Some Justice—Part Eleven

4247 Maplewood Dr 

Friday, April 6, 2001 

6:30 AM 

“What is your answer, Miss Stetson?”  The lawyer intoned.  His voice seemed to fill the room, his eyes burning deep into hers.

“I—” Sweat beaded on Jenna’s forehead— it itched as it ran down her cheeks. She wiped ineffectually at her face with an equally sweaty hand. In the back of the courtroom someone coughed—there was the sound of shuffling feet— rustling papers. 

“Everyone’s waiting for your answer, Miss Stetson.”  The voice brought her out of her reverie.  Jenna stared up at the man, trying to think of the answer—of anything that she could say if she could only remember how to speak.  Her lips felt all gummy—stuck together—inside her mouth her tongue was thick and heavy—she couldn’t move it.

“I—” Jenna managed again.  A sudden burst of laughter filled the courtroom. She looked down at her lap, unable to say any more. Jenna’s cheeks burned, she willed the tears not to fall even as they pooled in her eyes and spilled over.

“Look up, Miss Stetson—everyone’s waiting for your answer.” 

Jenna looked up—everything was a blur at first---as she rubbed the tears from her eyes with a damp fist she saw that the lawyer was right—everyone was waiting. Waiting for her. Mom and Dad, Grandma, Philip, Jamie—Billy and Francine---

And him.

Gary Johnston stood there—his blue eyes fixed on her—and despite the heat of the room Jenna began to shiver.  Her heart beat furiously against her ribcage—there was a creak as Gary rose from his chair and walked towards her—

‘Help me!’  Jenna wanted to say those words but she still couldn’t speak—and now she didn’t seem to be able to move either. She stared at her family and friends, pleading silently but they just sat there like statues—expressionless as Gary’s shadow loomed over her, his hand—

Jenna sat up, hands clutching the sheets tightly—the sheets. Her sheets. Beside her lay the Scarecrow doll—looking up at Jenna with black button eyes and a painted smile that seemed to be telling her that everything was okay—it had only been a dream. Jenna’s hands let go of the damp sheets and she picked up the doll, holding his soft stuffed body tightly against her own—her heartbeat slowed as she concentrated on her breathing—the rise and fall of her chest—willing herself to relax.

‘Only a dream’

But the feelings were still there—and in her mind’s eye Jenna could still see Gary, getting closer and closer—that smile on his face—his cold eyes.  A shudder passed through her body. Jenna clutched the doll so tightly that her chest hurt.  

What time—it wasn’t dark anymore—dim light filtered through her curtains, filling the room. Jenna looked at the clock on her nightstand. Six-thirty.  Usually she’d sleep for another hour, but after all that there was no way she was ever going to get back to sleep.  Putting the doll down Jenna slid out of her bed, slid her feet into her slippers and padded downstairs. 

The familiar aroma of coffee wafted in from the kitchen, filling Jenna with relief—thank goodness someone else was up.  

“Good Morning, sweetheart.”  Grandma sat at the kitchen counter, glasses on and pen in hand—the crossword puzzle and a cup of coffee in front of her. “Can I get you anything?” 

Jenna suddenly realized how dry her mouth was.  “No, that’s okay—I’ll just get some juice.”  She opened the fridge, pulling out the orange plastic bottle and unscrewing the lid, lifting it. 

“From a glass, Jenna—not from the bottle.”  

“Sorry.”   Hastily Jenna grabbed a juice glass and poured some. Her hands shook slightly as she did—tiny drops of orange juice spilling over—she grabbed a napkin and wiped off the counter, taking a sip of the sweet liquid.  

“You’re up awfully early. Is everything all right?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Jenna sat beside Grandma. “I just decided to get up early—that’s all.” 

“Right,” Grandma put down the puzzle and looked at her. “Does that explain why you’re as white as a sheet?” 

“Grandma—”

“I know you, remember?  You never get up before your alarm. Tell me what happened, sweetheart. Was it another bad dream?”

Jenna nodded, taking another sip of her juice.

“What was it about?” 

Jenna hesitated. “I don’t want to say,” she managed finally. “It was silly.” 

