Some Justice—Part Four

Arlington County Courthouse

Office of the Commonwealth's Attorney

Wednesday, March 28, 2001

4:30 PM 

"Good afternoon, Jenna," Mr. Dutton greeted her as she and dad stepped inside the office. "Please—have a seat."

"Thanks," Jenna took the same chair as before. Dr. Pfaff was there—standing in the far corner—he smiled at her and she smiled back. Mr. Welling was already seated—Jenna guessed that he didn't want a repeat of what had happened in the last session—she felt kind of bad about overreacting—but the thought of someone standing over her was still terrifying. 

"How are you doing?" Dr. Pfaff asked her.  "Everything all right at school and home?"

"There haven't been any big problems," Jenna replied. Apart from nasty looks Terri had left her alone yesterday and today—Jenna was happy about that, but part of her wondered how long it would last—the girl seemed bound and determined to cause her trouble at every turn. 

"I'm glad to hear that," Dr. Pfaff said. "How are you sleeping?  Still doing your relaxation exercises?" 

"Yes," Jenna said. "They help a lot." 

"Are you ready to continue?" Mr. Dutton asked. 

"Sure—the last session wasn't bad—it was a lot easier then I thought it would be."  Jenna saw Mr. Dutton exchange glances with Dad and Dr. Pfaff—Mr. Welling didn't meet her gaze—the butterflies began to flutter.  "What is it?"

Mr. Dutton hesitated. "Jenna, you did very well in the last session and I don't want to discount that in the slightest—but I  also don't want to lie to you—it's going to get a lot tougher than the first session. Do you think you're prepared for that?"

Was she? Jenna had felt so certain a moment ago—but now—it was going to get tougher—how much tougher could it get?  She clasped her hands together tightly—taking a deep breath. 

"I'm sure," she said. "I'm prepared—I can handle this."  Jenna forced a smile. Were they convinced?  They looked like they believed her—at least Mr. Dutton did. With dad and Dr. Pfaff it was harder to tell.

Could she convince herself?  Could she believe? That was the one thing that Jenna wasn't completely sure of. 

"Are you ready to begin?"  Mr. Dutton's question pushed Jenna's worries to the back of her mind.  She nodded.

"Let's start after you lost consciousness," Mr. Welling said. "What happened next?"

"I woke up in a strange bedroom." 

"You remember nothing at all before that?" 

"No." 

"Jenna—you said earlier that you didn't know what was on the cloth that covered your face, correct?"

"Yes."

"Would you say it was some kind of drug?" 

How was she supposed to answer? "I think so." 

"Why do you think so?"

"Because I felt sick when I woke up—kind of dizzy—my head hurt and my stomach felt funny—there was a funny taste in my mouth." 

"That's what made you think you'd been drugged?" 

"That's what made me think that." 

"Did you know what time it was—how much time had gone by?" 

"Yes—I looked at my—my watch."  Her voice faltered at the thought of the watch—instinctively her gaze fell on her wrist—she could almost still feel Gary's fingers there—his large hand  wrapping around her wrist—twisting—the sudden sharp pain that had caused her to cry out in surprise—

Mr. Welling's voice intruded on her thoughts. "What time was it?" 

"Four—it was four PM." Part of Jenna was amazed that she could remember that. 

"And you're sure of that?"

"I'm sure." 

"Describe the bedroom to me." 

"It was a nice room—there was a rainbow bedspread, rainbow curtains—stuffed animals, books." 

"Could you get out of the room, Jenna?" 

"No—the door was locked—the window was boarded over." 

"Did you try to escape?" 

"Yes, I tried to get out." 

"What did you try to do?" 

*~* 

Pulling at the boards—rough wood scraping against her hands as she'd  tried to loosen the boards--and the thick nails that held them in place—

"Hey! Let me out of here!" the door trembled as she'd kicked it—even with stocking feet Jenna had kicked as hard as she possibly could. She'd hit the door with her fist—pushing against it—pulling—nothing worked.  

