Black Iris

Worry me

Rose

Jordan hadn't spoken to me since that talk in the car. And since then, I'd been building up a narrative in my head, convincing myself she hated my guts and didn't want anything to do with me.

But when she got on the stand, that make believe narrative was shattered.

She was nothing but wonderful, defensive of me in a way that was so carefully considered.

Every time Johansson went in trying to stick the abusive parents angle Jordan would hit him twice as hard with the post-Blake angle.

Was I ever sporadic or disoriented?

Very rarely, but constantly after Blake.

Did I ever show distress unprompted?

Sometimes before, almost daily after.

Question after question, and a clever way to answer each. Constantly pinning the blame to Blake. Not underselling my parents violence, but contrasting it in comparison to the violence under him.

But most of all, she was caring. Caring for me deeply as a friend, worried for my well-being. She was loving towards me in her responses, hurt by the way I hurt afterwards.

Eventually, Johansson gave up and relented the questioning to Clara.

Clara, who didn't bother with the fluff. She asked about the carpark.

"I left her for no more than five minutes that day," Jordan began. "Five minutes. I was going to the bathroom, and I gave her the keys for her to sit in the car. I have spent so many sleepless nights playing that moment over and over in my head, wondering how I could have played it differently. Gone with her. Brought her with me. Told her to wait outside the doors to the target, where more people could see. Or looked back before I went inside, maybe then I would have seen the truck and the people that took her. But I didn't. I left her the keys and went inside, and when I came out, she was gone.

"I freaked out. Then I started justifying. Maybe her parents had found out she was skipping and come to pick her up? Maybe she had felt sick and gone home with them anyway? Maybe she'd gone back inside? So I went inside first, scanned the rows and rows of shelves, starting to panic. Then an announcement came over the loud speakers that someone had found a pair of keys dropped in the car park. My keys. That I'd given Ophelia.

"That was when I really started panicking. I called her parents first, not caring if they found out we were skipping, just wanting to know she was okay. They didn't pick up until the third ring. But she wasn't there. Mrs. Alto was confused why I wasn't in class, why I was looking for Ophelia when we were at school. I hung up and called my mum. I was crying hysterically at that point, and the shop staff and strangers started coming around, wondering what was going on.

"My mum was on high alert, told me to call the police straight away. She was on her way by the time we hung up. I called the police, who promised to come. I told the staff what was going on. Then I started calling our friends, the school, everyone she might be with. But no one knew where she was. Because she wasn't with them. Because she had been dragged into a truck and carted across the state."

"Objection," Johansson piped up. "Speculation."

The judge gave a curt nod.

"You can go on, Jordan," Clara said gently. "Tell me a bit about what it was like while she was gone."

"It was awful. My parents and I, we helped with the search efforts. Put up flyers, spoke with the news, put out calls online. At first, people were worried. But then, people started questioning whether it was a runaway situation. And that hurt, because even though I didn't believe it, if it was true, surely she would tell me? Plus, she'd seemed so happy, that day at Target. There weren't any alarm bells. It was just a normal day. But people at school, initially sympathetic, they got nasty. Said awful things about her, and about me. That she'd run away to get away from me. That maybe she just didn't like me that much. And it all got to me, made me question if it was true."