“Why don’t you tell me and I’ll tell you whether it’s silly or not.”

“Okay,” Jenna said.  “It was about the courtroom—I was sitting in there—the lawyer was questioning me and I couldn’t say anything—I couldn’t even move—and then Gary got up and came over—everyone was there but no one stopped him—and he was about to—” she swallowed, not wanting to think about what he’d been about to do.  “That’s when I woke up.” 

Grandma was silent for a moment. “Jenna, in the first place you’re going to be testifying by CCTV—you won’t even be inside the courtroom. And in the second place, if Gary even moved towards you your father would make sure that he never moved again.” 

“That’s why it was a silly dream,” Jenna said. “It had nothing to do with reality. I thought that I was past this—that I was strong enough to do this, or at least that’s the way I felt before—before the dream. But maybe I was wrong, you know? Maybe I’m not ready.” 

“There was nothing silly about the dream,” Grandma took Jenna’s hand.  “It’s just jitters—you know, like dreaming that you’re standing in front of your class in your underwear—sort of like stage fright.” 

“Stage fright? You’re sure?” 

“Of course—and everyone gets it. You know, I can remember how nervous your mother used to get before a play. Once I heard her reciting lines in her sleep.” 

That made sense—it made Jenna feel a little better to know that she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.  “But what can I do about it?”  

“Just breathe—try to focus, you’ve been practicing a lot so that’s good—that means you’ll be prepared.”   Grandma said.  “Just remember that all you have to do is tell the truth—and you know that better than anyone, right?” 

“Right.”  Jenna replied. “Is there anything else, though?” 

“Well—they sometimes tell people to imagine the audience in their underwear—”

“Grandma! I could never—” 

“You know, that’s the same reaction your mother had, but according to many experts it’s a proven technique.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t think I could do that—” the more Jenna thought about it—a whole courtroom filled with people in their underwear—Mr. Welling—Mr. Dutton— even Gary’s lawyer—a slight giggle escaped her lips. The bad feeling that she’d had since waking up from the dream began to lessen “But actually that would be kind of funny.” 

“Well, there you are you see—laughter is a very positive thing.”  Grandma gave Jenna’s hand a squeeze as she stood.  “How about if I make you some pancakes—I can even do the smiley face ones I did when you were little.” 

The sun was completely up now, filling the room with light—it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.  Jenna smiled.

“Smiley face pancakes would be great.” 

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Kenmore Middle School 

10:10 AM

“The essay can be on any subject you like,” Ms. Talbot told the class. “The only rules are that it must be typed, double-spaced and at least 1000 words. Now are there any questions?”  Terri raised her hand. “Yes, Terri—what would you like to know?” 

“What subject would you like us to write about?”  Terri asked. 

“I told you,” Ms. Talbot  replied. “Any subject you like is just fine with me.” 

“Okay,” Terri said. “But what subject exactly?”

The teacher gave a small sigh.  “That would be up to you, Terri.” 

“Told you she had trouble understanding English,” Lisa muttered to Jenna, who had to put both hands over her mouth to stop the giggles from erupting.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Lisa?”  Ms. Talbot asked sharply.

“No ma’am, I’m fine,” Lisa said. 

“I’m glad to hear it.”  Ms. Talbot walked over to the blackboard—the chalk squeaked slightly as she wrote across the board. “Your assignment is due next Friday, April the thirteenth—except for Jenna, who will be absent that day.  Jenna, you can turn yours in on the following Monday—the sixteenth. Will that be all right?” 

The teacher looked directly at her as she spoke—everyone turned to look at her. Jenna’s cheeks felt as warm as they had in her dream this morning.

“Yes, that’s all right.”  Jenna said.

Terri raised her hand again. “Why does Jenna get special treatment?  If she doesn’t turn it in on time shouldn’t she get a zero?” 

“There are circumstances, Terri,” Ms. Talbot replied. “That’s all you need to know.”

Circumstances.  Jenna stared hard at her hands clasped on the desk. What she wouldn’t give for a hole to open underneath her and swallow her up—take her away—

“What circumstances, exactly?” Terri asked. “I think we all deserve to know the reasons why.” 

