*The usual disclaimers apply—a big thank you to Ermintrude for the title and for all of her help with the story and also with all the technical things regarding CCTV—Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy—the trial will be coming  shortly ;) *

Some Justice—Part Thirteen—Conclusion

4247 Maplewood Dr.

Friday, April 13, 2001

6:40 AM

“It's been one week since you looked at me

Cocked your head to one side

and said "I'm angry"

Five days since you laughed at me saying

Get that together, come back and see me"

The music filled Jenna’s head as she sat on the edge of her bed, pulling up her pantyhose. Usually, it would’ve been relaxing—this was her favorite song—but this morning the noise was just—grabbing the remote she turned the CD player off.

‘I have to calm down,’ Jenna thought. She concentrated on her breathing—in and out slowly—trying to steady her trembling hands and the wobbly feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach.

Today was the day.

It wasn’t like it was a surprise.  Jenna had become accustomed to marking off on her calendar—thinking about it—mentally planning what she would do.

‘Four days to go—three days to go---two days—one—

No more planning—no more days to go—nothing else to do because it was happening now—it was here— Jenna pictured herself harnessed, locked into the ride as it clicked slowly up the hill—

‘Too late to turn back now—’

“Damn!” the word burst from her lips as her nail caught and snagged the pantyhose, tearing a hole. Tears filled Jenna’s eyes as she peeled the hose off, balled it up and threw it across the room. Breathing hard now, she put her hands over her face, fighting for control.

“Sweetheart?” Mom’s voice. There was a gentle tap on the door. “Your father went to Marvin’s—he got you some breakfast—that croissant sandwich you like.” 

“I’m really not—” Jenna wiped at her eyes-- trying to hold her voice steady—mom didn’t need to know that she was falling apart. “—not really hungry right now, okay?”

“But you need to try and eat something—it’s going to be a long morning—I don’t know if they’ll have any snacks at the courthouse.” 

“I’m not hungry, though—seriously.”  Silence for a moment—maybe Mom had left—There was a slight creak as the door opened.

“Jenna? What’s—” Mom stood there, looking at her. Jenna could only guess what her face must look like.

“I’m sorry,” Jenna choked out. “I just—”

“Oh, Sweetheart.”  In two strides Mom was seated beside her on the bed, her arm around Jenna, rubbing her back soothingly.  “It really is all right—you’ll be just fine—here you go.”  Reaching across to Jenna’s nightstand she handed her a tissue.

“It’s not all right,” the words poured out—Jenna crumpled the tissue in her hand. “Look at me—I’m shaking and I can’t stop—my stomach feels sick—I ripped my—my pantyhose—I’m just a wreck—how am I going to do this today if I’m a wreck?” 

“It’s just nerves—” Mom patted her shoulder and stood, going over to Jenna’s dresser and opening the top drawer. “Look, I got you two pairs just in case that happened—it happens to me all the time.” 

Jenna blew her nose. “Thanks, Mom.  I know this is only stage fright—I just didn’t expect to feel quite this bad. I’ve been getting ready for this—I know I’m ready—but still—”

“It’s still different when it’s actually here.”

Her thoughts exactly. Jenna nodded in agreement as she tore at the plastic cover for the hose, unfolding them from the cardboard insert and pulling them on—more carefully this time. She stood as she pulled them the rest of the way up and then pulled her skirt on, fastening the waistband and tucking the blouse into the skirt. Jenna slid her feet into a pair of loafers with low heels and grabbed her hairbrush from the vanity.   

“Here, sweetheart, sit down—let me.”  Jenna handed Mom the brush and sat down at her vanity.

“You haven’t brushed my hair since I was in elementary school,” she reminded her.

“Well, I know—but today is special.” 

Mom brushed through Jenna’s almost shoulder-length hair smoothly—even when her hair was tangled, Jenna never remembered Mom pulling, not even once. She watched them together, reflected in the mirror—watched herself—she felt her body relax, the shaking beginning to calm a little under the gentle touch.

“Listen to me,” Mom began. “Even when you’re prepared, stage fright is perfectly normal. I can remember when I was your age—I was in the citywide spelling bee.”

“You were?”

“Yes I was—I won the school-wide spelling bee so they sent me on to the city. Mother and I must have studied every single night—we had a little book of words, and I swear I memorized every single word in there.” 

“Wow—you must have been really excited about it.”

Mom smiled. “Oh yeah. It was at the convention center—it was all going to be televised—all the kids at my school were going to watch—I even got a new outfit for the occasion—just like you did. But do you know what I did—the morning of the spelling bee?” 

“What did you do?” 

“I remember that I got up—looked at my calendar—looked at the outfit hanging from my doorknob—and suddenly my stomach—anyway, I made a run for the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and threw up. That’s how nervous I was.” 

