Some Justice Part Three

Kenmore Middle School 

Monday, March 26, 2001 

3:40 PM

Jenna stared at the white sheets of paper taped to the gym teacher’s door—the names were in alphabetical order—it should've been easy to sort out—but today everything seemed to run together somehow—her head throbbed and she reached up to rub her forehead—the slightly raised skin of her scar lay beneath her fingertips—it was always there.

“So?” Lisa asked. “Did we make it? Come on, Jenna—you’ve been staring at that list for like ten minutes now.” 

“Um—”  Jenna looked at the K’s–Kingsley, Lisa—there she was. And the names starting with S—Silton, Smith, Stanford, Tanner—no Stetson. She gazed at the spot where her name would be and still—she felt nothing at all.  Not upset or relieved—Jenna just felt blank.

“Well?” Lisa said.

Jenna turned to face her. “You made it,” she said. “You’re on the team.”

Lisa grinned. “Awesome—we—wait a minute, what about you?”

“I didn’t make it,” Jenna said. “I’m sorry.”  Lisa said nothing—just looking down at the floor.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Jenna asked.

“No—” Lisa said. “I mean, you’ve had a lot on your mind lately—with everything coming up and all. I just hoped we’d be able to be on the team together—it’s more fun that way.” 

“Yeah, I know.”  No matter how she felt about dancing at the moment, Jenna hated seeing her best friend feeling down like this. “But hey—there’ll be another tryout in the Fall—maybe I can try again then.”

“That’s true,” Lisa said. “And by then you’ll have all the stuff behind you—speaking of which—how are you doing with everything?”

“Okay, I guess,” Jenna said. “Still kind of nervous, though.”

Lisa shut her locker. “I can imagine.—has therapy helped?”  

“A little,” Jenna admitted.  “I don’t freak when I talk about it anymore. But the thing is, Lisa—I’m still—”

“There you are,” Terri’s voice broke into their conversation.

“Won’t that girl get a clue—or a life?” Lisa muttered.

Jenna turned around –she now stood face to face with Terri.

“Something you wanted?” she asked.

“I heard you didn’t make the dance team,” Terri said. “Not that I’m surprised—your audition was lame. Anything else you want to say, Scarface?  Mrs. Brooks isn’t here to rescue you now.” 

“Look, Terri, if that’s the best you can do, you’re wasting my time—and I’ve got to go.” Jenna started to walk, but Terri blocked her path.

“He’ll be found innocent, you know.”  Terri’s voice was soft—her lips barely moved. “And everyone will know that you lied—he’ll be free and you’ll be the one to pay.” 

For a moment all Jenna could do was stare—her heart beat furiously and she was sure her face was bright red. Before she had a chance to reply, Terri had whirled around and disappeared down the hallway.

“That girl should rot in hell,” Lisa muttered. “She’s just talking bull, Jenna—don’t worry—the guy who took you will be put away forever.”

“I’m not worried,” Jenna clutched her books tightly against her. “I’m not—I mean—I’m fine—just fine.”  She looked over at her friend, attempting a smile. “We should go—my Dad will be waiting outside.”

Without another word she walked towards the entrance, Lisa following.

SMK SMK SMK SMK

“Hey, munchkin,” Dad smiled at her as she climbed inside the car, putting her backpack on the floor and fastening her seat belt. He pulled out of the school driveway, following the line of cars that were merging with the incoming traffic.  “How was your day? Everything go well?” 

“It was all right.”  Jenna thought about turning on the radio like she usually did, but at the moment she really didn’t feel like hearing music.

“You sure?” 

“Sure—why?” 

“Just wondered—you seem a little quieter than usual.”

“Well maybe I’m just in a quiet mood, that’s all.”  Jenna snapped—then winced inwardly—she hadn’t meant for it to sound that harsh. If dad was hurt by her tone—it didn’t show in his voice.

“A quiet mood is fine—I just want you to know that whenever you want to talk, I’m here to listen.” 

“I know.”  They drove for a few moments in silence—Jenna pulled one knee tightly against her chest, wrapping her arms around her leg, looking out the window—the sky was a bright blue and almost cloudless—the cherry blossoms were just starting to come out— Mom always said that early spring was her favorite time of year—usually it was Jenna’s too—but right now—

*~~*

“He’ll be found innocent—he’ll be free—you’ll be the one to pay.”