“Well personally, I think that’s between Jenna and the school, Terri—I’m not saying any more.”  Ms. Talbot said. “Now if that’s settled, are there any more questions before you go on to your third period?” 

“No, it’s not settled,” Terri’s voice grew louder, filling the room. “I don’t think it’s fair, either—my Mom has friends on the school board—she’ll talk to them about this—”

“Dang,” Lisa whispered. “That girl does not know when to shut up.” 

“You can do that,” Ms. Talbot told Terri.  “But maybe you’d rather explain it to the Assistant Principal in after-school detention? From what I understand it wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“No, it wouldn’t,” a boy near the back of the back of the class spoke up. Someone giggled. Terri turned her head to look at Jenna—her blue eyes shooting daggers. Jenna glared right back. 

Ms. Talbot clapped her hands. “Class, that’s enough disruption—I mean it.” 

At that moment the classroom door opened. A tall girl with dark hair entered, handing Ms. Talbot a piece of paper. Ms. Talbot unfolded the paper and then looked up at Jenna. 

‘Please let her be looking at someone else, don’t let it be about me.’  Ms. Talbot seemed to open her mouth in slow motion—

“Jenna.”   Her heart dropped as the teacher said her name. “You’re needed in the Guidance Office—your parents are already there.” 

Her parents—what could be going on now?

“Don’t worry,” Lisa told her as Jenna gathered her stuff, rising from the desk. “I’ll save a seat for you in third period, okay?”  Jenna smiled at her friend.  Terri said nothing, but the smug look on her face spoke volumes. Jenna tried not to look at anybody else as she left the classroom and headed down the hall.

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“I don’t understand what the problem is.”  As Jenna approached the Guidance Office Door she could hear her father’s raised voice.  “You know what’s been going on here—it’s not like we haven’t kept you informed. So, why is this happening now, huh?”

“Mr. Stetson, listen to me.” Mrs. Brook’s voice was slightly lower—Jenna pressed her ear up against the door to listen.  “Given Jenna’s circumstances, we want this to work out just like you do. But the school district has certain regulations—” 

There it was. Did everything with her have to be a special circumstance?  A passing hall monitor gave Jenna a curious glance—she knew couldn’t keep eavesdropping in the doorway. Taking a deep breath Jenna pushed open the door. 

“There you are, Jenna—take a seat.”  Mrs. Brooks smiled at her. Jenna tried to smile back but wasn’t sure if she succeeded.

“Come here, sweetheart.”   Jenna sat down beside her mother—who put an arm around her, pulling her close. Part of Jenna felt slightly embarrassed—she was probably too old for this— but at the same time, her mother’s nearness was comforting.

“You’re probably wondering why you were called here,” Mrs. Brooks said.

Jenna nodded.  “Did I do something wrong?  Am I in trouble?” 

“No,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Absolutely not.”

Jenna looked at Mrs. Brook’s face—then at her dad—his expression was stony—the muscle in his jaw tightly clenched.  “Then what is it?” she asked.

Mrs. Brooks sighed.  “Unfortunately there is a rule about how many absences you can have—even if those absences are excused—you still have to be in school at least 180 days out of the year.” She shuffled through some papers as she spoke. “Even if you had perfect attendance starting now until the end of the year, Jenna—you will have only been here 158 days.” 

“It’s not her fault and you know it,” Dad practically bit off the ends of his words as he spoke.  “Jenna would’ve been here if she’d had a choice.”  

“Yes, I know that, Mr. Stetson,” Mrs. Brooks said. “But the point remains that this is the policy.”

“So what does that mean?”  Jenna asked. 

Mrs. Brooks hesitated. “It’s possible that you might have to repeat the seventh grade.” 

Repeat—her friends would go on to eighth and she’d be left by herself—Jenna felt suddenly cold—Mom’s arm tightened around her.

“Mrs. Brooks, doesn’t it count for something that Jenna’s made up all of her missed work?” Mom’s voice broke in.  “Her grades have been fairly solid—that should be taken into account.” 

“Believe me, Mrs. Stetson, I would agree with you,” Mrs. Brooks said. “But our policy regarding absences is zero-tolerance, which at the moment is a growing trend. It doesn’t allow for any exceptions.” 