“How did you do at the spelling bee?” 

“Well—I didn’t win—but once I got past my nerves, I made it to the tenth round,” Mom paused. “I know your situation is very different. You’re going through things that I couldn’t have even imagined at your age—but you’re not alone—your feelings are very normal. I know you can do this today.”

“I know I can do this too,” Jenna repeated.  She looked at her face in the mirror. Even under the nervousness could see confidence. “I’ll be okay—won’t I?” 

Mom put down the brush and enfolded her in a hug.  “Yes, you will. Why don’t you go downstairs and at least eat some of your breakfast, okay? We’ll be leaving in twenty minutes”  

“Okay.”  Jenna’s stomach was still a little wobbly-feeling, but at the same time she realized that it was rumbling.  “Thanks, Mom.”

Office of the Assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney

2100 Clarendon Blvd

7:20 AM

“How are you doing this morning, Jenna?”   Mr. Dutton asked as they entered the office.

“Fine.”  Jenna recognized Mr. Welling, standing beside Mr. Dutton—she didn’t know the other man or the blond woman. “Maybe a little nervous.” 

“That’s very normal, believe me,” Mr. Dutton replied. “You look very nice today—the skirt and blouse are very appropriate.” 

“Thanks,” Jenna said.

“While we’re here, Jenna, I’d like introduce you to the rest of your team. You already know Mr. Welling, of course—and this is Mr. Bryson and Ms. Dunbar—they’ll be assisting us today.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Jenna shook their hands. Her team—she had to admit that the whole thing still made her feel a little weird.

“Did you have a good breakfast?” Mr. Dutton asked her. “If not, we can always get you something.” 

“I already ate, actually,” Jenna said. “But thank you.”  

Mr. Dutton smiled. “No problem.”  He indicated the sofa.  “If you all would have a seat—I’d like to go over the evidence that I’ll be asking you for, Jenna—and also the evidence that I’ll be presenting. I don’t want you to have any shocks or surprises today. ” 

“I understand.”  Jenna sat down—Mom and Dad sat on either side. “You said that we’re not going over the evidence in detail, right?” 

“That’s right,” Mr. Welling spoke up. “We’ll only be introducing enough evidence to establish probable cause that a crime was committed. So the testimony we’ll require from you mainly concerns the kidnapping itself as well as the attempted murder.”

“You mean in the car when he said he was going to kill me?” Jenna asked. “Or when he pointed the gun at me back in the house?” 

“Not precisely, though those things do establish intent and premeditation.”  Mr. Dutton said.  “The murder attempt is what happened in the car.”

The car—no matter how much they had discussed it—it was still—Jenna still felt a slight shudder pass through her at the memory. “You mean when he drugged me and pressed down on my chest?”

“That’s what I mean,” Mr. Dutton nodded.

“But I don’t know if he was trying to actually kill me then,” Jenna said. “I think he just wanted to hurt me.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” the woman, Ms. Dunbar, replied. “The drug he gave you was not intended for children, the dosage you took was much higher than recommended, especially when you still had drugs in your system from earlier.  That alone could’ve killed you. And when combined with the pressure that he applied to your chest, you’re very lucky to still be alive.” 

Jenna remembered that moment, the feelings—the intense nausea, the dizziness—sharp pain—so intense that for a moment she’d actually wished for death. Dad took Jenna’s hand in his, squeezing gently.  “Do we have evidence for that—I mean other evidence except just me?” 

“Yes,” Mr. Dutton replied. “We have toxicology tests, hair and fiber samples from the backseat of his car—x-rays and photographs of the injury to your chest—there’s a lot of bruising, but the imprint of Gary’s hands is visible in the photograph. We’ll be introducing this evidence as you’re speaking.”

“That’s basically all I’ll be testifying about?” Jenna asked.  “What about Marcie—what he said he did to her?”  The lawyers were silent for a moment—staring at one another.  “What is it?” 

Mr. Welling cleared his throat.  “At this time we’re still trying to gather evidence to prove the murder charge—what he told you isn’t actually solid evidence. So, while we won’t be bringing that up at the hearing, we will be hoping to introduce more evidence at the Grand Jury to substantiate that charge.”

“So she is—Marcie’s dead?”  Everyone nodded.  Jenna bit down hard on her lower lip. Part of her had known this—known it deep down, but still, actually hearing about it was—she thought about Marcie with Gary—the way that Gary treated her—what he must have done to his own daughter—

“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, munchkin,” Dad said. “It’s just—we thought you had enough to worry about without adding more to it.”

“No—it’s okay, really,” Jenna could hear a tremor in her voice, but she managed to keep it under control. “I guess I just didn’t think about it.” 

