Bodies

quarante-et-un

As George took his seat again, the courtroom was rife with hushed murmurs. Everyone was having a hard time digesting the prosecution's cross-examination of Milan.

Hell, everyone felt bad for her.

Unbeknownst to them, the trial was going to get a whole lot heavier for the Cozart woman.

The chair Nicoletta sat in screeched loudly as she pushed it back to stand and approach the judge's desk again. "Judge Cortez, the defense asks Miss Cozart to remain on the stand for another round of questioning."

The judge was one of the people who looked like that was the last thing she wanted to do to Milan, who was dabbing her eyes carefully in an attempt to clean herself up from her crying spell.

But with a bang of her gavel and a nod, the judge approved Nicoletta's request.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what the prosecution has tried to do by bringing up Milan's past is blind you from what the true story was. They gave you all the time frame at which the murder occurred. Milan was only a child. Her brother 16. Ramses Young, only 17 years old.

We all can agree we have grown since then?" Nicoletta implored the audience to nod and they did. Some smiling fondly at the memories of their teenage years.

"But we all cannot say that we have faced the same hardships that my client and Miss Cozart have faced in such short time.

Chicago is a world-class city, but as residents of the city, you all do know there are parts where the sun does not reach. Ramses Young is a survivor of those same parts. And, you cannot blame his childhood self for getting wrapped up in what surrounded him."

Nicoletta walked around the room as she talked, making sure to engage every corner of the room as she did so. She made sure to linger on the side of the jurors's section where two white women sat, it was like she was making sure they were listening and truly digesting what she said.

Nicki's approach was to humanize Ramses after the prosecution had done their best to separate him from his humanity. Nicki was making him relatable where they made him a villain.

"Which brings me to ask you, Milan," Nicoletta turned on one of her stiletto heels towards the witness stand.

Milan found herself gripping the sides of the desk like she could brace herself for the next question. She was up here, and she had to grin and bear it until it was over.

God, she hoped it would be over soon.

"What really happened the night your parents died? And why do you feel Ramses expressed remorse on record? Knowing he was an affiliated gang member, he still spoke to the police willingly. No blood was on his hands, as you stated before."

The question washed over Milan like cool water. Like slipping underneath the water in the bathtub. It chilled her body, but she had already been numb for hours.

She swallowed before she grasped the mic and brought it closer to her lips. The breeze in the room reminded her of the tear stains on her cheeks.

"The night my parents died, I was in bed. It was around 9 o'clock. I had school in the morning." Milan began slow and steady. She didn't look at anyone as she spoke, her eyes were straight ahead looking at the clock above the door entrance of the room.

"I remember hearing the windows shatter—"

"'Gina! Wake up, baby!"

Her father's distressed cry sliced through the mind.

"My mother was killed immediately when she was shot. My dad lived long enough to tell me where his phone was and to call the police."

The room had ceased it's murmuring. When Milan spoke they hung off each and every word.