“That’s just it, then, right?”  Dad said. “All of the work Jenna’s put in—it doesn’t count for anything—I mean, that’s what you’re telling us.”

“That’s not what I’m telling you,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Now,  I’ve looked over Jenna’s grades—they’re not perfect, but she has worked very hard and I think that she deserves promotion this year. I’m going to write a letter of appeal to the board.” 

“Will they consider it?”  Mom asked.

“They should—and of course there will be a vote,” Mrs. Brooks shuffled through a few more papers. “We might also be able to compromise—summer school might be an option.”   She handed Mom a pamphlet as she spoke.  “I can assure you that we’ll do our very best.” 

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Brooks.”  Mom took the pamphlet and tucked it in her purse

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“Sweetheart, we have to get back to work now,” Mom said as they left the counselor’s office. Her dark eyes looked into Jenna’s. “Will you be all right?” 

“Sure, I’m fine.”  Jenna hoped she sounded convincing. Her head was starting to throb—that hadn’t happened in a while. Dad placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll be back to pick you up later, okay?”  he said.  “The last courtroom session’s today.”

“I remember.”  How could she possibly forget?  Dad pulled her into a brief hug.

“We’ll deal with this, munchkin,” he told her. “And whatever happens—it’ll be all right.”

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Arlington County Courthouse

Office of the Commonwealth’s Attorney

4:30 PM

“Unfortunately, zero tolerance seems to be the order of the day.”  Dr. Pfaff took off his glasses, cleaning them with a small cloth he took from his pocket. “The school boards generally make these rules—and I’m afraid that it doesn’t leave teachers and administrators with much leeway.” 

“What else can we do?” Dad asked.

“At this point, all you can do is wait for the board to make their decision. The Guidance Counselor is on your side, which is good—the board might take that into account. I’ll write a letter of my own, explaining the reasons for the excused absences.” 

Letters sounded good to Jenna, but still— “Will they listen to you or Mrs. Brooks?” She asked Dr. Pfaff. 

“They should at least consider it,” Dr. Pfaff said. “But you’re worried about what will happen if they don’t make an exception.” Jenna gave a slight nod. He put his glasses back on—eyes peering at her.

“How would you feel about having to repeat the grade, Jenna—honestly?”  he asked. 

“Well,” Jenna twisted her fingers together as she spoke. “I’d miss everyone—my best friends would be ahead of me—I wouldn’t like being left behind.” 

“You would be able to keep in touch with your friends outside of school.”  Dr. Pfaff reminded her.  “They wouldn’t have to stop being your friends.” 

“Maybe,” Jenna said. “But it—it wouldn’t be the same. We wouldn’t have anything to share or anything in common—and plus they’d go on to high school without me.”

“Private school is always an option, munchkin.”  Dad told her. “That way you wouldn’t have to repeat.”

“I don’t know about that.” Jenna knew Dad was only trying to help, but the idea of having to start a whole new school with new teachers and kids who would be total strangers—

Dr. Pfaff broke in. “Personally, I think we should wait to see what the school board does before we make any other decisions. There’s no sense in Jenna worrying about things that may never happen.” 

“I agree,” Dad said. 

Mr. Dutton cleared his throat—he’d been standing in a corner all this time with Mr. Welling—so quiet that Jenna had almost forgotten he was there. “I hate to rush anyone along,” he said. “But we do need to start this session before it gets too much later.” 

“I’m ready.” Jenna said. As ready as she’d ever be. Dad gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Mr. Welling took his seat.

“When we left off you had just fallen asleep, correct?”  he asked her.

“No,” Jenna said. “I didn’t fall asleep. I passed out—I was drugged.” 

Mr. Welling blinked—he hadn’t expected her to catch that, Jenna realized—but she had.  She hadn’t let him put words in her mouth—she’d beaten him at his own game. . 

“What happened after you woke up?”  Mr. Welling asked.

“I sat up—I felt kind of dizzy but it wasn’t too bad—I looked at the glass and saw the white stuff at the bottom, like some kind of powder—all dried up and stuck to the glass.” 

