A Dance of Life

50

The days leading up to the court cases are filled with visits to the courthouse to practice; my lawyer drills us on multiple scenarios, playing good cop and bad cop.

The first few days were especially hard on me; having to think deeply and recant every single detail of the incident and afterward with Mr. James scrutinizing every word. My head had resumed its constant headache, but I was making an effort to follow Mary's advice and not worry too much.

When we weren't on the witness stand, or in court, Diana, Pat, and I continued compiling the baby registry. As much as it's a necessary part of preparing for the arrival of the babies, I know we're also using it as a distraction.

This is it, I think to myself as I follow Mr. James into the courtroom, my family close behind. See his face one more time then never again. But this isn't like the Williams' case; I can't run out when I'm done.

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for I am with you wherever you go.

I won't be afraid.

Mr. James pulls my chair back, indicating me to sit down at the table. I can feel everyone in the court's eyes on me; the pregnant rape victim. The crazy woman who thought it was a good idea to keep the babies from her rapist. The baby mama of-

Stop!

He sits beside me, opening up his briefcase and removing the necessary files. I hear a door open, and I glance up to find Reuben being ushered in by his attorney and the bailiff. I expect him to mock me; scoff, sneer, but he keeps his face down.

He's just playing with your emotions. Ignore him.

I wring my fingers together and place them on the table, squeezing and releasing them in no particular pattern. Another door opens and the jury files in, this time I don't bother looking up. I just want to go home.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Wesley," the bailiff says.

I steady my breathing as I stand, my body feeling heavier than before. I keep my gaze on the table, my blood pumping in my ears; I don't trust my body or my reactions right now.

"Hey, Annelise, sit down," my attorney whispers in my ear, tapping gently on my shoulder.

I sit promptly, my face heating up from embarrassment. Oh, God, please help me. I don't want to pass out... or throw up.

I concentrate on the table in front of me, examining its shiny finish. I figure it's good quality wood. Oak? Maple? Maybe Pine? I trace the annual wood with my mind, I'm pretty sure if I use my finger they'll think I'm mentally unstable.

Aren't you?

"Ms. Allard, to the witness stand please."

I snap my head up. The whole room is quiet, waiting for me. How long was I out of it? What's wrong with me?

I scrape my chair back, the sound echoing in the room, and walk to the witness stand. Their gazes feel hot on my back, judging me, condemning me. I hold my head high through the short distance and stand with my back as straight as possible when I reach the stand.

The bailiff places a bible before me, instructing me to raise my right hand. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," I reply before being asked to sit.

"The prosecution may proceed," the judge says, leaning back in her chair.

We've been over this. Just think through before you answer.

"Ms. Allard, please, can you tell us what happened in the early hours of the 17th of March, 2020?"