*~~*

Terri’s words repeated themselves in her brain, running around in a circle like a gerbil stuck on one of those little wheels—part of Jenna knew she should just dismiss them—but the doubts persisted.

What would happen if Gary Johnston did get out?  What then?  And if he came after her—who would possibly be able stop him?  A shiver ran through her body—she pulled her knee even closer—trying to quell the dull pain in the pit of her stomach.

 “—dance team auditions?”  

Jenna looked over at dad—realizing they were stopped at a light. “Huh?” 

“I said—what happened at the dance team auditions? Did you make it?” 

“Oh—that. No, I didn’t make it. Lisa did, though.” 

“I’m sorry, Jenna—I know you tried your best.” 

“Yeah—but I’m okay about it—I know Lisa wanted me to be on the team with her, though—I’m sorry about that.” 

“You two have always done dancing together—I can remember your very first time doing the Nutcracker—what did you play?” 

“Tiny mice,” Despite everything Jenna found herself smiling slightly at the memory.  “Lisa stepped on my tail by accident and I almost fell right on the Nutcracker.”

“Oh yeah,” Dad chuckled—the light turned to green and he made a left turn. “I think we actually have that on video somewhere—you know, you two were inseparable—even when you were toddlers.  I can remember—” 

“Dad—can I ask you something?”  Jenna said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt—but I just—I have a question.”

“You can ask me anything—you know that.” 

“What if Gary’s found innocent?” the words burst out—she couldn’t contain them any longer. “I mean, I know everyone says how much evidence there is and all—but just—what if?” 

“Munchkin, I really don’t think—”

“Dad, I’m serious. What if he got out—like on a technicality or something?  I mean, anything is possible, right?  Guilty people have gotten out before.” 

There was a long silence. “Anything’s possible,” Dad said finally. “But you have to know that there are many people, Jenna—more than you know about—who are working to ensure that it never happens.  And your testimony—telling the truth about what he did to you—that’s a big part of it, believe me.” 

“But what if I screw it up?”

“You won’t screw it up—you’ll be fine—you’re worrying about nothing.” 

“How do you know I’m worrying about nothing?”  Jenna felt a sudden surge of anger. “It’s not nothing—I could—I could mess up on giving my testimony—the cross-examination—anything could go wrong—you can’t call it nothing.”

The car had stopped now—they were in the parking lot. Jenna wiped at her eyes with a trembling hand, embarrassed by her sudden outburst.

Dad turned to look at her.

“Listen to me,” he said. “No one is going to let you go into court unprepared—we wouldn’t do that to you, Jenna—I promise. We’re going to keep practicing and working at it—and the day you testify you will be ready—I’ll make sure of it.” 

“We don’t have a lot of time, though—I know the hearing’s been moved up to the thirteenth but that’s still not a lot of time.” 

“It’ll be enough time—believe me—you’ll be ready. Okay?” 

“Okay.”   For the first time Jenna noticed her surroundings—the parking lot they were in wasn’t for IFF at all—it was—she looked up at the large building and then over at Dad.

“I thought we were going to see Dr. Pfaff.”

“We are.”

“But this is the courthouse—Dr. Pfaff is here?” 

Dad nodded. “That’s right.” 

“I don’t understand. Why is he here? Why are we?”  The dull ache in Jenna’s stomach began to intensify— the butterflies flapped their wings and her heart thudded like a jackhammer.

Dad took her hand.  “It’s part of your preparation—Jenna—don’t worry—you’ll see.”  

Office of the Commonwealth’s Attorney

4:15 PM

“So this is supposed to help me?” Jenna asked as they left the elevator, walking towards Mr. Dutton’s office.

“That’s the idea—to get you used to the question and cross-examining procedure,” Dad said. “We don’t want you to have any unpleasant surprises.”

“What’s Dr. Pfaff here for?” 

“He’s here—you know—just in case.” 

“In case what? In case I get upset or— something else?” Jenna didn’t want to say words like ‘flashbacks’ or ‘panic attacks’—even thinking them made them seem too real.  A slight shudder ran through her body—luckily Dad didn’t notice.