“That’s what made you think there were drugs in the water.” 

“Yes.” 

“And after that?” 

“I—” Jenna tried to think back. “I looked at my watch—it was ten o’clock at night. I thought everyone was probably asleep—at least at home everyone would’ve been asleep at that time. I put the fork in my pocket—just in case.”

“In case of what?” 

“In case I had to defend myself.” 

“And after that you opened the door and went downstairs?” 

“That’s what I did.” Jenna could still recall the way her heart had sounded, pounding in her ears—so loud that she was sure she’d wake up the entire house—the feeling that any moment someone would find her—she had to move fast—

“Did you get outside?”  Mr. Welling asked.

“I did—I unlocked the door—that’s when I saw the cell phone.” 

“And you took the cell phone? Someone else’s cell phone?”

She couldn’t get defensive—couldn’t let him put her on the defensive. “Yes—I needed to call my parents—let someone know where I was so they could help me.” 

“What did you do when you got outside?” 

“I hid in the bushes—squatted down—opened the phone and dialed Dad’s number.”

“Did your father answer?”

“Yes, he asked me if I was all right, if I was hurt—I told him I was fine—that I’d gotten out.”

“Even though you weren’t completely fine? According to you, you’d already been hurt.”

“I was out, I thought that was the most important thing—it wasn’t like I was hurt so bad that I couldn’t do anything.” 

Not then, Jenna added silently.  Dad squeezed her hand again.

“So you told your dad you were fine and you were out—what then?” 

“He asked me where I was—I told him I didn’t know but that the man’s name was Gary Johnston—and then—”

“Then what?” 

“Gary was there—he was holding a gun on me—he grabbed the phone and told me to get back inside.” 

“And did you comply?”

Jenna shook her head. “No.” 

“Why not? You said before that you were afraid of him, afraid of the gun.”

“I still was afraid—and I was scared that if I went back in the house he’d do something worse than what he did before— Besides, I’d already gotten out of the house— and I wasn’t ready to give up yet.”

“I see. Tell me what you did.” 

“Pretended to wave at someone—when he turned around—I stabbed him with the fork and pushed him over.” 

“Where did you stab him?”

“In the arm.” 

“You realize you might have really hurt someone doing that.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody—I was scared. All I wanted to do was get away.” 

“Did you run?”

“Yes.”

Sock-covered  feet pounding against the concrete—lungs burning, legs straining—footsteps behind her—coming up fast—no, don’t think about him—look ahead—think ahead—adrenaline surging through her veins as she saw the street sign up ahead—if she could make it past the end of the block maybe she’d be safe—

It was weird—Jenna could remember what happened—the details— how frightened she had felt—but the feeling she used to have— like it was happening all over again—that was mostly gone. Jenna concentrated on her breathing, deep and even—keeping herself calm. 

“How far did you get?” Mr. Welling’s voice pulled Jenna back to the present.

“Not very far—he slammed into my back—tackled me—knocked me down.”

“Down on your stomach?”

“Yes—I hit my chest hard—it hurt—for a minute I couldn’t breathe.”

“What did he do next?” 

“He was on top of me—he put the gun to the back of my head—he told me that if I pulled any more tricks he’d blow it off.” 

“He’d blow what off?” 

“My head.” 

“You’re quite sure that’s what he meant?” 

“I’m sure. He had the gun pointed at my head.” 

Mr. Welling nodded approvingly. “That is a logical assumption.  Can you tell me what happened next?”

“He asked me if I understood him. I said yes and he pulled me up—put my arm behind my back and walked me back to his house.” 

“Did anyone else witness this exchange, Jenna? You know, like neighbors, dog-walkers, teenagers out at night—”

Jenna tried to think back.  “I don’t think so—at least—I mean, if there was anybody I didn’t see them. No one tried to help me or anything.” 

“So, he took you back to the house and then?” 

“Gary threw me down on the floor—I pulled myself up so I was sitting—looking up at him. He said I was going to pay for what I did to him.” 
 

“What did you think he meant by that, Jenna?” 

“That he was going to kill me.” 

“He could’ve meant any number of things.” Mr. Welling leaned towards her. “Don’t you agree?” 

