Wednesday, May 1st, 2069

To call myself tired would be an understatement. I was exhausted and wired from a great deal of coffee. Mrs. Stovall and I had finished going over witnesses around ten, or eleven. At which point I had ‘snuck’ into my bedroom—thinking of not waking Dave.

Dave, of course, had been wide awake and wanting to go over Skill options. What I was going to do with the Altar? How could he level Cut for Evolution? His excitement became infectious, and we’d spent a fruitless night looking through high ranked unaffordable Skills in Demonic Vault, and theorizing about how strong we might become one day.

We’d finally burned out sometime after four in the morning.

Thus, my exhaustion at, I glanced at the clock in the courtroom, eleven-thirty. The first few witnesses Mr. Varnish had called, all spoke to Morgan Hallsbrad’s character. Mr. Varnish seemed to be trying to establish Morgan Hallsbrad as a private eye—and a human I supposed.

Admittedly, it was working. Mostly because Mrs. Stovall couldn’t ask too many questions that would refute the man’s job or humanity. I tuned back in as Mr. Varnish finished questioning Morgan Hallsbrad’s old roommate in college. Turns out he studied criminology and forensic science.

That was pre-Portals of course.

“Mr. Hanson,” Mrs. Stovall said, as she stood and rounded our table. “When was the last time you saw Morgan Hallsbrad?”

“At Graduation, I guess?” Mr. Hanson answered. The man was a typical middle-aged father, with a bit of a beer belly, and a great deal of missing hair. He’d chosen to go with the eight strand combover with what was left, and I couldn’t help thinking he should probably just shave it off.

“Why didn’t you stay in touch?” Mrs. Stovall asked, and I blinked, trying to understand where she was going. What did the TV shows call it? A line of questioning?

It was a game I’d been playing with the other witnesses. Trying to figure out where Mr. Varnish or Mrs. Stovall were leading them. And believe me, both were definitely leading the witnesses somewhere. They were both excellent lawyers.

“I got a job in the Miami Vice Crime Lab, right out of school. Morgan had to look for work elsewhere.”

“You graduated in the same class, and he had better grades than you correct?”

“That’s right,” Mr. Hanson answered.

“So, why did Mr. Hallsbrad have to look elsewhere for a job?”

“He had something on his record. So, the police were reluctant to hire him.”

“Do you know what was on his record?”

“Nah, Morgan never opened up about it. I assumed it was something like drinking and driving. You know? Made a mistake when he was young and was still paying for it.”

“So, he could have done anything? Murder—Robbery—Assault?”

“Come on, no way. He’d have served jail time if it was anything like that!”

“Are you claiming he told you he never served jail time, Mr. Hanson?” Mrs. Stovall asked.

“Well, no. But it couldn’t have been that serious. Morgan was a quiet guy—never bothered anyone. Other than the teacher’s…”

Mr. Hanson’s tone and joke caused a few jurors to chuckle. Mrs. Stovall even let a large smile come onto her face in clear amusement. Or what I thought was amusement until she turned and addressed Judge Dench. “I’d like to submit the Juvenile Detention Record for one Morgan Hallsbrad into evidence as J-forty-two.”

She then picked up three pieces of paper from the top of her folder, handed one to Mr. Varnish, one to the judge, and the third to Mr. Hanson. She then returned to a podium slowly, giving Mr. Hanson the opportunity to read a bit.

As she turned back around she asked, “Can you read a bit of the report to the court, Mr. Hanson?”

Mr. Hanson visibly swallowed, and then looked up, his eyes seeming to vibrate, and plead simultaneously. Mr. Varnish stood up as well. “Objection your honor, Relevance.”

“Your honor, I’m simply trying to establish the fact that Mr. Hanson didn’t know Mr. Hallsbrad as well as his testimony implies.”

“Your honor, Mrs. Stovall is clearly trying to get a past arrest record into evidence. Prior crimes have no relevance to the current trial.”

“They absolutely do, in fact.” Mrs. Stovall countered. “Mr. Varnish here is trying to establish the character of Morgan Hallsbrad. I’m only trying to help him accomplish that. If prior crimes have no bearing on the character of a person then what does?”