“The most important thing to think about is that if we play this right, this man will be never be allowed to hurt anyone else ever again,” Mr. Dutton told her. “Do you have any other questions?”  Mr. Dutton asked.

Did she? Part of Jenna wanted to ask how Marcie had died, but the other part—

‘Maybe I don’t really want to know.’ 

“No,” she said out loud.  “I don’t have any other questions right now.” 

“Very good,” Mr. Dutton looked at his watch. “We’re going to take my car and we’ll be entering the courthouse through the underground parking garage—that way we’ll be able to dodge the press.” 

Jenna rose from the sofa—Mom and Dad stood too. “But I thought the press wasn’t allowed.” 

“They’re not allowed in the courtroom, Jenna,” Mr. Dutton told her. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t be camped outside the courthouse. But with any luck we’ll be able to avoid most of them.” Another glance at his watch. “We really should get going before it gets too much later.”

SMK SMK SMK SMK 

Mr. Dutton’s car was practically a limo—it still had that new car smell—idly Jenna fingered the black leather—wondering whether it was new or if he just had it cleaned a lot. She knew that Dad washed his Corvette at least once a week, but Dad’s car was definitely older than this.

Almost there—the light changed to green and they turned onto North Courthouse Road. Through the window’s tinted glass Jenna could see a large number of people parked out front—vans, people with microphones. Mr. Dutton certainly hadn’t been kidding when he talked about the press.

“Hey—you all right, munchkin?”  Dad asked her softly. 

“I’m okay—really.”  Jenna told him. “I guess I’m just thinking.” 

“Just remember that I’ll be with you the whole time,” Dad said. “You won’t be alone.” 

Jenna tried to smile. “I know.” 

At that moment Mom’s cell phone rang—she took it out of her pocket and flipped it open.

“Hello,” she said.  There was a brief pause. “Oh, I’m so glad you both made it—yes, she’ll be very glad.” 

“Mom, who—” Jenna started to ask, but Mom waved her hand. 

“For the weekend?  That’s fantastic, sweetheart. Yes—yes she’s right here, I’ll put her on right now.”  Mom handed Jenna the phone.

“Hello?”  Jenna said. 

“Hey, Jenna—it’s Phillip—how are you doing?”

It seemed like everyone had asked her that this morning.  “I’m doing okay,” Jenna told him. 

“I’m glad,” Phillip said. “I just wanted to let you know that me and the Wormbrain—”

“Knock it off, doofus.” Jamie’s voice. Jenna felt a smile spreading across her face. 

“Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Phillip said.  “I just wanted to let you know that we’ll  be at the hearing—I don’t know if you’ll be able to see us on camera, but we’ll definitely be there—we’ll be sitting beside Mom and Grandma.” 

“Thanks,” Jenna’s throat felt suddenly tight.  “It really—it means a lot.”

“We’re family,” Phillip said. “There’s no way we’d let you go through this alone. See you after—okay?  Maybe we’ll all go out and celebrate.”

“Maybe—see you after—I love you—tell Jamie I love him.” The car was pulling into the darkness of the underground garage—the security guard waved them on through.

“We love you too, Jenna—talk to you later.”  

“Bye.”  Jenna whispered. She closed the phone and gave it back to Mom, who reached over and gave her a hug. 

“Remember what I said, okay?”  Mom told her. “I know you can do this.” 

Arlington County Courthouse

9:10 AM 

“Here you go, Jenna,” Barbara said. “Sit still now.”

Jenna sat very still as Barbara looped the cord around the microphone clip and then clipped it to the front of her blouse, right near her collar—the microphone part was pointing toward her mouth. Barbara was wearing headphones, Jenna noticed—she guessed it was probably so she could hear the people in the booth. 

“There,” Barbara said as she tucked the cord into the waistband of Jenna’s skirt. “How’s that?” 

“It’s fine,” Jenna said.  “Who else gets a microphone?” 

“Everyone the court needs to hear—and you’ll be able to hear everyone in the courtroom,” Barbara replied. “That means you, the Judge and the attorneys—everyone who’ll be speaking today.” 

“Oh. I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it?”  Jenna knew that probably sounded really lame, but she tended to chatter when she was nervous.

“Now I’m going to need to run a sound check—just like I did with Mr. Dutton,” Barbara told her. “The people up in the booth will test your audio levels.” 

“What do I need to do?”

“Just count from one to ten—slowly.”  

“One—two—three—four—five,” Jenna counted as slowly as she could.  “Six—seven—eight—nine—ten.” 

Barbara nodded. “Perfect.”  The woman straightened. Jenna watched as she stood behind the camera momentarily, making some slight adjustments—she checked the VCR below the monitor. 

Jenna looked down at her watch. Thirteen minutes after nine—not long now. She drew in a deep breath and held it before letting it out slowly, visualizing a balloon slowly deflating, growing flatter. 

