Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 23

It felt like everyone in the city was packed into the courtroom for the last day of Simon's trial. I'd warned all my friends to keep away—Anaya, Ben, Ellie—but plenty of my other classmates were turned away at the door, having skipped school in hopes of getting a peek at Sefton's most infamous former student. The smiling vultures of the local media naturally snagged all the good seats, and had I not been waiting outside the courthouse since before sunrise, I wouldn't have gotten my place at the front of the gallery. You'd think this was the much-anticipated finale of a popular soap opera with the way the reporters and lawyers and local dignitaries were all smirking and whispering to each other. I was just about the only person in the courtroom who wasn't smiling. As Jesmond, Simon's lawyer, got slowly to her feet, an expectant hush fell over the spectators.

"The defense calls Simory Mallory to the witness stand."

For the first time since his trial began, Simon was led out from behind the cage of bulletproof glass and took the stand—closely watched by two armed state troopers. His hands and feet were chained together, and he looked paler and thinner than I'd ever seen him. I could feel the excitement in the gallery as Judge Thrane swore Simon in and Jesmond took her place between the jury and defendant.

"Alright, Simon," she said pleasantly. "Let's get started."

Simon's lawyer walked him through the past few months with almost methodical blandness. His answers to her questions were brief—usually just a mumbled "that's right" or a hesitant "y-yes"—and I could tell from the stony faces of the jury that they weren't buying any it. For all their dry factualness, Jesmond's questions carefully avoided the issue of why it was Simon couldn't remember making the Psychosis armor, or killing Boss Lynam, or plotting to blow up the Imperium Club. It wasn't much of a strategy—not if she was actually on his side, at least. My name came up a few times, and I flushed a little each time I felt the eyes of the jurors and reporters flicker over to me. I played my part as the secondary antagonist by keeping my face as unreadable as possible.

It wasn't until I was starting to wonder whether Judge Thrane might actually die of old age before anything interesting happened that Simon's laywer finally asked the only question that really mattered.

"And Simon, you have no knowledge of any of the terrible things Psychosis did? You weren't in control of yourself at those times, and you have no memory of them?"

"Yes," said Simon. "That's right."

His voice, thought it wasn't exactly brimming with self-confidence, was clear and steady. I didn't understand how anyone couldn't be impressed by his sincerity—by his obvious lack of anything that would drive him to do what Psychosis had done. But, judging by the hard faces of the jurors and and the skeptical titters in the gallery, nobody was.

"Very good," said Jesmond, her lips curling with satisfaction at having made the minimum plausible effort to save her client's skin. "Your witness, Assistant District Attorney."

The gallery perked up as Adrian Comstock—the handsome, all-American knucklehead that was going to bully Simon Mallory for their enjoyment—stood up, straightened his tie, and strode over to the witness stand.

"Mr. Mallory," said Comstock. "You claimed in your statement to the police that you were unaware of the actions you took as 'Psychosis.' Is that true?"

"Y-yes," said Simon. "That's what I just said."

"I see. And how would you propose to explain to the jury that you were able to plan and execute the murder of Benjamin Lynam, the robbery and mass killing at the Redding Credit Cooperative, the hostage situation at St. Maria Goretti Catholic Church, and the attack on the Barclay Steam Plant all without realizing you were doing it?"