“Counsels, approach,” Judge Dench said. Both Mrs. Stovall and Mr. Varnish approached the bench. A quiet deliberation occurred, and I watched gestures and facial expressions trying to figure out what was going on. Of course, Smegma was hovering over the group of three, eating popcorn.

“They’re coming to a compromise. The judge agrees with Mrs. Stovall on her point of showing Mr. Hanson lack of knowledge regarding the Shop. Yet, she wants her to go about it a different way.”

Smegma paused then, and a great deal of chatting happened, making me curious why he’d stopped commentating. After all of that, Smegma simply stated, “They’ve reached a decision.”

[What?]

“Just listen, idiot.”

“The court will accept this piece of evidence into the case, but the jurors will only refer to it as something that shows Mr. Hanson and other character witnesses didn’t know Morgan Hallsbrad as well as they thought. Understood?” The judge instructed.

Mr. Varnish returned to his seat looking like he wanted to chew rocks. “Mr. Hanson, I’ll read it for you,” Mrs. Stovall said, sounding like she was doing the man a favor. “Morgan Hallsbrad served a sentence of one year in the Miami Juvenile Detention Center for Breaking and Entering, along with Threatening Behavior. Sentence of three-years remised due to community service and good behavior. Did I read that correctly, Mr. Hanson?”

The man swallowed, and answered, “yes,” a bit shakily.

“So, is it safe to say you and the other witnesses today might not have known Mr. Hallsbrad as well as you claimed, Mr. Hanson?”

“Objection, Speculation.”

“Sustained.”

“Sorry, your honor. Is it safe to say that you didn’t know Mr. Hallsbrad as well as you thought you did, Mr. Hanson?” The man nodded his face pale and his bald head sweaty. “Let the record show, Mr. Hanson nodded in affirmation. No further questions, your honor.”

Mrs. Stovall sat back down at our table, and I looked between her, Mr. Varnish and Mr. Hanson in confusion. Thankfully Smegma took pity on me. “Mr. Hallsbrad hit an old man over the head with a crowbar, according to that report. That man had an unloaded gun, so instead of an assault charge, he got threatening behavior. Part of the agreement was to strike that portion of the report from evidence, before the jury reviews it.”

Mr. Varnish stood back up before Mr. Hanson was dismissed. “Mr. Hanson. If you had made a mistake like this—“ Mr. Varnish held up the report. “—would you tell your college roommate about it?”

“Well, probably not, no,” Mr. Hanson answered, his face regaining a bit of color as a bit of his faith in a friend was returned to him.

“So, did Mr. Hallsbrad not telling you have any impact on your friendship?”

“I guess not?” Mr. Hanson said, again getting a bit more color back. Then he shook his head, clearing the rest of his somber demeanor. “No, no it didn’t.”

“Thank you, your honor, no further questions,” Mr. Varnish said.

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Mrs. Stovall was given an opportunity to cross examine, but she waved it, and I could see why. Without being able to discuss the beating, she couldn’t counter Mr. Varnish’s point. That seemed odd to me. Why would a past crime of this severity not be admissible as evidence?

Surely, I’d seen something like this on TV or the movies? Still, I couldn’t point to an example off the top of my head. It just seemed broken. Wouldn’t this be something like a pattern of bad behavior?

“Yeah, that is kind of stupid!” Smegma agreed, from his current spot. Sitting right on top of one of the Jurors. I pointedly didn’t look at him, even as I fought a shiver. It was quite a scene I could see in my peripherals. Being judged by my peers—a terrifying black and red Demon, with huge bat wings.

Of course that shiver coincided with my first surprise of the trial. One I knew was possible but kind of expected to happen later. “I’d like to call Detective Flair to the stand, your honor.”

Detective Flair and Volt had their names on the list—both lists actually. But in both cases they were at the bottom. Mrs. Stovall had said that they could be brought in to testify about the scene or what they observed during the ‘arrest.’ But she had doubted that they’d be needed.

For Mr. Varnish to move one up—not even move one up, though…

“What’s going on?” Smegma asked, floating over.