‘Relax…relax…relax…’ she thought. Dad took her hand, letting her know without words that she wasn’t alone.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you.” 

A man’s voice. Startled, Jenna looked up to see the owner of that voice—a   tall thin man with piercing grey eyes and hair so blond it was nearly white.

“I thought I’d just introduce myself, Jenna” the man said. “My name is Dennis Baylor—it’s nice to meet you at last.”

“You too, Mr. Baylor.”  Jenna didn’t know what else to say to him—the butterflies in her stomach started to hop —Dad’s grip tightened slightly around her hand.

“And this is your guardian ad litem, correct?”  Mr. Baylor asked. “Or is victim advocate the right word?”

Jenna stared at the man in confusion. “My what?” 

Dad let go of her hand and slowly stood, practically nose to nose with Mr. Baylor. “This is Jenna’s father—Lee Stetson.” 

“Well—it’s certainly nice to meet you too, Dad.” Mr. Baylor extended his hand but Dad ignored it.  Mr. Baylor withdrew his hand and turned back to Jenna.

“Now Jenna— I know that all this must be very strange for you,” Mr. Baylor smiled condescendingly.  “The whole situation is so confusing. If I were in your shoes I wouldn’t know what to say or do.” 

“It’s not confusing, Mr. Baylor. I’m going to tell the truth.”  Jenna spoke quietly. Mr. Baylor’s neck flushed a deep red color—without another word he walked away and sat down at the other end of the table. Barbara began putting a mike on him, repeating the same process she had with Jenna.

“Good job,” Dad said. 

“I didn’t mean to be rude or anything.”  Jenna struggled to explain her feelings.  “But he was just—”

“You weren’t rude, Jenna,” Mr. Dutton said, not looking up from his file folder as he spoke. “You simply asserted yourself, and you have every right to do so.” 

“It’s just that I don’t understand what he was doing,” Jenna said. 

Dad spoke—hardly moving his lips—he was looking over at Mr. Baylor.  “What he was trying to do was psyche you out—and you didn’t let him. You did very well.” 

Trying to psyche her out—the hearing hadn’t even started and they were already playing games. Jenna fiddled nervously with her mike, trying to breathe normally. Her legs shook—she pressed them together tightly—thankful that no one else could see under the table.  She stared at the camera right in front of her—and the monitor, which was already on. Despite her earlier vows not to look at it, Jenna found her eyes drawn to the screen. 

Everyone looked so tiny—from here she could see everyone—Mom, Grandma, Phillip and Jamie—even Billy and Francine were there.  Jenna hadn’t known they were coming, but it made her feel good to have them there.  She could see Mr. Welling too, seated at a table with Mr. Bryson and Ms. Dunbar—their heads were bent over the table, probably going over something dealing with the case, Jenna guessed.

He was there. She had known he would be, but seeing him was still—

He wore a grey suit with a red tie—his dark hair neatly combed. The Bailiff, the one who had sworn her in earlier, led him into the courtroom. Gary sat down next to a portly man with thinning grey hair—Jenna guessed that was part of his defense team. Suddenly Gary looked up—his eyes focusing on the monitor—directly on her.

‘He can see me—oh God—’ Jenna felt paralyzed—his eyes were so icy—she couldn’t look away—her heartbeat echoed in her ears, drowning out all other noises. Gary’s lips turned up in a faint smile.

“He looks so small from here, doesn’t he?”  Dad’s voice sounded right next to her ear.

“Yeah,” Jenna managed to speak. “He does, it’s just—he still scares me. I try not to be but I still am.”

“Well that’s normal, munchkin.”  Dad took her hand. “Just remember this time you’re not facing him alone.”

“And I’m in control—right?”  Jenna asked.

“That’s right.” 

“He can’t hear us—can he?” 

“No,” Dad told her. “Not yet.” 

Jenna looked at him again. Down at him—this time she was the one looking down—and actually that felt pretty good.  Dad gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. 

“We’re ready to go,” someone said.  “Five—four—three—”

‘Too late to turn back now,’ Jenna watched the monitor as the judge approached the bench and sat down. .

“All rise,”  The Bailiff said. Jenna wondered if she should rise too—Mr. Dutton looked at her and shook his head. “The Preliminary Hearing in the matter of Johnston versus the Commonwealth of Virginia is called to order. The Honorable Judge Watson presiding. The parties have been sworn in, Your Honor.”

“You may be seated,” the Judge said.  “I will now hear the opening statements. Mr. Welling?” 