“Well, yeah—that’s part of it.”  They were at the door—he turned to face her. “Look—all of us are here for you— to help you—we don’t want you to go into this unless you’re absolutely prepared. Okay?” 

“Okay—it’s just—”

“Just what?” 

“Do you think I can do this?”  Jenna asked. “I mean, really?”   

Dad was silent for a couple of moments, his eyes staring into her hers. “Yes—I think you can do this—I know you can, Jenna. I have faith in you, but I need you to have faith in yourself. Will you do that?” 

Jenna drew in a deep breath and nodded.  Dad took her hand, squeezing it briefly.  He pushed open the door and Jenna stepped inside.

“Hello, Jenna,” Mr. Dutton said. “How are you doing today?”

“Fine,” Jenna said. Dr. Pfaff stood beside the attorney—next to Dr. Pfaff stood a tall thin man with very blond hair.

“You know Dr. Pfaff, of course,” Mr. Dutton said. “And this other man is Andrew Welling—he’s part of the prosecutorial team.” 

Mr. Welling smiled as he bent down slightly, extending his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jenna.” 

“Nice to meet you too.” Jenna took his hand—she couldn’t seem to manage a smile back. The butterflies were somersaulting in her stomach.  

“Would you like to take a seat?” Mr. Dutton indicated a chair beside his desk.

“Thanks.”  Jenna sat stiffly, back ramrod straight— hands grasping the wooden armrest tightly.  She forced her breathing back under control—it wouldn’t do any good to freak out—not right now.

“Did your dad tell you what this was about?”  Mr. Dutton asked her.

“Just that it was about preparing me for testifying.” 

“Exactly,” Mr. Dutton said. “We’ll try to prepare you for the types of questions the defense might ask you—and also the different tactics they’ll try to use.”

Dr. Pfaff’s voice broke in. “Do you know anything about how cross examinations work, Jenna?”

“They’re going to try to make me seem less credible—make me look like a liar,” Jenna thought back to all the stuff Terri had been saying—wondering how much of it was from Gary’s defense attorney. He’d been on television—what had he been saying about her all this time?   “That’s what they’ll do—right?” 

“It’s not a personal attack,” Dr. Pfaff told her. “You need to remember that they’re being paid to represent a client—to try and win their case in court. I’m telling you this because sometimes it’s going to feel very personal—I don’t want you to get defensive or shut down in court.” 

“I know.”  Jenna said. 

“Would you like to get started?” Mr. Dutton asked.

Would she?  Given the choice Jenna wouldn’t be here at all—bit at this point it wasn’t really her choice—and everyone was trying to help.

“Tell me what to do.”  She said.

“It’s just a little role play—Mr. Welling’s going to ask you some questions about your case—you remember what your dad and I said about cross-examination?”

Tell the lawyer if you can’t answer a question with a yes or no answer—tell them if you can’t remember—stick to the truth—Jenna was pretty sure that was it.  Again she nodded. Mr. Dutton smiled.

“Excellent,” he said. “Mr. Welling?”

The tall man picked up a sheaf of papers as he approached Jenna—getting closer—instinctively she shrank back.

“Don’t stand over me—get back—please.” she could hear her voice shaking. Mr. Welling looked confused, but he stepped back.

“I’m sorry, Jenna,” he said. “I didn’t mean—” 

“It’s okay,” Jenna said. “It’s just that I—never mind. I’m sorry.”  Jenna saw Dad and Dr. Pfaff exchange glances—suddenly she felt like an idiot.

“Jenna, would you be more comfortable if he sat down?”  Dr. Pfaff asked.

“Yes.”  Jenna said. Mr. Dutton nodded to Mr. Welling, who pulled a grabbed a chair and put it close to her own—he sat facing her.

“It’s okay,” Jenna said. “It’s just that I—never mind. I’m sorry.”  Jenna saw Dad and Dr. Pfaff exchange glances—suddenly she felt like an idiot.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Dad said.  “If someone makes you feel uncomfortable or scared you can tell them that—be assertive.” 

“Jenna, would you be more comfortable if he sat down?”  Dr. Pfaff asked.

“Yes.”  Jenna said. Mr. Dutton nodded to Mr. Welling, who pulled a grabbed a chair and put it close to her own—he sat facing her.

“For the record,” Mr. Welling said. “Your name is Jenna Leigh Stetson?”