For one second Jenna’s heart pounded slightly faster, but then it was gone—she looked Mr. Welling in the eye. “No, I don’t agree.” 

Another blink.  “Explain.” 

“He was still holding the gun.” 

“The same gun he’d had before, in the bedroom?”

“I don’t know.” 

“And you thought he was going to shoot you, is that right?”

“I knew he was going to shoot me.” 

“How did you know?” 

“Let me explain.” 

“Please do.” 

“I tried to back away but he laughed,” Jenna said. “He told me there was no where left to run—I said that I’d called my dad—that someone would be coming to help—he said that by that time it would be too late—he lifted the gun and pointed it straight at me.” 

“Did he actually fire at you?”

“No—Suzanne was there—she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away—told him to let me go—”

“Let her go, please! I’m begging you—” 

Jenna realized that Mr. Welling was still looking at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Gary threw Suzanne off,” she said. “He told her that it was the last time she’d interfere—then he aimed at her and shot her.” 

“You saw him shoot her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where on her body did he shoot her?” 

“Where—”  Jenna tried to think—all she could remember was blood on the front of Suzanne’s sweater—the pain in her eyes as she’d hit the wall and slumped down, blood smearing the wallpaper, pooling onto the floor—the overwhelming fear she’d felt—

Only memories—that’s what everyone had always told her—it was only now that they were actually starting to feel that way.

“Answer the question, Jenna,” Mr. Welling said. “Where exactly did Gary shoot Suzanne?” 

“It was the upper part of her body—I don’t know exactly where.” 

“Did you do anything?  Try to help her?” 

“No—my chest was really starting to hurt—I was too scared—I didn’t know what I could do.” 

Mr. Welling sighed. “Couldn’t you just answer yes or no?” 

“But it’s not just a yes or no question—and I’ve already answered..” 

“All right—tell me what Gary did next.”

“He knelt down beside me—ran the gun up my cheek.”  Jenna’s fingers traced her cheekbone as she spoke.  “Asked me if I wanted to go for a little ride.” 

“How did you answer him?”

“I didn’t—I was too scared to speak.” 

“But Gary didn’t shoot you then—did he?” 

“No—he hit me with the gun.” 

“Hit you where?” 

“On my forehead.” 

“Did you lose consciousness after he hit you?” 

“Yes.” 

“At what point did you regain consciousness?”

“I don’t know—everything kept going in and out—but I could feel him moving me around.” 

His blurred features floating before her—Jenna struggled to focus but the pain was too much—her head throbbed—something wet trickled down the side of her face—she wanted to move but she had no strength—

“—going to make you pay...”

“What do you mean, moving you around?”  Mr. Welling asked.

“He was pulling me by my leg and then he lifted me up—I tried to move on my own but I couldn’t—not very much.” 

“Is there anything else you remember?”

“Only what Gary kept telling me—that he was going to make me pay—make me regret what I did.” 

“And after that?”

This was going to be the hardest part, Jenna knew—if she could get through this the rest of the testimony would be a piece of cake—if she could.

Dad’s hand gave her own yet another squeeze—letting her know he was there. Jenna felt a confidence flow through her, filling her with certainty.  She could do this—look at what she’d survived—how far she’d come already—this wasn’t going to stop her. 

“After that I remember waking up,”  Jenna said. “I was lying in a car, on the seat.” 

“How do you know it was the seat of a car?” 

“I could hear the motor—feel the vibrations.” 

“Was the car still going—or had it stopped?”

“It was stopped—the door was open—I could feel a breeze.” 

“And you were lying on the seat?”  

“Yes?” 

“Were you lying on your back or your stomach?” 

“On my back.” 

“Was Gary there?” 

“He was—he was leaning over me.”  Jenna knew that Mr. Welling was going to ask how she knew that—she decided to head him off. “I could feel his breath on my face.” 

Looking into those eyes—Jenna had wanted to pull away from him—get away—the only problem was that there was nowhere to go—

In spite of everything Jenna still shivered at the memory—Dad’s grip tightened slightly. 

“Did he do anything else, Jenna?”  Mr. Welling asked.

“He wanted me to swallow something—kept trying to press it against my mouth.”