Mr. Welling cleared his throat.  “Your Honor, I have evidence here that  on the morning of January 26, 2001, Gary Johnston forcefully abducted eleven-year-old Jenna Leigh Stetson from her home, and that two days later he physically assaulted her—an assault which could’ve easily resulted in her murder, which was his intent. We intend to present both testimonial and forensic evidence which proves probable cause for our assertions—and should result in this case being certified to a Grand Jury.  Thank you.” 

“Mr. Barker?”  The judge said.

The man beside Gary Johnston stood.  “Your honor—what happened here, while undoubtedly a terrifying experience for young Miss Stetson, was a clear case of mistaken identity, for which my client is very remorseful. Furthermore—the charges of an assault which may have led to murder is a completely spurious charge. We hold that there is not sufficient evidence to certify this case to a grand jury—and we move for the charges to be dropped and call for the immediate release of Gary Johnston, who is not only an elected councilman, but a respected member of the community. Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” the Judge said. “I will now hear the case for the prosecution.”  

“Your honor, the prosecution would like to call Jenna Leigh Stetson to the stand,” Mr. Welling said. “Miss Stetson is testifying via two-way closed circuit television, and will be questioned by Mr. Dutton, the Commonwealth’s Attorney.” 

It was here—Jenna drew in a deep breath and slowly released it as Mr. Dutton turned to face her. 

“Jenna, can you tell us in your own words what happened to you on the morning of January 26?” 

“Yes,” Jenna said. “I was walking home from school—we had let out early because of the snow.” 

“I see,” Mr. Dutton nodded.  “About what time was that? “

“Well we let out at eleven, and it usually takes about fifteen minutes to walk home.” 

“So, some time between eleven and twelve.” 

“Yes.” 

“Was anyone with you?” 

“My friend Lisa was there for a little bit, but then she needed to get home so she left.”

“When did she leave you?”

“About a block from my house—I thought since it was only a block it would be okay.” 

“That makes sense. So you walked the rest of the way home by yourself, is that correct?” 

So far this seemed pretty easy—Jenna let herself relax a bit.  “That’s correct.” 

“Did you see anything or anyone while you were walking?”  

“Yes—I saw a black van.”  

Mr. Welling broke in.  “Your Honor, we have evidence here showing that Gary Johnston is listed as the owner of a 1997 Ford Econoline Van, Color Black, with tinted windows and License Plate WRD 7173. We also have forensic evidence which places Jenna Stetson at that scene, and that her hair was cut and dyed there.” Jenna watched the monitor as Mr. Welling handed the bailiff a stack of papers, which the bailiff gave to the judge.  There was silence—Jenna heard papers rustling. 

“Thank you Mr. Welling,” the judge replied. “Mr. Dutton, please continue.” 

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mr. Dutton said.  “Jenna, was the black van driving towards you or away from you?” 

“Away from me.”

“Was there anything else you noticed about the van?” 

“Only that the lights were on.” 

“I see. And why didn’t you notice anything else?” 

“I was cold—I just wanted to get inside where it was warm.” 

“Tell me what happened next.” 

“I got inside the house, hung up my backpack and called out to my Mom.” 

“Did she answer?” 

“No.”

“What happened next?” 

“I—someone grabbed me from behind—put a cloth over my face.” Jenna could hear a slight tremble in her voice. She tried not to focus on the monitor, but it didn’t matter—she could feel Gary’s eyes—she knew he would be looking at her.

“What kind of a cloth?” 

“It was white—it smelled strange—a sweet smell.” 

“Did you try to get away?” 

“I tried to, but he was too strong—everything got blurry and I passed out.” 

“And who was the man who took you?”

“Gary Johnston.” 

“That man right there?”  Mr. Dutton asked. “You’re certain of that?”

She had to look—Jenna breathed deeply and evenly as she focused on his face on the monitor. For a moment she flashed back to the nightmare—there she’d been frozen, unable to move or speak—but now—

“I’m certain,”  Jenna was surprised by the strength in her own voice.  “Gary Johnston was the one who kidnapped me.” 

“At this time, Your Honor—we would like to introduce forensic evidence proving that chloroform was used in the doorway of 4247 Maplewood Drive,” Mr. Welling said. “And also the toxicology results, which show that Jenna had traces of that same drug in her bloodstream.”  More evidence—more rustling papers—maybe it was just nerves but it seemed like an eternity before the Judge spoke again, ordering Mr. Dutton to continue. 

“When you woke up, Jenna—where exactly were you?”  Mr. Dutton asked.

“I was in a bedroom—not my own bedroom.”  Mr. Dutton didn’t say anything, so Jenna just continued. “I was locked in there—the door was locked and the windows were boarded shut—I tried to get out and I couldn’t.”  

“And was the bedroom inside Gary Johnston’s home?” 

“Yes it was.”  

“How long were you held there?” 

“From Friday to Saturday night.” 

“Did Mr. Johnston visit you during that time?” 