[I’ve got no idea.]

Detective Flair was sworn in, and then took the stand and seat, after removing his hat and adjusting his stiff looking uniform.

“Good afternoon, Detective Flair,” Mr. Varnish greeted, making me realize it was now a little past noon. Meaning we’d likely get a lunch break after Mr. Varnish’s questioning finished.

“That seems mighty convenient,” Smegma said.

[Yeah…] I responded, trying to breathe normally, and not hold my breath.

“Could you please take us through the events of April 1st, 2069, starting from when you got the call regarding Mr. Flacarada’s case.”

“Certainly…” Detective Flair began and then continued to lay out the events. I listened raptly, hearing some pieces of information and police radio jargon I didn’t understand. Detective Flair clarified the terms with Mr. Varnish’s prodding. That’s when his story and my recollection of events began to overlap. “—then me and my partner arrived on scene. Volt has a Lightning Bolt Skill, in the upper D-ranks. When we arrived, he immediately drew on my Mana Pool, because we found Brodie Flacarada standing over Morgan Hallsbrad wielding a gun.”

“So, you found Mr. Flacarada with a weapon, and not Mr. Hallsbrad?”

“That’s correct.”

“And Detective Volt was prepared to stun or disable Mr. Flacarada, because he was worried for Mr. Hallsbrad’s safety?”

“Objection, your honor, Speculation,” Mrs. Stovall said.

“Sustained. Mr. Varnish. Please confine your questions to the thoughts and actions of the witness. If you would like Detective Volt to take the stand you can call him up next.” After her verbal reprimand, the judge nodded for Varnish to continue.

“Apologies, your honor. Detective Volt pulled on your Mana Pool to activate his Skill?”

“That’s correct,” Detective Flair said.

“Thank you, please continue your retelling.”

The Detective continued his timeline of events meshing mostly with my own. Cuffing me for my own safety, calling paramedics, and examining the scene. Smegma floated in front of Mr. Varnish throughout most of the story, eyes narrowed. “What’s he trying to do?”

[I think he’s painting a picture of me as an assailant. His questions sure seem—]

“So, you bagged and tagged all evidence you found at the scene?” Mr. Varnish asked, interrupting a part of the Detectives tale. My eyes narrowed. Hadn’t Detective Flair been about to mention the book of names found on Morgan Hallsbrad?

“Me or my partner, yes,” Detective Flair answered. “It was our crime scene, as I mentioned.”

“So, after you took the weapon from Mr. Flacarada, you immediately bagged it?”

“That’s correct,” Detective Flair answered while narrowing his eyes a bit, seeming frustrated by what felt like a repeated question, even to me.

“I’d like to submit G-thirteen into evidence,” Mr. Varnish said. Then moved through the same procedure as Mrs. Stovall. I held my breath again, sensing something was about to happen. “This is a report on fingerprint testing on the weapon in question. Can you tell me whose fingerprints are on the report, Detective Flair.”

The Detective looked down at the paper and then back up at Mr. Varnish before answering, “Brodie Flacarada’s.”

“Is there any other name listed on the report?” Mr. Varnish asked.

“No, only Brodie’s.”

“Then Morgan Hallsbrad never touched this weapon?” Mr. Varnish asked quickly.

“No, we found two pairs of gloves on Mr. Hallsbrad. One latex, and one pair of leather ones.”

“But you bagged and tagged everything on the scene and put it into evidence?” Mr. Varnish asked, even as he spun and went to his desk.

“Again, Mr. Varnish, that is correct.”

“Can you show me the gloves you mentioned on this Evidence Summary please, Detective Flair?” Mr. Varnish said. “I’m handing Detective Flair, P-one, already submitted into evidence. It’s a simple summation of all pieces of evidence found at the scene.”

Detective Flair took the page, and Mrs. Stovall flipped in her binder to the P-section. It was the first item inside. There was only one page of items, but a quick scan immediately told me what Mr. Varnish was getting at.

There were no gloves listed. I blinked at the page—hadn’t the Detective just confidently said they’d found two pairs of gloves on Morgan Hallsbrad?

