Swan Song

Chapter 1

The first time Alistair Frye encountered alcohol had been a thrilling, exhilarating occasion. That celebratory drink at the age of sixteen was a rite of passage, the initial step towards adulthood. The very face of immaturity and inexperience had looked back at him as it was reflected upon the glass, before being obscured by the rich, full-bodied wine that was served to him. In raising his drink at that moment he felt, for the first time, like he had been seen by someone as an equal.

His final toast would come almost a decade later. Merely hours before being faced with a decision that would cost him the life of one of two women, he attempted to numb himself with the bitter taste of cheap bourbon. Hazy as his mind might have been then, that action alone would remain forever ingrained in his memory.

Nevertheless, the drink tonight was neither of those occasions. Somewhere in between, long after the flavour had lost its appeal and the unpleasant sourness had transformed into little more than a necessary routine, Mr Frye sat in quiet contemplation of a glass of scotch.

It was rare for him to find himself in such a pensive state. Every so often, regardless, there would come a time when he happened to slip into these long states of self-reflection. He was unsure of why, even now, he still bothered thinking about such things. After years of practice, the procedure that he had repeatedly carried out throughout his career now came with complete ease. To worry about trivialities was unlike him. Why muse over something so commonplace?

The bar he currently sat in was uncharacteristically quiet. So much so that he was forced to wonder just how long he had been sitting there. He arrived at a time when lively conversations, accompanied by the clinking of glasses, filled the establishment. Hours later, it seemed that pinpointing the precise moment in which those voices had quieted down and faded would have been an impossible feat. Caught within a blur concocted by alcohol and his thoughts, it appeared that time had managed to slip him entirely.

That silence stood out to him in stark contrast to his daily life. Whether that fact was cause for relief or unease, he probably couldn't tell himself.

A life filled with voices desperate for information. Voices meant to discourage him, to make his resolve waver. Some badgered him with questions, others with accusations. Every time, they fell on deaf ears.

Time and again, the young man smiled as he moved instinctively, reflexively, while making his way to the courtroom. In the attorney's mind, the world beyond the tribunal faded away into nothingness. From that moment onward, nothing existed to him but the large, open doors that welcomed him into his element. 

At the defence table, his client and co-counsel awaited him.

"You're late, Frye."

"Fashionably so, naturally."

Alistair dismissed the reproach with a smile, for he did not share in the older man's—his co-counsel's— concern. He stood and spoke with a serenity unbefitting of such a tense setting. 

Unsatisfied with Alistair's answer, the co-counsel was anything but impressed by this display of audacity. In fact, he was outraged at the younger attorney's nerve. "You ought to take this more seriously, kid. If you arrived any later-"

But it seemed like the source of the older attorney's distress was completely unaffected by these worries. "Pardon me? Has the verdict been issued? Did we lose the case?"

By continuing to blab on about such petty matters, the co-counsel's words became as irrelevant as those of the vultures who had been left outside the room.

"No, but-" This time, the elder was barely given the chance to react before Alistair intervened.

"Then, you ought to watch your mouth. Need I remind you that you are an assistant in name only? By all means, keep your opinions to yourself until there comes a time when they are needed."