“Yes.” 

“How many times?” 

“Once.”

“Did he assault you physically during that time?” 

“Yes—he hit me, twice.” 

“And why did he hit you, exactly?” 

“Because I said that my name was Jenna Leigh Stetson, not Marcie Ann Johnston.”

“He wanted you to say that your name was Marcie Johnston?” 

“Yes.”  

“Did you comply?” 

“Yes—I didn’t want to be hit again.” 

Mr. Dutton nodded. “Perfectly understandable. Did Mr. Johnston feed you during that time?” 

“There was dinner on Friday night—he wanted me to eat but I felt too sick.” 

“What did he do when you didn’t want to eat?” 

“He kicked the tray—everything broke and splattered on the wall.”  Looking at the monitor Jenna saw Gary shake his head and speak to the man beside him.  What were they saying? A cold feeling began to grow inside her gut.  Dad had her hand now—he squeezed.

“Did he give you anything else to eat or drink during that time?” 

“He gave me a glass of water.” 

“I see. And what happened when you drank the water?” 

“I felt dizzy—I passed out on the bed.” 

“Passed out?  Do you think the water was drugged?”  

Jenna nodded. “I do.”  

“Why do you think that?” 

“Because I suddenly felt so dizzy and tired—and when I woke up later, I saw white stuff in the bottom of the glass.”  

“Like a powder?” 

“Yes—it was stuck to the bottom.” 

“Your Honor, if you look at the toxicology report you will see that there was a large amount of Chloral Hydrate in her bloodstream—so large that it had to have been used at least twice.”

“Why at least twice, Mr. Welling?”  the Judge asked. 

“Because if she’d been given that large of a dosage all at once, it would’ve killed her.” 

“Noted, Mr. Welling,” the Judge said.  “Mr. Dutton, please continue.”  

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mr. Dutton said, turning back to Jenna.  “Did you make any escape attempt during that time?” 

“I made one attempt.” 

“How did you try to escape?” 

“I stuck a napkin the door so it wouldn’t lock—after I woke up from the drug it was ten o’clock at night—I went downstairs, took his cell phone and left.” 

“Why did you take his cell phone?”

“So I could call for help.” 

“Were you able to make that call?” 

“Yes—I called my Dad and told him where I was.” 

“But your escape attempt was not successful, was it?” 

“No,” Jenna could hear a slight tremor in her voice. She fought to keep it under control. “He found me, took the phone, told me to come inside. I stabbed his arm with a fork that I’d found earlier and ran, but he tackled me from behind—he had a gun and dragged me back inside.” 

“He held a gun on you?” 

“He had held a gun on me before—back in the bedroom, before he hit me, but it was different this time.”

“In what way was it different?” 

Jenna could feel Gary’s gaze on her. “This time he was really going to shoot me.”

“And did he shoot you?” 

“No—Suzanne, his wife—she stopped him—he shot her instead.” 

The man seated beside Gary Johnston—Mr. Barker—stood. “Objection, Your Honor—I’d like to point out that at this juncture our client is not being charged with the shooting of Suzanne Johnston, since she has refused to press charges or identify her assailant. I move that this statement be stricken from the record.” 

“Your honor, these are merely Miss Stetson’s recollections and intended to show Mr. Johnston’s clear intent to murder this girl,” Mr. Welling replied. “It is not about what Mr. Johnston may or may not have done to his wife.” 

“Noted. Objection overruled.”  The Judge said. “Mr. Dutton?”

“Thank you, your honor.”  Mr. Dutton said.  “Jenna—did Mr. Johnston shoot you?”  

“No—he hit me on the forehead with the gun and knocked me out.” 

“Did you lose consciousness?” 

“Yes.” 

“For how long?” 

“I don’t know—everything kept going in and out.” 

“When you came back to consciousness where were you?” 

“In the back seat of a car—Gary was leaning over me—I could feel his breath on my face.” 

“What did Gary do?” 

Gary was smiling now—oh God—he was enjoying this.  Dad’s grip tightened on her hand.  “He—um—he forced me to drink something—he squeezed my nose and I had to open my mouth and he poured it down my throat—it was bitter—it tasted really bad.” 

“Do you think it was a drug?” 

“Yes.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Because it made me feel sick—like everything was spinning.”  

“Tell me what he did next,” Mr. Dutton said. 

“He grabbed my wrist, twisted it—he took off my watch and said I wouldn’t need it where I was going—then he took a knife—” Jenna could feel tears on her face—she hadn’t expected this to affect her this strongly—not after all the practice. But despite the tears her voice stayed steady. “He took a knife and he cut off my belt—said that he didn’t want anything to identify me.” 

“What do you think he meant by that?” 

Jenna brushed at her eyes with her hand. “That he was going to kill me—he didn’t want anything that would identify my body.” 

