this is all over.”

She’d heard similar words from her mother about how much she had changed.
Have I changed so much that the people I love don’t recognize me?
He wrapped his arms around her, and it was like saying goodbye to Britt all over again.

Appleby arrived with a cream cheese bagel and an orange juice. Dale left her side, and she ate her bagel while Appleby lectured her. “You can’t do this. These fainting spells of yours have to stop.” She’d fainted once before during the trial. That time she was in the courtroom. Everyone saw. “No one will believe this is real. They’ll all think you’re a bad actress trying to play them for a fool.” Perceptions could change so easily with one wrong move. Appleby eyed the hallway. “Seems like few people took notice. For God’s sake, if you can’t walk, I’ll hold you up. Just say something.”

Alexa tuned out the rest of his speech. Instead, her attention fixed on a thin black lady at the end of the hall. The woman’s eyes locked on Alexa. The woman wore orthopedic shoes that suggested she worked on her feet all day, and a sullen, plaid-printed button-up dress. She had a small black boy with a visible overbite clinging to her skirt. Alexa watched the woman step closer. The recess had ended, however, and Appleby motioned Alexa into the courtroom.

The judge accepted Appleby’s request. Murmurs spread throughout the courtroom. Finkle suggested they proceed to closing arguments. The judge turned to Appleby, who requested to begin closing statements the following day. The judge banged his gavel once more, and the court day was over. Appleby wanted to meet once more with the prosecution, so Alexa left the courthouse alone.

CHAPTER 9

H
er weary mind drifted to sleep around two in the morning, after popping a few Benadryl and a downing a large glass of red wine. She dreamed she was driving her Mercedes to the courthouse with the top down. She stopped at a red light when a man appeared in her driver’s rear view mirror. Before she could react or respond, she felt his hands on her throat. She gasped for air, as her foot went to the gas pedal. The car sped away, but the hands never left her throat. She wrecked the car into a lamppost.

The man lifted her into the air and spun her around to face him.

She stared at Jamar. A knife appeared in his other hand. It wasn’t the knife from
that
night, however; this was a larger knife with a sharp curved blade. He shoved the knife into her belly, and she watched her insides fall from her midsection.

Alexa awoke, heart pounding.

As her pulse began to slow, she recalled her plan — Britt’s plan. She closed her eyes and made herself replay the nightmare. She imagined herself in her car at the stoplight. She saw Jamar. She was ready when he reached for her. Foot pressed against the gas pedal, she sped away.

She’d driven halfway down the block when she realized she shouldn’t run from him.
Kill him
. A quick U-turn back toward Jamar. She reached into her handbag and pulled out her gun and applied the gas. She targeted his yellow eyes and fired. He fell. She stopped the car next to the body. Two more shots fired into his skull. She saw the pool of blood form around him. She opened her eyes. She felt calmer.

She relived the nightmare over and over. Each time she became faster, her shots and movements more accurate, until her fear lessened, and she fell back asleep.

She woke for her last day of trial. She chose loose-fitting black trousers with a white, silk blouse that she tied carelessly low on her neck. She wanted an outfit that conveyed ease. She pulled her tousled hair to the side in an attempt to look relaxed, despite the gravity of the situation.

She slipped into her silver snakeskin Manolo heels as Appleby’s private car pulled up, six-forty-five a.m. on the dot. She pulled open the door to find Appleby with the phone glued to his ear, as usual. After fifteen minutes of firm debate, he put down the phone and turned to Alexa. He shoved a brown paper bag that contained a blueberry bagel with cream cheese into her hand. Apparently, he didn’t trust her after yesterday’s episode. Alexa forced the food into her uneasy stomach.

Appleby divulged that he had met with the prosecution and the judge in the conference room yesterday after he left her. “The judge suggested that the charge of criminally negligent homicide be tried separately in an entirely new trial if the prosecution wished to pursue it, since the line of questioning has changed.” Appleby stated in between sips of his latte. Alexa raised an eyebrow.

“I handed him this list of thirty physicians willing to testify that you were unable to perform standard medical duties after suffering a concussion, certain that it would clear you from the charge. The prosecution agreed, and they vowed not to pursue the charge any further.” His drab voice affirmed his inability to convey joy despite the good news.

