The Aftermath

02

The courthouse hallway was in emotional disorder once Tom and his family, led by Charlie, exited the courtroom doors. Charlie arranged for six Sheriff deputies to get them to the elevator. The crowd surged in as a flash flood of anger and glass. The process was a shoving match between the deputies and News crews, camera men, and spectators. Within the cocoon of deputies, Tom and his family were pressed from the rear, and pushed from the sides. Angie staggered several times, but Tom kept a hold of her.

Something plastic hit Tom on the shoulder and a Taser was fired. Tom saw a young man falter within the vice grip of the Taser, and then he was down. Two officers pulled the young man into a side hallway. The shouting increased.

"Electrocute him!" A woman screamed, pointing at Tom as they passed. She starts up a chant. Before they were to the elevator the chant was accepted. The crowd's voice was terrifyingly adamant. Ahead of them, Tom could see several SDPD uniforms slamming people into walls and onto the hard tile floors. Hand cuffs were used and then the nylon-plastic cuffs appear.

Once inside the elevator the ride was quick down to the garage where Samantha was allowed to park during the trial. At the Toyota SUV, the deputies wait until Tom and his family were inside, and the car was started, before they turn their backs and return to the elevator.

The haven inside of the SUV was deafeningly silent. The hybrid engine makes nearly zero sound as Samantha pressed the petal and eased them into downtown traffic, heading for the 163 Freeway.

It was supposed to be over. For Tom, during the last forty-eight days, all he could focus on was the trail itself. He never considered the aftermath. He never considered the amount of hate and anger which would erupt once he was acquitted. Acquittal was the goal, and in his mind, the end of the process. All he wanted was his life back. The process was complete. It was over, right?

His mind would not function properly. He felt inane, sluggish and separated from everything, as if he was not real, unreal, unmade. He tried to focus, to clear his fogged mind and the more he tried, the more tendrilled and subdued his thoughts became. The air became thick around him, heavy. Pressing. He let down his window a little, and it helps clear the compression around him.

"Is it over?" Angie asked from the back seat, mirroring his thoughts with her fears. Her shoulder-length blond hair was flat today, with none of the waves or braids she was fond of using. It made her look nine, instead of fourteen. Her eyes were wide, as if still attempting to project onto the world what she felt this moment should have been like – not anger and terror, but happiness and relief. Her father was not guilty of some of the sickest crimes she had ever heard about in her short life. The questioning fear in her eyes told Tom her inner projections had met heavy resistance, and suffered extreme damage.

"Yes Angie, it is over." Samantha told her, before Tom could put together an answer from his fragmented thoughts.

"One of those women spit on me." Angie said, in low voice with no inflection.

Tom looked back at her, but her attention was drawn to the trees and gardens as they passed Balboa Park, heading North on the highway.

The trip home from that point was silent. Samantha reached over and took Tom's hand in hers, giving him a gentle squeeze, as if reassuring herself he was in the car with them, and coming home.

Numb, unfocused, submissive. With sudden clarity Tom recognized the emotional weight on his mind. He has been in this same psychological state before; on his way home from the war in Afghanistan, four years ago. He left the U.S. as a medic, and came home unable to continue his life in the medical field. His first three days after leaving Afghanistan, he was like this; numb, passive, unfocused, with no directional needs.