“You didn’t want to swallow it.” 

“No—I knew it was something bad.” 

“So, you didn’t swallow it, then?” 

“I had to, eventually—he grabbed my nose and squeezed it until I had to open my mouth to breathe—then he poured it in.” 

“Swallow it—swallow now or you’ll be sorry.” 

The liquid trickled down her throat as she’d swallowed—the bitter taste coating her tongue—Jenna had fought the urge to retch—not now, not in front of him—her stomach lurched as she’d  fought to swallow the stuff down—coughing—chest convulsing--

“What did you think you were swallowing?” 

“I don’t know—but it tasted bad and I felt so sick.” 

“Do you think it could’ve been some sort of drug?” 

“Probably—it made me feel bad—I felt so dizzy.” 

“Did it feel like the same drug you’d been given earlier?”

“It’s possible, but I can’t say because I don’t know for sure.” 

“So he drugged you—what happened next?” 

“He grabbed my wrist and twisted it—it hurt—I cried out—and he unbuckled my watch—said I wouldn’t need it where I was going.” 

“Where you were going? Those were the words he used?” 

“Those were the words.”  

“Exactly what did you think he meant by that?” 

“That he was going to kill me.” 

“Jenna—” Mr. Welling rose from his chair. He strode in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. “He might have meant any number of things—don’t you agree?”

Jenna shook her head.  “He meant that—he had already hurt me and tried to shoot me—he’d shot Suzanne.” 

“But why drug you?”  Mr. Welling asked. “Why do that when you were already hurt? Does that make any sense to you?” 

“Yes. He wanted to hurt me—frighten me—the drug was a way to do that.”  Jenna remembered the terrifying feeling of  everything spinning—like when she was little—arms out, spinning until she fell and then closing her eyes—feeling the rotation of the earth—only worse—much worse—this time if the world tilted too much she would go sliding off with it—

“Pure speculation, Miss Stetson—that’s all you have.”

Jenna kept her voice very calm. “No, Gary—his actions showed how he wanted to hurt me. I don’t think I’m speculating about that.” 

“Very well,” Mr. Welling said.  “Tell me what he did then.”

“He lifted up my sweater—I could see a knife.” 

“What did he do with the knife?” 

“He cut my belt off—pulled it out of my jeans.” 

“We don’t want anyone to identify you---at least not for a while.”

“Why did he do that—cut off your belt?” 

“He told me that he didn’t want anything to identify me.” 

“You clearly remember him saying that?” 

“I remember.” 

“Even though you were drugged and probably confused?” 

“Even then—I know what I heard.”

“And did you do anything? Say anything at all?”

“I told him no—told him not to do that—he called me Marcie—he told me I was bad—that I wouldn’t listen to my father..” 

“He called you Marcie?  Why would he do that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“What did you tell him?”  

“That I wasn’t Marcie—and he wasn’t my Dad—I told him my name was Jenna.” Something in Jenna wanted to rush, get through this but she couldn’t—she knew she couldn’t—instead she concentrated on breathing in and out— her legs trembled slightly but it wasn’t too bad.  “That’s when he put his hand on my stomach.” 

“Where on your stomach?”

Jenna put her hand on the spot.  “Here.”

“Right below your ribs—you’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

“One hand or two hands?”

Jenna thought back. “Two hands.” 

“Why did he do that?” 

“Because he said he wanted to teach me a lesson about my name.” 

“What kind of a lesson?”

“He asked me what my name was. I didn’t answer at first—the room was starting to spin.” 

“Do you think what was because of the drugs?” 

“Probably— but I don’t know—my head was hurt too—that could’ve had something to do with it.” 

“You’re still sure that you were drugged.” 

He was trying to make her doubt herself now, Jenna realized. She wasn’t going to let him do that. “Yes I’m still sure.”

“How did he react when you didn’t answer at first?” 

“He just –he kept asking me to say it—say my name. Finally I told him that I was Jenna. That’s when he—”

“When he what?” 

“Gary—his hands pressed down on my chest—my ribs were already sore, and he pressed down really hard —he said that he would take the pain away if I told him I was Marcie.” 