"Somebody help me—please let me out of here—Mom—Dad—somebody help!"  Her throat scratchy and hoarse from yelling—voice trembling—panic beginning to take over even as she'd tried her best to hold it back. 

*~* 

Mr. Welling was looking at her—Jenna realized that he was waiting for her to speak. 

"I—um—" she cleared her throat. "I tried to pull the boards off the windows—I tried kicking the door, hitting the door—pushing—pulling—nothing worked."

"You had no way of contacting anyone?"

"No—I thought about that—but I had left my cell phone in my backpack." 

"What did you do then?" 

"Nothing—just sat back on the bed—tried not to cry—not to think about what was happening—I thought  I had been kidnapped but I didn't know who—or why." 

"How long were you in the room alone?" 

"I don't know how long." 

"Did someone come up there?" 

"Yes—I heard footsteps." 

"What did you do?" 

"I went over to the bookshelf—there was a CD Player—I unplugged it and picked it up—and then—" 

"Then what?" 

"I saw my face—in the mirror—it was my face, but the hair was all different." 

"Different in what way?" 

"It was red—someone had cut it short." 

"Did you know who had done that?"

"No." 

"I see. What were you planning to do with the CD player?" 

"I was going to hit whoever came through the door." 

"Hit them where?" 

"Over the head." 

"You were planning to physically assault whoever came through the door?"  Mr. Welling asked her. 

"I just—I didn't want to hurt anyone—I just wanted to get out of there—I wanted to go home." 

Mr. Welling's voice rose slightly. "Do you realize what kind of injury that could cause, Jenna—hitting someone over the head with a blunt object?" 

Jenna's hand went to her forehead—underneath her scar a dull ache was beginning to throb.  "Yes—I know what kind of injury—but—" 

"But what?" 

"Now hold on just a minute—" Dad interjected. "My daughter had every right to try and defend—"

"Lee—this isn't helping," Dr. Pfaff said.  "Let Jenna answer." 

"Jenna?" Mr. Welling said. 

"I thought—" Jenna said. "I thought whoever was coming was coming to hurt me. They had drugged me—locked me in a room—I didn't know what else I could do." 

"And you thought that was a reasonable assumption—that it justified a physical assault? Yes or no." 

Jenna struggled to keep her voice calm. "Yes. I thought I was in danger—I had to protect myself from being hurt." 

"Jenna that was an excellent answer," Mr. Dutton said. "We don't know if that's a tactic that the defense might use, but we want you to be ready in case it is." 

"Blaming her is a tactic they might use?" Dad asked. 

"It has been known, Mr. Stetson—Dennis Baylor didn't get his nickname by playing nice. We have to prepare her for everything." 

Tactics, Jenna thought numbly. That's all she was—just a piece on a board to be moved around in this game that everyone was playing—they even talked about her like she wasn't there—her head was really starting to hurt now.

"Do you want to continue?" Mr. Welling asked her. 

Jenna clasped and unclasped her hands. "Yes," she said finally. "I guess so." 

Mr. Welling adjusted his glasses.  "Who was it who came into the room?" 

"It was Suzanne—Gary's wife."  

"Did you hit her with the CD Player?" 

"No—it slipped from my hands and fell." 

"What did Suzanne do?" 

"She was holding a tray—she called me Marcie—she said that my Dad would be angry if I broke the CD player." 

"She called you Marcie?" 

"Yes—I told her I wasn't Marcie—where I lived—said she wasn't my mother."

"How did she react to that?" 

Jenna recalled the hurt look in Suzanne's eyes. "She was confused—I don't think that she knew what was going on." 

"What did you do next, Jenna?" 

"I—" She knew what was coming up—her heart began to beat faster—she watched Dad moving closer to her as she spoke. "I tried to walk out of the room." 

"You didn't make it?" 

"No—Gary was there—he had a gun." 

Mr. Welling was silent for a moment.  "He was pointing a gun at you?" 

"Yes." 

"What kind of a gun?" 

How was she possibly supposed to know that?  "I don't—I don't know much about the types of guns." 

"Was it black? Silver? Smaller? Bigger?" 

