The Supposed Terrorist

Chapter 1

Well, this was it.

This was the end for me.

My trial in the court was going on and in all honesty, it was a really pointless proceeding. Everyone knew I had committed those crimes against the nation– mass killings, bombings and all. You know, the usual.

It was a month back when everything began to go downhill. I was living an alright life– as alright as you can while being a criminal on the run. But during my stay in a hotel for 2 days, I was arrested. The first half of the month was spent in police custody, and the second in judicial custody. The date to the trial– today– arrived and as predicted, I was being sentenced to death.

The bombs had been placed on three sites by me and fortunately for the nation, civilian casualties were extremely low, due to the blast radius being shorter. But the attempt mattered.

I felt slightly sad as I heard the date being decided for the sentence. 23 was no age to die.

"The court is adjour–" The judge was saying when he got cut off by someone's frantic yells. The door to the courtroom opened with a bang and a man entered with urgency. He had a folder in his hand and started waving it in the air.

"I can prove her innocence! I can," he spoke loudly, trying to catch his breath. "I have evidence!"

I stared.

The man in front of me seemed about 25. He was handsome, dressed up in a plain white shirt and black pants. His black smooth hair parted on one side and slightly fell on his forehead. His dark blue eyes were fixed on the judge, firmness shone in them.

"Do not break the decorum of the court," the judge said, eyeing the man.

"Truly sorry, your honor." The man inclined his head. "But I think this information is crucial."

The judge gestured for the file. Another man took it from the new-comer and brought it to him. As he read through the contents of it, the judge's expression turned into the one that was of confusion.

I looked at my lawyer, Laura Zinman, inquiringly. "Do you know what's going on?"

She shook her head. So, she was as convinced as me that I was going to die.

The court was put into session again. The next 40 minutes were strange. A massive discussion around the new 'evidence' took place. It had a few pictures each from three sites– the 9 o'clock station, the city mall, and the Lloyd hotel. Three sites I had confessed to having caused the bombing at. But in those pictures, I was not present at all. Instead there were three different men in each, faces unclear but whose physique and other features were starkly distinct from mine.

"But your honor," Cunningham, the advocate for opposition, interrupted. He was an experienced criminal lawyer well in his 40s. "This still does not prove that she did not arrange for those bombings to happen. This just proves the minor fact that she did not directly engage in placements."

"And what even makes you accuse her of that? There was no proof for either of it from the beginning," the man who had come with evidence spoke.

God, what was happening? My head might as well explode. What I remembered was placing the bombs. I was guilty, I knew that.

Cunningham scowled. "The fact that she confessed? And you are not handling her defense right now, Mister Wing."

The judge nodded. "Mister Cunningham is right."

The man apologized, though he did not seem that sorry and took a seat with the common people.

Laura chose this moment to pick up. "Precisely, though. There was no evidence for accusations to begin with. Nothing concrete."