“But, that’s great! They can’t use my medical training against me,” Alexa stammered, reaching for the paper in Appleby’s hand. “Where did you get this?”

“Your pal Jimmy Thornton,” he said with a curl of his lips.

“Really?” Alexa gasped, unable to hide her surprise.
Thanks, Jimmy
.

“The only viable charge that remains is manslaughter. Although it’s nothing to be proud of, it won’t get you life in prison, sweetheart,” he mused. “I guess we’ll find out today whether we convinced them you’re not the she-devil they’ve made you out to be.”

She ignored the sting of his words.
It’s almost over
.

“There’ll be a crowd today. Be ready for that. Reporters will want to interview you. I will shuffle you through the crowd and back into the private car. Understand? I will give a statement on your behalf. You are not to speak with the reporters,” he hissed, and rolled his eyes away from her.

“What will you tell them?” she asked.

“Depends on the outcome. If you’re innocent, we play the role of gracious victor. If you’re guilty, we simply state that we will continue to fight. There is another alternative, however. The prosecution may drop these charges in lieu of charging you in a civil trial. You’re not out of this yet.” He paused for another sip of his latte. “No comments to friends or family . . . if they come. Reporters will go to them for a story if they are willing to talk. We don’t want any comments that may jeopardize our strategy.”

Alexa nodded, not wholly understanding the strategy he spoke of.
Civil trial?
Her pulse quickened at the notion of enduring another trial.
No. It’s almost over.

Media groups with news cameras swarmed the courthouse. Alexa’s confidence failed her. Appleby exited the car first. She waited while he spoke with the media. He didn’t want to risk her doing something unwanted with the cameras on. She obeyed. He motioned for her; she followed, trying to appear as strong as possible.

The day began with the closing arguments of the prosecution. Janice Finkle walked to the center of the three-ring circus to perform for the spectators. Alexa quivered. A wave of despair washed over her, and she turned her gaze to the floor.
I can’t listen to a word of this. I can’t, and I won’t. Think of something else. Anything else.
Her mind jumped around between fragments of thoughts. Memories of her mother, happy times with Britt, even Jimmy Thornton popped in and out. She couldn’t focus.
I’ve gone crazy. My mind doesn’t work the way it used to. I should have pled insanity.
She concentrated on Britt, trying to remember the last time they were intimate.
No sex after the incident.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before
? No wonder we failed. I was too broken to tolerate his touch. He deserves better.
Her mind continued to search for their last night of lovemaking. But the memory was lost to her. Before she could mourn its loss, Appleby stood and stole her attention.

He took the place where Finkle stood and began his closing arguments. He worked to make Alexa appear vulnerable to further gain the jury’s sympathies. “I need not remind the jury that my client, Dr. Alexa DeBrow, is a physician. More than that, Dr. DeBrow is a beautiful, single, thirty-three-year-old female who was attacked while walking alone on a dark night. She was victimized and assaulted by a man who tried to take advantage of her. He beat her, and she suffered injuries that required hospitalization and resulted in a concussion. Although she was injured and afraid, she was also strong. She overcame her attacker, in what can only be described as fate.” He paused for a sip of water. Alexa stared in awe of Appleby’s poise and charisma, and for a moment, she forgot how much she disliked him.

“Now, the prosecution wants to punish this young woman for unnecessary use of force. I tell you
force
was necessary in taking down a two-hundred pound assailant. It’s a shame Jamar Reading did not survive Miss DeBrow’s attempt to defend herself so that he could stand trial for the crimes he committed.” All eyes were locked on Appleby. “Additionally, the prosecution wants to punish Miss DeBrow because she wasn’t in the proper state of mind to provide medical assistance to her attacker.” He shook his head, eyes on the ground, as he paced toward the jury. His eyes scanned the jury members as he pled with them. “I ask that the jury choose
not
to punish Miss DeBrow, because Alexa DeBrow has been punished enough. I’m sorry. She’s sorry. We’re all sorry that Jamar Reading didn’t survive that night. But I’m also sorry that Jamar Reading attacked my client. She was his victim, and he was hers. It’s an ugly situation that doesn’t have a good answer, so I ask the jury to let it go. Let the events of that night end today. Don’t punish Alexa DeBrow anymore.”