"It—it was pointed at me—that's all I know." 

"Jenna, if someone asks you too many questions at once, you can tell them to ask you one question at a time."  Dad said.   

Again Jenna nodded—then she looked back at Mr. Welling. "I don't know the kind of gun." 

"Even though it was pointed at you." 

"I was scared—I wasn't paying attention."
 

"What did Gary do with the gun?" 

"He cocked it."  

"You understand what it means to cock a pistol?" 

"Well Dad has a gun—he's shown it to me before—told me it was dangerous—that it wasn't a toy." 

"Was the type of gun that Gary had similar to your father's gun?" 

"I don't know—like I said, I was scared."  She sounded a little defensive, Jenna knew—but no one said anything about it—maybe it was okay. 

"All right—what did you do after he cocked the pistol?"

"Backed away—he told me to get back in the room."  

"And what happened next?" 

"Suzanne told me to listen to my father—I said that Gary wasn't my father."

"How did he react to that?" 

'Keep it under control—keep it under control—' Jenna looked down at her lap—the thought running through her mind like a mantra. 

"You need to look at the lawyer when answering, Jenna," Mr. Dutton told her. "Look up." 

Jenna looked up. Mr. Welling's eyes peered into her own. 

"How did he react?"  the lawyer repeated. 

"He told Suzanne to leave the room—told her that he could handle me."  As Jenna spoke the memories washed through her mind—only memories—Dr. Pfaff kept saying that—but they still had power. 

"Did he call you Marcie too?"

"Yes—but I think—"

"What do you think?" 

"I think he knew that I wasn't Marcie."

"On what evidence do you base that belief?" 

"I don't know—it was a feeling—the way he acted—he didn't seem confused like Suzanne."

"That's pretty flimsy evidence," Mr. Welling said. 

Jenna didn't know how to answer that. Her eyes stung—she could feel her cheeks burning. 

"Jenna, you need to try to avoid giving conjecture or opinion," Mr. Dutton told her. "Even if your instincts are correct—if you don't have facts to back it up others may not believe you." 

"I understand," Jenna said. 

"Tell me what happened next."  Mr. Welling said. "After Suzanne left the room." 

"He asked me if I had a problem. I said yes—that I wasn't Marcie—that he wasn't my father and Suzanne wasn't my Mom—I said that if he would just let me go back home I wouldn't tell anyone—he wouldn't get in trouble—and then he—"

"Then he what?"

"He told me to shut up—he grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed." 

"With one hand?" 

"Yes."    

"Which hand did he use?" 

"I—" Jenna could remember how cold his hand had been—rough against her skin—fingers bruising, squeezing—smiling in amusement at her feeble attempts to pull away from his grasp. But which hand—nothing was coming to her.   "I can't remember."  

Mr. Welling raised his eyebrows. "You can't remember?"

"No—I was too scared."  

"Do you remember what happened next?" 

"He asked me what my name was—I told him my name was Jenna Leigh Stetson." 

"And what did he say?" 

"He just stared at me for a moment—no expression on his face—then he asked me to repeat what I said—I told him—again—I said my name was Jenna Leigh Stetson."  Jenna's voice began to shake—her entire body—she grasped the edge of her seat tightly—trying to breathe slowly—deeply—

'Keep it under control—'

"What did Gary do next?"  

"He hit me."

"Where did he hit you?" 

"My—my face—" Jenna put her hand on her cheek. 

"Did he hit you on that side of your face—the left side?" 

"Yes."   

*~~*

Too scared to scream—Jenna had never been hit before—she hadn't been prepared—her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes—a coppery taste filling her mouth—blood—she'd bitten her tongue—
*~~*

"How many times did he hit you?" 

"Twice."  Jenna's voice sounded very small to her ears.

*~~* 
The second blow had followed the first—even harder than before—Jenna both heard and felt a sharp crack as her neck snapped backwards—pain lanced across her field of vision—nausea slammed into her gut—bile mixing with the blood that filled her mouth— Jenna's chest had heaved as she drew in deep gulps of air—ears ringing—fighting to keep control—not to give in to the welcoming blackness—

All the while the fingers of his other hand dug into her neck—his icy eyes had bored impassively into Jenna's own—

"What is your name?"  His voice boomed in her ears as his large shadow blocked out the light—
*~~*

"Did he hit you with his open hand or closed fist?" 