“They aren’t listed, are they Detective Flair?” Mr. Varnish prodded.

“I can’t find them on this list, no,” Detective Flair answered, while holding up the page.

“Did you or Detective Volt take the gloves off Morgan Hallsbrad before bagging and tagging them?” Mr. Varnish asked, following up quickly.

“I believe I did.”

“Then how are they not listed here, Detective Flair.”

“I’m not sure—“

“So, then you arrived on scene to find Brodie Flacarada holding a weapon, and there is no evidence it was ever unholstered by Morgan Hallsbad first?”

“That’s not what I’ve said—“

“Answer the question, please,” Mr. Varnish asked.

“Objection, your honor, Argumentative. Detective Flair has already testified to there being gloves on Morgan Hallsbrad.”

“Apologies, I’ll retract my previous question, your honor. Let’s move on from the missing gloves, you claim were at the scene. How would you describe Brodie Flacarada at the scene and in the following days of questioning.”

My stomach sank, as I knew exactly where this line of questioning was leading. I had just received Mental Fortitude without truly understanding what it was doing. I’d even noticed how others reacted to my seeming lack of reactions.

Detective Flair glanced at me for a moment before saying, “Brodie Flacarada was distant and cold at times. Seeming to be in a state of shock—“

“Are you a doctor, Detective Flair?” Mr. Varnish asked.

“No—“

“Then how do you know he was in shock?”

“Look, Prosecutor Varnish. You and I both know that officers of the law are considered Expert Witnesses when testifying on matters that fall within the scope of their law enforcement expertise. I’ve seen people shot, stabbed, poisoned—suicide attempts that survived and wished they hadn’t and even more things that I’d rather forget. Under the scope of that experiential expertise, Brodie Flacarada was showing symptoms that I would associate with other cases I’ve had where the victims were later given a medically confirmed diagnosis of shock. I’ve seen many victims in my time with the Windsor Police Department, and Brodie was exhibiting the same symptoms.”

“So, what you’re saying is that no—you have no doctor's diagnosis of shock—or even a psychiatric evaluation of it?”

“No, just my expert opinion,” Detective Flair answered.

“Why’s that?”

“Why’s what?”

“Sorry, why is there no doctor’s evaluation of shock?”

“Because Brodie didn’t have to go to the hospital,” Detective Flair responded, sounding confused.

“Wait, you are saying that he was assaulted but didn’t have to go to the hospital?”

“I said Brodie was assaulted. I never said he was battered. He was held at gunpoint—“

“Objection your honor. Hearsay,” Mr. Varnish intoned, objecting to his own witness's answer. “Didn’t you just testify to finding Brodie Flacarada holding the gun, Detective Flair?”

“That’s correct.”

“So, where did the information come from that Morgan Hallsbrad was holding Brodie at gunpoint.”

“From the victim.”

“Alleged victim. The same cold and detached ‘victim’ you found holding the gun?” Mr. Varnish asked. I could see Mrs. Stovall who’d been scribbling hurriedly clench a fist at this question. I expected her to stand up and object but she didn’t.

“Not the way I described it,” Detective Flair responded.

“But you did say Brodie Flacarada was holding the weapon on arrival.”

“Yes.”

“And described him as cold and detached.”

“Yes, but not at the scene.”

“So, when was Brodie Flacarada cold and detached, Detective Flair?”

“When my partner and I visited him the next morning to inform him of Morgan Hallsbrad’s death—“

It felt like someone had just hammered a nail into my heart.

“That’s total bullshit!” Smegma shouted. “Mr. Varnish even knows you have Mental Fortitude ‘cause of that Larvae bastard!”

“Allow me to restate your position, and correct me if I’m wrong,” Varnish stated smoothly. “To the best of your experiential expertise, you’d say that Brodie Flacarada, the defendant—was ‘cold and detached’ after you informed him that his actions likely led to the death of another human being, is that correct?”

Detective Flair shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Remember. You are under Oath.” Mr. Varnish pressed. “Yes or no, Detective. Did I fairly summarize your statement?”

Clearing his throat, the Detective leaned slightly toward the microphone.

“Yes.”