“Yes,” Jenna replied.

“How old are you, Jenna?” 

“I’m twelve.” 

“Your date of birth?” 

“January thirtieth.” 

“What year?”

Jenna wondered why he was asking such obvious questions. “1989.” 

“I see—and what grade are you in?” 

“I’m in seventh grade.” 

“Why seventh? Shouldn’t you be in sixth?” 

Jenna shook her head. “I started Kindergarten when I was four.”

“That makes sense.  What’s the name of your school?”

“Kenmore Middle School.” 

“What is your address?” 

This was easy so far—Jenna allowed herself to relax a little. “4247 Maplewood Drive –it’s in Arlington.” 

“Very good. Jenna, do you know why you’re here?” 

What kind of question was that? “Of course I do.”  Mr. Welling said nothing in response—he just sat there staring at her. Jenna looked over at her dad.

“You have to tell him, munchkin,” Dad said. “Just like it’s a real trial. Go on.” 

“Why are you here?”  Mr. Welling repeated.

“Because I was kidnapped.”

“That’s a pretty serious allegation. Who kidnapped you?”

“Gary Johnston.” 

“You’re sure about that?” 

“Of course I am—why—”

“Just answer yes or no, Jenna.” 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t so easy, Jenna thought.  “Yes. Gary Johnston kidnapped me.”  

“What else did he do?”

“He hit me—” her hand went to her forehead as she spoke. “Hurt me—he was going to kill me.” 

Mr. Welling was silent for a few moments. Jenna swallowed hard—the silence made her nervous—she could hear her heart thudding in her chest.  She put her hands under her knees and leaned forward—pressing her weight onto her hands—the pressure was comforting somehow.

“Do you know the difference between telling the truth and telling a lie?”  Mr. Welling asked suddenly.

“Yes of course I do,” Jenna said. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Jenna, don’t get defensive—remember, it’s not personal,” Dr. Pfaff said.

Not personal—but it certainly felt like it was.  “Yes—I know the difference between the truth and a lie,” she told Mr. Welling.

“And you still maintain that Gary kidnapped you.”

“He kidnapped me. I was there—I know what happened.” 

“Let’s go back to that day,” Mr. Welling told her. “What day was that?”

“It was January 26.” 

“Of this year?” 

“Yes.”  

“What day of the week was that?” 

Jenna had to think for a moment. “It was a Friday.” 

“And what time was it?” 

The time. “It was after eleven in the morning—between eleven and twelve.” 

“Can’t you get any more exact than that?” 

Admit what you don’t know. “I don’t know the exact time.”  Out of the corner of her eye Jenna saw her father nod approvingly.

“How do you know that it was between eleven and twelve?” 

“Because we got out of school at eleven—because of the snow.”

“Did you walk home?”

“Yes.” 

 “By yourself?”

“Not then—Lisa was with me most of the way.” 

“Not the whole way?” 

“No—not the whole way—she had to go home in a hurry.” 

Mr. Welling paused. “Were you supposed to walk home by yourself?” 

Jenna had never thought of that. “Well no—but it was only a block away.”

“A block away was still breaking the rules—you broke the rules by walking home alone, didn’t you?”

“Well, maybe—but it was only—I didn’t mean—” she looked over at Dr. Pfaff.—at Dad—they were silent.

“Yes or no, Jenna.” 

“I’m sorry, but— it’s not just a yes or no question,” Jenna knew her voice was shaking but she managed to hold it together. “Lisa had to go—I told her I’d be fine. I’d done it before—it was only a block—I didn’t think anything bad would happen.”

“I just want to stop here for a second,” Mr. Dutton’s voice broke in. “Now Jenna, you handled that question very well. If we’d actually been in court I would have objected to that question as being irrelevant and the judge most likely would’ve thrown it out. I just wanted to throw that in there to see how you’d react.” 

“I don’t understand,” Jenna asked.  “Why would they ask a question if they knew it was irrelevant?”

“Mainly to throw you off—make you less sure of yourself. Especially when it comes to the main trial. Juries are very sympathetic to child victims—the defense won’t want to be seen as a bully so they won’t attack you directly—they’ll take the indirect route—try to make you seem incompetent.” 

