One Last Time

Chapter 9, Part A: The Verdict

COURTNEY'S PERSPECTIVE

My phone statically bounces around my bedside table. It is my alarm going off. Appeal day. I barely got any sleep last night, and I am definitely feeling the effects as I struggle to get out of my covers constraint. It was all about finalising all the information and the evidence for the case, which I had practically done nights ago, but something in my head convinced me that it wasn't enough, so I redid it all. Last night. Hours away from the actual application. 

My alarm has been ringing for the past thirty minutes. 

I lengthen out my legs tightly, giving them a good stretch, and roll out of bed. Upon opening my curtains, I can see photographers and news reporters dispersed around the park lot. I should've predicted this to happen. Not many people would think an appeal case for property damage would be very high profile, but considering Duncan and I's past, the media has had a field day with it all.

Rolling my eyes at the nuisances, I make my way to the bathroom. To convey a proper message, the way you present yourself  plays a significant role. So on days like these, I take extra pride in my appearance. I take my hair out of my messy bun, and brush it out with detangler, removing the knots and creating a smooth texture. I tie it back into a slick bun, making sure there is not a single bump in sight. Perfect. 

As an extra precaution, I glance at the makeup on my counter, debating whether or not I should apply it. I decided no, I didn't really need it. Plus, time was becoming bare.

I scurry to my wardrobe and pull out my uniform, which I had picked the night before. I decided to wear a classic navy blazer and matching mid-thigh skirt, finished with an open, white blouse and my essential pearl earrings and necklace. Immaculate. With no time to waste, I stuff all of my files and computer into my grey office bag, struggling to zip it up. Defeated, I throw my half-closed bag next to the front door, dart to the kitchen, grab a muesli bar and lock the door behind me. 

Cameras are flashing, the loud clicks throbbing in my earlobes. 'Ms Satella, what can you tell us about the case? What's the situation with you and Scott? Are you and Duncan back together?' I force myself through the crowd, ignoring all questions at the same time. So much commotion.

With all my strength, I pull open my car's door amidst the heavy crowd swallowing me. I place my bag onto the passenger seat, and as cautiously as possible, start the car and exit the populous parking space. Once I leave the scene, I let out a huge sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted to have to deal with was the media. I already have so much on my mind, and all the added stress of Scott being in the courtroom, it is really not the most enviable situation for one to be in. I am taking his word that he isn't going to cause a scene, but I can't help but be uneasy about what Duncan may do if he sees him. 

My foot presses hard on the accelerator, and I speed to the courthouse. 

Consequently to arriving late, I am once again greeted by a swarm of press. I park my car, snatch my bag, and dart straight into the courthouse before I could be interviewed about anything serious. Once inside the main building, I place my hands on my bent knees, desperately trying to catch my breath. A friendly voice speaks to me, "Courtney, are you alright?" I look up to see one of my fellow colleagues reaching out his hand to help me. "Ah, yes, thank you Brian. It's crazy out there," I responded gratefully. He chuckles and assists me to a standing position. "Good luck today, we all know you are going to do amazing."

"Thank you so much, it's just a matter of what the jurors decide on," I state tensely. Brain walks with me to the courtroom, which I really appreciate. Browsing around the hallway, I am completely disinterested. Although the arched high ceilings are intriguing, and architecturally impressive, everything else is so bland. It is a sombre, and unfamiliar atmosphere, so many miscarriages of justice. It is windowless, making it gloomy and dark. The walls are empty, just plain glossy wood, further darkening the room. 

Brian pushes the tall doors open, to reveal a huge courtroom, already packed with reporters and journalists, jurors and people in the public gallery, including Scott. 

He rushes over to me, excited. "Court! You look stunning!"I feel my cheeks turn red with embarrassment. He leans in for a kiss but I push him off me. "Scott, I don't have time for this. We'll talk later but right now I just need to go up to the Judge's associate." He acknowledges my response, disheartened, but lets me go up the front to submit some paperwork. As I walk up, I feel the room analyzing my everymove, whispering and snarling. Don't let it get to you Court! You're better than that.

I hand my files up to the associate, and he grins at me, then follows, "Ms Satella, it's lovely to have you here. I look forward to hearing what you say." I smile back, confidently, and head over to my desk and place my things down. I sway my head back and face Brian, who is sitting in the first row of the public gallery. He waves at me and gives me a double thumbs up.You've got this Court.

The courtroom is buzzing, with more and more people rolling in as the minutes pass. The hearing was going to start any second, and I wait with the highest amount of fretfulness intertwining in my body. 

It all goes silent, as the Judge arrives into the room with a parade of jurors following right behind him. Everyone stands. We watch and wait until he makes it up to his stand. The side door on the left side of the room opens, to highlight an emoticon Duncan. He is staring directly at me, almost admiring me. I catch a glimpse of Scott from the corner of my eye, and he can also see Duncan staring at me, and he is far from impressed. 

Duncan is escorted by a guard and placed right next to me. He remains standing among the rest of us, as the Judge begins to speak, "The court is now in session. Please be seated," demanding respectfully. Everyone follows, and sits in their seats. Duncan turns to me with that daring smirk on his face, and whispers into my ear, "Look you nice Princess." Butterflies float in my stomach and my neck tingles. 

The judge addresses the courtroom once more, "For our opening statement, I would like to invite Ms Satella to speak on behalf of the defendant, Duncan Tarun." 

I compile together my folders, and take them up to the lectern. I don't really need them, I have memorised the entire speech, but it is just a precaution. Usually, I don't get nervous before speaking, as I know I'm good at it, but there is so much riding on this that for the first time, I actually see my hands rattle out of angst.

You can do it Court. Do it for you. Do it, for Duncan.

"In a quote from Athenian philosopher, Plato, he stated, 'The worst form of injustice is pretended justice.' This quote perfectly describes the situation in which the defendant, Duncan Tarun, has found himself wrapped in; a pretended justice. What if you were framed for a crime that you did not commit? What if, the only reason you were targeted and framed for that crime was because you found yourself in the wrong place, at the wrong time? Imagine, that your whole life was taken away from you with the flick of a switch, simply because you already had a criminal record. To the common eye, this is eventidently wrong and cruel. But in the eyes of the court, this is completely fine when it comes to the case of Duncan Tarun. How is that any different?" 

I pause.

"On February 13th, at seven o'clock on a Saturday night, surveillance footage identifies a dark figure who went and destroyed Mrs Prescott's residence while she was out with her friends. And that dark figure is not the defendant sitting in this room today. Duncan Tarun is a dedicated, tenacious and loveable man. However, he is not an example of this country's rightfully convicted. He is an example of a 'pretended justice'." 

Taking a deep sigh of relief, I pick up my files and carry them back to my bench. The whole time I spoke, and even now, Duncan dazed at me, his eyes teal eyes dissecting me and every word I said. He had the same old penetrating smirk on his face the entire time I spoke, he knows how much I love it when he looks at me like that. I pull in my chair and Duncan turns his head towards me. Knowing he's not allowed to speak, he just melts into my eyes, and I can't stop myself from beaming back at him. The tension is high.

"I would now like to invite Mr Perez from Ms Satella's team to lay out the evidence supporting the defendants case." I turn to Simon and give him a look or reassurance as he stands up to address the courtroom. The hearing is going great, but Duncan seems to be disinterested.

He isn't listening to the evidence, or focusing on the speaker, or even letting his eyes wander around the room. Instead, he is fixated on me. And I am too.