Enjoy!
OK, first edit done.
-----------------------
“I pronounce the defendant,” the judge paused for a moment, as if to savor the effect his words were having on the gathered people, “not guilty.”
Absolute pandemonium broke out throughout the great hall as the meaning of his syllables sunk in. The families of the victims, the five girls who had been brutally murdered, raised their anguished voices above the shouts of journalists and guttural tones of policemen. The defendant himself allowed a broad grin split to his face, a grimace that never reached his malicious eyes, which glinted with the spark of freedom. Once more he had managed to escape the final guillotine of justice.
Paul Macterish watched the energetic audience file out of the courtroom, their tears mingling with their shouts of victory. This had been, after all, the case of the year, if not the decade. Defendants did not usually face the penalty of death, not many had lost their conscience to the point of horror and inhumanity, and so the heinous crimes of this monster had reached the first pages of all papers. Nobody could have predicted that this case would have been bloated to such enormous proportions; had this been foretold, Paul would never have been the prosecutor on Rob Tailor’s case. A hopeless prosecutor at best, this had been his last chance – and he had lost it.
Following the crowds out of the somber hall and past the main doorway, Paul steeled himself for the packs of journalists awaiting him outside. Then, pushing the door open, he battled his way through the microphones thrust in front of his face and made a beeline for his car, the only words leaving his pale lips being “No comment.”
Slamming the door fiercely behind him, Paul switched on the ignition and put the car into reverse, driving his silver Volvo out of the parking lot and into the street, away from the prying eyes and elephant ears of the hounding writers. Only then did he allow his emotions to surface, and his palm beat against the steering wheel in a rhythm to accompany his blasphemy and curses.
Not only had he lost the case, but he had also lost his job, he was certain of it. The company’s boss had made it more than clear enough how useless Paul was at his career, how the only reason he was still employed was because of his father’s legendary shadow following him around, saving his reputation. Until now, that is. Nobody would care, now, that he was the son of the best prosecutor America had ever seen. No, now they would only perceive him as the failure he had always been, hiding behind his father’s myth.
He had never wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, he reflected grimly. He was never lawyer material, but his parents hadn’t left him much of a choice on the matter. People seemed to accept that like father, like son – and so he ended up accusing people of crimes, quickly learning that despite solid evidence, he would easily loose his case. He was dreadful, everyone knew that, but owing to his father’s figure, people turned a blind eye and he retained his position. Until he failed once too many times.
The phone rang, startling him out of his troubled thoughts. Fumbling in his jacket pocket for a moment, he brought out a silver Samsung and flipped it open, holding it awkwardly to one ear as he steadied the steering wheel with his other hand. He hated driving like this.
“Hey, I heard about the case,” his best friends’ voice floated over the line. “I’m so sorry, dude. Is there anything I can do?” Mark’s tone was sincere, Paul knew that, but any sympathy at the present moment only caused his blood to boil.
“No,” he replied shortly. “Could you let Katie know I’ll be back late though? There’s something I need to do,” he asked, thinking about his wife, probably awaiting his return even at that precise moment. He could not face her, however, not yet. He needed some time to contemplate, some peace and quiet to soothe his steaming brain. He was driving without a destination in mind, but the important thing was to keep moving.
“Sure, I’ll call her,” Mark said, his voice tinted with surprise. Probably wondering why I can’t do so myself, Paul thought.
“Thanks. Talk to you later,” Paul clicked the mobile shut before his friend had a chance to ask more questions. He could deal with such matters later.
As he stopped at a red light, he suddenly remembered the argument he had had with his son the previous night. A conflict which much resembled the ones he had experienced in the past, during puberty, when he still had the will to fight his father’s wishes. Not that he ever won, of course; his father was the best lawyer, after all. Derek, though, he wanted to study law. He had applied to Ivy League that year, and had received and offer from Harvard, as well as Princeton, and Stanford. Yet Paul found himself more than reluctant at letting his son tread the path he had been forced to walk.
He knew that he was acting in a similar way to his father, trying to influence his son’s life, not wanting him to make the same mistakes he did. He didn’t want the life of a lawyer for Derek, yet, Derek did. Paul had tried reasoning with him, saying that he knew what he was talking about, he was living that life. But the boy just didn’t listen. Staring at the scarlet light turn to golden, and then glow emerald, Paul realised how similar Derek was to his grandfather, to him. How he was acting out the same despicable script his own renown father had taken part in years ago. How he was trying to direct his son’s life, just as his own had been so closely supervised.
Derek would be better off without him. Katie, too. Oh, Paul noticed the slight blush that crept up her neck every time yet another of his failures was brought up in conversation. All he did was cause her embarrassment by being who he was; a failed lawyer. As for his son, well, Derek would probably become a great lawyer himself someday; he wouldn’t want his father around, a constant reminder of all the times he was bullied in school when his “Pap” lost another big case and the town was screaming about it.
Looking in his rearview mirror, Paul felt as if he were staring into the past, letting it slip away. He imagined letting go, of everything, and starting over. Opening a pub maybe, or a restaurant, someplace where nobody knew him, nobody looked at him with pity and talked behind his back about how foolish he was to choose such a career, how stupidly stubborn he was never to abandon it. For a glorious moment, he fantasized about a life where he’d be liked, leading a quiet, modest life and never seeing the inside of the courtroom again.
Suddenly, his eyes widened as his pressed down on the brakes, causing his car to screech to a halt, tires leaving black marks on the tarmac in protest. His headlights illuminated the dark, empty crossroads he had stopped by. He could start over, if only he wanted to. After all, he had Mark. Mark, who had always been an expert at fixing up false identities, helping people disappear, start over as someone new. He had been good at it even back in high school, when he’d produced fake driving licenses and passports. Nobody had ever noticed a difference between the original and Mike’s creation.
Paul had almost punched in his friends’ number when Katie’s portrait loomed vividly in his mind’s eye. His wife. Could he truly bring himself to abandon her? Could he carry on with life, never seeing her again? True, their marriage was passing through a rather critical time at the moment, what with her anger at him for denying Derek his dream, and his anger at her for not convincing their son he was planning to walk down the wrong road. He had never been at home much, he had never grown to be part of his family like most other people had. He had always felt like the outsider in his own house, yet leave them, without a word?
Sitting motionless in the vehicle, he waited for some sort of sign, inspiration, some sort of arrow to point him in the right direction at the crossroads he was facing.
The first drops of rain had already streaked the window shield with tears by the time he picked up the phone, his mind resolved, and dialed.
My fault.