"With his open hand." 

"Would you say he hit you hard?" 

"Yes." 

"And did you try to hit him back?"

"No." 

"Why didn't you?" 

The rapid fire questions—the pain in Jenna's head intensified—Dad was sitting beside her now—his hand grasping hers— it should have been comforting—but somehow—"I was scared," Jenna said. "He was holding me there—he was big—bigger than me—he was so strong—" 

"Which hand did he hit you with, Jenna?" 

Jenna shook her head. "I don't—I don't know." 

"If he hit you on the left side of your face, does it follow that he would hit you with his right hand?"

"I said I didn't know—I really don't." 

"Jenna, listen—if I grabbed your neck with my left hand and hit you—" as he spoke Mr. Welling leaned forward slightly—Jenna tried to shrink back—move away—

"What is your name?" Mr. Welling asked. Only  it wasn't Mr. Welling anymore—it was Gary—his cold blue eyes  froze her in place—Jenna couldn't move—

"Mar—Marcie. My name is Marcie."

"Your name is Marcie Ann Johnston. Say it!" 

"My name is Marcie Ann Johnston—my name is Marcie—"

"Jenna!" 

Dad's voice—he knelt in front of her now—he held both of her hands tightly in his own. 

"Daddy—Gary—" her voice came out in a whisper. "He was—he's here—he's going

to—"

"No, he's not here," Dad told her. "You're in Mr. Dutton's office—you're perfectly safe—you just had a flashback. Just breathe, munchkin—take deep breaths—that's it—nice and slow—just relax." 

Relax—slowly the world came back into focus—everyone was staring at her—Jenna realized—Mr. Dutton—Mr. Welling—Dr. Pfaff—the looks on their faces—oh gosh—

"You all right now?"  Dad asked her. 

"Fine—I'm sorry." 

Dad squeezed her hands. "Hey—don't apologize—you're fine." 

She was fine—except she didn't feel fine—far from it.  

Dad let go of her hands as he stood, facing Mr. Dutton. His voice—Jenna had never heard him sound so angry. "That was uncalled for. You know what she's been through—you didn't need to go that far." 

"Mr. Stetson, if we don't the defense will," Mr. Dutton said. "This man has a reputation, if we don't prepare her now we're doing her a disservice." 

"And if we traumatize her," Dad said. "She won't be any good to anyone—" 

"Lee, listen to me." Dr. Pfaff said. "It's better that she has a flashback now than while she's giving her testimony in court—" 

"It's better that she doesn't have a flashback at all," Dad said.  "Damn it, she's been through enough without having to put up with—"

"Stop that!"  Jenna was surprised by the anger in her own voice. "Stop doing that—don't talk about me like that—like I'm not even here—" 

Dead silence. Dad was the first to speak. 

"Jenna—I—we—we really didn't mean to do that—no one was trying to exclude you." 

"It's okay."   Slowly she pushed herself up to a standing position—her legs felt like jelly. Dad took her arm, supporting her. 

"How do you feel now?" Dr. Pfaff asked. 

"Fine, it's just—I didn't mean—I mean,  I know everyone here is trying to help me—" Jenna focused on Mr. Welling. "But when you leaned forward like that, I—I guess I just overreacted."

"You don't have to explain anything to him, Jenna," Dad said. "We'll be leaving now." 

"But Dad," she protested. "I can do this—we can continue—"

"I know you can," Dad said. "I just think that maybe we should stop here for now—we can always pick it up at the next session." 

"I agree," Dr. Pfaff said. 

Pity. They all felt pity for her, Jenna realized—she had tried to be strong—they wanted her to be strong and she had failed—failed her dad—failed everyone—she couldn't manage to get even this right. And if she couldn't even testify in a pretend session without a flashback—how was she ever going to be able to do it for real?