A pain so bad that it had blocked everything else out—Jenna was unable to form coherent thoughts—to see anything beyond the pain. For just a moment she had hoped that he would kill her—end it there and make everything stop—

Even thinking about it made Jenna’s chest ache—but she was still here—still able to get through it.

“What did you do at that point?” Mr. Welling leaned over her suddenly.  Jenna looked up at him.

“I gave in, I guess— told him I was Marcie. I begged him to stop—I just wanted the pain to stop.” 

There was silence for a few moments. Mr. Welling sat back down in his chair.  He stared at her, his expression unreadable.

“Why do you think that he did that to you?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You sure that he actually did that? You’d been drugged, you were very weak—you could’ve imagined it—like a nightmare.” 

“No.” 

“Come, on, Jenna—It’s possible—anything’s possible.” 

“No, it’s not,” Jenna was surprised at the confidence in her voice—she looked Mr. Welling directly in the eye as she spoke. “I didn’t imagine it—I had never felt a pain as bad as that before—I couldn’t imagine that.” 

“Did he stop after you told him you were Marcie?”

“Yes.” 

“What then?” 

“Noises—I don’t know what they were. I think he left for a moment—came back—he had rope and he tied my arms and legs—after that I blacked out.” 

“And after that?” 

“I was bent over the hump on the floor of the backseat—on my stomach. Everything kept going in and out—my chest hurt—and my head.” 

“How long did you drive? How far?”

“I don’t know. Everything was fuzzy.” 

“Did Gary speak to you during that trip?” 

“After he realized that I was awake he did—he said it was almost over for me.” 

“How did you respond?” 

“I said I just wanted to go home—he said that I whined—just like Marcie—that he thought I would be different, but he was wrong.” 

“What did you think he meant when he talked about Marcie?”

“That he had killed her—that’s what I told him.”

“You accused him of murdering his daughter?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

“And did he confess?” 

“He said that he had ‘returned’ her—called her ‘defective merchandise’.” 

“You’re certain that those were the words he used?”  

“I’m certain.” 

“He didn’t actually say murder, though—did he?”

“He said that murder was an ugly word—he preferred to think he ‘returned’ her.”
 

“What next?” 

“We stopped—he said we were at High Knob Lake—pulled me up—asked me if I was excited.  Then he put a piece of duct tape on my mouth—he said that it was so no one would hear me scream.”

“The rescue must have happened shortly after that point, correct?” 

“Yes, it did—there was a click—Dad told him to put me down—Gary—he threw me down and then Mom was there.”

Silence—Jenna looked at the clock—a quarter after six. Where had all the time gone? Dad’s hand continued to hold her own tightly.  Mr. Dutton was the first to speak.

“Jenna, that was incredible—you did very well.”  

Jenna stood slowly—her legs were still a bit wobbly but they supported her—Dad had her arm as she rose. “Thanks—I still felt a little shaky in places.”  

“It’s fine to feel shaky in places,” Mr. Welling added.  “You’ve been through a harrowing experience, Jenna—the Jury will expect you to show some emotion. But you didn’t fall apart—even when I leaned over you.  You held your own and that’s very good.” 

“Now we won’t be going into that level of detail in the hearing, Jenna,” Mr. Dutton told her. “We’ll just basically be outlining the testimony we need to establish probable cause for the kidnapping and then attempted murder—and introducing some of the evidence as well.”  

“But the trial will be comprehensive, right?” 

“Right. How do you feel now—about doing that?”

How did she feel?  “I feel better about it,” Jenna said. “I mean, I still feel a little nervous, but I guess that’s natural—Grandma called it stage-fright.”  

“That’s very normal, munchkin,” Dad told her.

“Yeah. But I don’t feel as nervous as I was—I don’t feel like I’ll have a flashback or freeze or anything like that.  I feel okay about it.”

“Okay is good,” Dr. Pfaff said. “And for this next week I want you to just relax—maybe do something fun—try to take your mind off things as much as you can. Dwelling on it, will only make you nervous, okay?”

“We have some things in mind,” Dad said.

“I’ll see you next Friday, Jenna.”  Mr. Dutton told her.

TBC