“Miss Stetson, would you like a moment or two to compose yourself?” The judge asked kindly.

“No—Your Honor—I’m fine.” 

“Let’s continue, Jenna,” Mr. Dutton said. “Tell me what happened next.” 

“I told him to stop—he told me to listen to my father—I said he wasn’t my father and he put his hands on my stomach.” 

“Where on your stomach?” 

“Right here—” Jenna put her hands below her ribs. “Both of his hands—he said he was going to teach me a lesson about my name and he—” deep breath in, slow breath out—Gary’s grin widened and Dad gave her hand another squeeze. “He pressed down on my ribs—he wouldn’t stop until I said my name was Marcie Ann Johnston.” 

“And at that time your ribs were already bruised, weren’t they?” 

“They hurt—from when Gary had tackled me after I tried to run.”

“Meaning that any pressure to the area would’ve produced severe pain and breathing difficulties. Thank you, Miss Stetson,” Mr. Dutton said. “No more questions.” 

Jenna let out a silent sigh of relief. At least that part was over—she could relax—

Then her gaze focused on Mr. Baylor—and her stomach sank.

It wasn’t over yet.

“Your honor,” Again Mr. Welling stood.  “I would like to provide further evidence—the belt and the watch, found just outside  Front Royal, which is located between Arlington and High Knob Lake where Miss Stetson was rescued. Forensic tests show that Gary Johnston’s knife cut the belt. We also have photos and x-rays of Jenna’s chest injury—showing a pattern of bruising on her lower chest resembling handprints and a small hairline fracture to the sternum sustained at this time. When combined with a severe head injury and the drugs, these things show a reckless disregard for Miss Stetson’s life—pointing to a charge of attempted murder.” 

“Thank you very much, Mr. Welling,” the Judge said. “Your witness, Mr. Baylor.” 

Mr. Baylor had been on the phone while she’d been testifying, Jenna realized—probably talking to the other lawyer. He put down the receiver.

“Thank you, your honor.” Mr. Baylor smiled at her—for some reason Jenna was reminded of Gary Johnston’s smile—it didn’t seem real—it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hello, Jenna.”  He said.

“Hello.” 

“You were allegedly kidnapped on January 26th, correct?”

“I was kidnapped on January 26th.”  

“And you just turned twelve on the thirtieth of that month, correct?” 

What was he getting at, exactly?  “Yes.”  

“And yet despite the tears, you seem remarkably self-assured for someone your age. Are you sure that no one has been coaching you?”

“Coaching me?”  Jenna repeated.

“Telling you what to say.”  

Had they?  Jenna thought back—people had been helping her—but no one had been actually telling her what to say or how to say things. “No, sir,” she said. “No one has been coaching me.” 

“I see.”  Mr. Baylor nodded.  “But you have had therapy, haven’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why exactly was that?” 

“I was having nightmares and flashbacks—I was afraid all of the time.” 

“I see. Describe to me exactly what a flashback is like.”

“It’s like—something—a smell, a sound, a picture—it brings back a memory and makes you feel like it’s happening all over again.” 

“That does sound quite frightening,” Mr. Baylor said. “So then you went to a therapist—a Dr. Pfaff?”  

“That’s right.” 

“And what did he do, exactly?”

“Talked with me—got me to talk about what happened to me without being so afraid.” 

“And that made things better?” 

“Yes it did—it made things much better.” 

“Glad to hear it, Miss Stetson—but you’re not being completely honest with us, are you?” 

Breathe—Jenna fought to stay calm. “What do you mean?” 

Mr. Baylor stood slowly, uncoiling his lean form—Jenna found herself thinking of a snake—her grip tightened on the armrest as he moved towards her. Dad gripped her other hand even more tightly. Looking over at her father Jenna could see the knot that had formed in his jaw.

“I mean, that Dr. Pfaff hypnotized you.”

“Yes,” Jenna said. “But I—I don’t see how—”

“In fact, your testimony of the scene in the car with Gary was brought out under hypnosis, wasn’t it?” 

“It was. I was blocking it.”

“Why were you blocking it?” 

“It was too scary to think about.”

“The memory is a tricky thing—it’s been proven that where gaps exist the imagination can fill in those gaps—especially under hypnosis.” 

Jenna shook her head. “I don’t think I did that.” 

“You had sustained a serious head injury, Miss Stetson. Head injuries can cause memory loss—did you know that?” 

“I knew that—but—”

“Your entire account of what happened to you in the car could be completely fabricated.” 

Stay calm—Mr. Dutton was on one side, her father on the other—they wouldn’t let anything happen to her. “It wasn’t—even before I was hypnotized, I had dreamed about it.” 