Simple and direct, but will it work?
The court fell into recess for the jury to decide on a verdict. Appleby said it should be quick. With nausea churning in her stomach, Alexa headed to the ladies’ room. She hovered over the toilet while her stomach went into convulsions, and the blueberry bagel came back up in chunks. The vomit burned her throat. She soothed the burn with cool water from the faucet, scooping it by hand to drink, and then rinsed her mouth thoroughly. She had just stepped out of the restroom when she stumbled into the thin black lady from the day before. It was as if she had been waiting for Alexa.

The woman wore a similar outfit to the prior day, with the same orthopedic shoes. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and the boy with the overbite still clung to her side. “Miss DeBrow, I’m Kensie Phillips,” the woman said quietly. There was something about the woman’s timid nature that drew Alexa toward her.

“Yes,” Alexa responded, stepping closer to the woman.

“I know that man you kilt.”

A twinge of pain hit Alexa’s stomach.

“He raped me outside the library on Third Street a few years back.” The woman spoke with an odd little accent; although southern and sweet, it came out all wrong. Alexa’s forehead wrinkled into a state of confusion. “He raped me a few times, that’s how I know for sure it was him. He would wait for me to get done cleaning the library. I walk home about eight blocks after that. He found me a few times, beat me pretty good, too.” Her voice turned quieter; it hovered just above a whisper. “He stopped the first time he saw my pregnant belly.”

Alexa stared at the woman in disbelief then looked down at the little boy, wondering how his mother could speak so candidly about something so awful with him in earshot. Kensie must have known what Alexa was thinking, because at that moment she pulled her child in front of her and covered the boy’s ears with her hands. “I just wanted you to know you weren’t alone. I thought it might help you to know there were other women that he hurt, too.” Kensie’s lips formed a simpleton smile.

Alexa nodded and placed a hand on Kensie’s shoulder, mumbling “thank you,” as she turned away. She walked back into the courtroom while the woman’s words sank in.

Anger. She felt the anger rise, but it took a moment to pinpoint the source.
Kensie’s confession came too late.
She said that Jamar had raped her multiple times, yet she waited, almost strategically, until the point in the trial in which witnesses could no longer testify to admit that Jamar had other victims. Kensie could have been a key witness if she had only come forward sooner. If she had told the jury about her attack, it would have solidified the defense’s theory that Jamar was a serial rapist — an abomination to society. Kensie Phillips held crucial information that could have helped clear Alexa’s name; yet she never offered to take the stand. More than angry, Alexa felt defeated.

That boy clinging to her skirt. Could he be Jamar’s child? Is that why Jamar stopped raping her, because he knew he’d knocked her up?
Alexa shuddered at the thought. She couldn’t imagine any product of Jamar remaining in this world.

Her mind raced now.
Kensie was raped repeatedly, yet she never fought back. She just let it happen. But she could have planned for the attack. She could have carried a gun, arranged for someone to walk with her, called the police, even.
Yet, she did nothing. The fury rose to unbearable levels.
If Kensie had bothered to call the police just once, maybe Jamar would never have attacked me
. Maybe he would have been in prison where he belonged. Alexa stewed on her rage while the court reconvened.

The jury had reached a decision. The anger blinded her nerves
. If Kensie had bothered to testify, I doubt I’d be standing trial right now.
Alexa stood to face the jury while they announced the verdict.
Chin up, buttercup. Here it comes.

The clerk read the outcome aloud: “Superior court of Texas in the county of Travis, in the matter of the people of Texas against Dr. Alexa DeBrow, we the jury in the above entitled action find the defendant, Dr. Alexa DeBrow, in the charge of second-degree murder of Jamar Reading, section 19.02: Not guilty.” The clerk then polled the twelve jurors. The same followed for the charges of manslaughter, section 19.04, and criminally negligent homicide, section 19.05. Not guilty on all accounts.