If Jenna’s head could actually spin, she knew it would be spinning now—strategy—the indirect route—nothing was what it seemed to be—it was all just a big game to these people. This was her life and her safety, though—it wasn’t a game to her.

“What do I do about that?”  she asked.

“What you did was fine,” Mr. Dutton said. “You kept your composure and you didn’t let him get you into a yes or no situation and that was good.  Are you ready to move on?”

“Sure.”  Jenna tried hard to sound confident. “I’m ready.”  She knew she wanted to be ready—everyone was counting on her to be ready—to be strong.

“All right then.”  Mr. Welling looked down at the papers in his hand.  “What happened next, after Lisa left?” 

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

“So you were walking fast?”

“As fast as I could—I was only wearing tennis shoes and I didn’t want to slip on the snow.” 

“Did you see anything at that time? Any vehicles?”

“I saw—there was a van.” 

“What was the make and model? The color?”

Jenna hesitated. In her mind’s eye she could see the van—she was walking, watching it from the corner of her eye—the wind stung her face—fingertips numb—

*~~*

‘Have to get inside fast—it’s warm inside—mom will have hot chocolate—’

*~~*

She controlled her breathing, staying in the present—they were only memories now—

“The van was black,” she told Mr. Welling. “I don’t know the make or the model.” 

“At this point I would remind the court that the suspect owns a black van,” Mr. Dutton said. “That will already have been entered into evidence. Continue, Mr. Welling.” 

Mr. Welling nodded before turning back to Jenna.  “What was the van doing?”

“Driving really slow, towards me—the lights were on”

“The headlights?”

“Yes.” 

“Why do you think that was?” 

“It—it could’ve been—” Jenna started to say, but then stopped when she saw the expression on Dad’s face. 'Don't answer if you don't know', she thought.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” 

“Could it have been because it was cloudy?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you do when you saw the van?”

“Nothing—I just kept walking fast—I wanted to get inside because it was cold.” 

“Did you get inside?” 

“Yes.”  Jenna remembered the rush of relief she’d felt as she’d turned the knob and pulled the door open—she’d made it—

*~~*

“Mom! Grandma! I’m home!” 

*~~*

“What did you do once you got inside?” 

“I called out to Mom or Grandma. I took off my coat—my backpack—hung them on a hook.” 

“Did your mother or grandmother answer you?”

“No—I didn’t hear them.” 

“Where were they?”

“I don’t know—I didn’t hear them.” 

“Did you hear anything else?” 

Had she? Jenna tried to think back. The front door was always slightly creaky—Mom would put WD-40 on the hinges from time to time but it didn’t help much—had she felt a draft, cold air rushing in as the front door had opened?  All she could recall with any clarity was a black-gloved hand yanking her—

“I don’t remember hearing anything,” she said out loud.

“What happened next?”  

“There was a hand—I saw a black glove—I was grabbed—lifted—I kicked—I tried to get away—tried to scream but he covered my mouth— pulled me back.”

“Back where? Back out the door?”

“Yes.”  Jenna gripped the seat of the chair with her hands, pressing down harder. “He had a white cloth in his other hand and he covered my face with it.” 

“Which part of your face?” 

“My mouth and my nose.” The butterflies were going crazy now—the dull ache in Jenna’s stomach—and her head—it was getting worse.

“What was on the white cloth, Jenna?” 

“I don’t know—but it smelled strange—kind of sweet—”

“Tell me what happened next.” 

“I kept trying to fight—but everything—it started to blur—I looked up and I saw a  face—”

“Was it his face?” 

“I—I couldn’t see—everything was blurry—all I could see was a black mask—and then—”

“And then what?” 

“Everything—it all went black.” 

Jenna could feel her heart racing wildly—she tried to bring her breathing under control.

“I think we’ll stop here for now,” Mr. Dutton said.

“That’s a good idea,” Dr. Pfaff said. “We’ll pick this up at the next session—make it Wednesday.” He paused, looking at her.  “How do you feel, Jenna?”

“Okay,” Jenna said. “I’m—I’m fine.”  She was—somehow it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it might be. 

“You did very well,” Mr. Dutton said. “You should be proud of yourself.” 

“Thank you,” Jenna stood—somewhat surprised to find her legs were trembling a little—Dad was right there beside her. 

“We’ll see you on Wednesday,” Mr. Welling said.

 TBC