“Dreamed about it?”  Mr. Baylor moved even closer. Jenna’s heart began to race wildly. “You actually think a dream is credible?” 

“It wasn’t just a dream—”

“Yes or No, Jenna—you had no memory of this supposed event before the hypnosis session.” 

“It’s not a yes or no question—I  believe that my nightmare was about a real event—and there’s other evidence that proves it.” 

“That other evidence could point to a variety of things.” 

“No sir, it couldn’t.” 

“Gary Johnston could’ve simply been a confused man who mistook you for his own daughter—a girl who had either run away or been kidnapped herself.  Are you willing to admit that?”  Without warning he leaned forward. “Are you willing to admit this might have been a gross misunderstanding?”

He’s not here to hurt you—it’s not personal—you’re safe—stay calm— All of that ran through Jenna’s mind as she forced herself to breathe normally—she looked up into Mr. Baylor’s face. 

“No, sir—I’m not. It really did happen—I know it did,” she said. “And it was horrible—I don’t think I imagined it at all.” 

“Your Honor—at this time,” Mr. Baylor said. “I would like to move that this part of Miss Stetson’s testimony be removed from evidence and stricken from the record. Virginia law does not permit evidence obtained under hypnotic suggestion.” 

“Incorrect, Your Honor.”  Mr. Dutton rose from the table. “Evidence obtained under hypnosis is allowed providing it is supported by corroborating evidence—I think that we’ve proven that in this particular instance.” 

The judge was silent for a few moments. “I agree. The objection is overruled. Please continue, Mr. Baylor.” 

“No more questions, your honor.”  Mr. Baylor returned to his seat. 

No more questions. Jenna let out a breath—she hadn’t even realized that she was holding her breath until that moment. Her heart pounded, legs shaking—her clothes stuck to her—she sagged back limply into the chair, feeling like a dishcloth that had been twisted and wrung out until it had nothing left to give. 

“Any evidence that your team wishes to provide?” 

Mr. Barker stood up. “No evidence, Your Honor.” 

“Very well—this court is adjourned for a five minute recess, after which I will make my deliberation.”

“That went extremely well,” Mr. Dutton told Jenna. 

“He’s right, munchkin,” Dad told her. “You did a great job.” 

“Thanks,” Jenna said. “I—I mean I—” she looked down at her hands, which were shaking visibly—tears pricked her eyes—more tears— “I’m sorry—I don’t know what’s wrong—wrong with me.”

“Jenna—look at me.”  Dad’s voice was very calm. “Nothing’s wrong with you, okay? You’re just having a little rush of adrenaline. Just keep breathing—you’ll feel better soon, I promise.” 

Keep breathing—after a few minutes Jenna began to feel calmer and less shaky.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Don’t apologize—you did a great job—you should be proud of yourself.” 

“All rise, court is back in session,” the Bailiff said.

“Be seated,” the Judge said.  “I will now give my deliberation. Given Miss Stetson’s testimony, as well as the evidence that has been presented to me, I would say that the prosecution has more than proven probable cause for the crimes of kidnapping and attempted murder.  I therefore certify this case to move to the Grand Jury, where a trial date will be set.” 

Again, Mr. Barker stood.  “Your honor, at this time I would like to request that bail be set for my client.” 

Bail—Jenna had never thought about bail—Dad gripped her hand tightly as everything seemed to freeze for a moment. 

“Given the gravity of these offenses, bail is denied, Mr. Barker.”  The Judge said. “That is all—court is dismissed.” 

SMK SMK SMK SMK

“Sweetheart,” Mom was the first one there as Jenna stepped out of the courtroom into—her arms wrapped around her tightly. “You did wonderfully—we’re all so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”  No sooner did Mom release her than Grandma wrapped her in another hug

“Darling—that was just fantastic—you really stood up to that creep of a lawyer.”  She pulled back and looked at her. “No more stage fright?” 

Jenna shook her head and smiled. “No—not any more.”  

“Did you picture everyone in their underwear?” 

“Grandma!”  Jenna said. Grandma just laughed. 

“That was awesome,” Jamie told her. “I knew you could do it.” 

“See? You even got the wormbrain’s endorsement,” Phillip said.

“Phillip,” Mom admonished, but she was smiling.

“It’s still only the first step, though,” Jenna said.  “That’s what Mr. Dutton said—there’s still the trial.”

“That is what I said,” Mr. Dutton walked up to them, the rest of the team following. “But I’m telling you, Jenna—if you do as well in the trial as you did here—the trial will go very well.” 

“You’ll do it, Jenna,” Dad told her. “Look how well you came through all of this.” 

“I second that bet.”  Billy spoke up. “This calls for a celebration. What do you say we all meet at the Olive Garden this evening? My treat.”

Jenna’s smile widened. “I second that too.”  

The End.