Page 13 of Into These Eyes
The officer indicates for him to step down from the dock.
The moment his foot touches the floor, he charges toward the low railing separating the public gallery from the rest of the courtroom.
Suddenly he’s right in front of me, leaning over, his eyes locked with mine. I gasp and draw back, clutching at Detective Reid’s arm.
“I didn’t do this!” the killer shouts. “I didn’t take her from you! I would never—”
Reid shoves him back into the officer, who twists Gavin Lake’s arm behind his back and takes him down to the floor as the judge calls for order.
Heart thundering, I stand on trembling legs as the officer cuffs him, then yanks him to his feet. As he’s marched roughly to the exit for the guilty, he looks over his shoulder. Right at me. My gut twists at the sincerity in his eyes, at the tears streaming down his face.
But I refuse to be fooled by him. Instead, I give him the only smile he’ll ever see from me. I know it doesn’t reach my eyes, but I force it anyway. As soon as I do, I feel nasty, cruel even. But it’s him who should feel that way, not me. He’s the one who’s hurt me, my family. He’s the one who keeps hurting us by refusing to admit what he did.
“The killer’s still out there!” he pleads. “You have to believe me!”
Then the door closes behind them, and he’s gone from the courtroom. And from my life.
The killer’s still out there.
How stupid does he think I am?
When the pain of my nails digging into my palms registers, my knees buckle, and my butt hits the seat I’ll never occupy again. Detective Reid places a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. It’s finally over. I’ve spent so much time in this courtroom, the lawyers and court officials have become so familiar. But just like them, Reid will leave here and forget I exist.
While the courtroom slowly empties, I sit motionless, trying to figure out what to do now. I’d thought Gavin Lake’s conviction would somehow, finally, make him admit his guilt. But he’s holding onto his innocence tighter than ever, and the verdict hasn’t taken away any of my pain either.
Instead of relief and a sense of justice, I’m numb.
Without the distraction of the trial, reality rushes in.
Am I capable of being a mother to my sister? With almost no help from Dad, I’ve cared for her for almost a year, and it’s been anything but easy. She’s only three now. There’s fifteen more years to get through before she’s an adult.
Fifteen years of a life I didn’t sign up for.
I’m an unqualified mother to a toddler I didn’t give birth to. I haven’t even had sex for fuck’s sake. My carefree teenage years are over. I’ll never get them back. Time stolen from a life I’ll never know.
Being here today should have felt like freedom. Instead, I’ve been shackled to my own prison sentence.
All because of Gavin Lake.
Fifteen Years Later
Chapter 8
Jamie
As everyone files out of the courtroom for the lunch break, I rise and grab my laptop from the bar table, place it in its leather satchel, and leave.
Finding a table in the corner of my regular café on the next street over, I take out my phone and power it up while I wait for someone to take my order.
The trial I’m working on is going well, putting me in a good enough mood to treat myself to a cupcake for dessert. Thoughlately, the career I’ve worked and sacrificed so hard for appears to be losing its glossy sheen. Recently, one of the partners in the firm I’ve been with for the past seven years has brought his ick-factor son into the fold. The sleaze has tried to crack onto me more than once, so now my days in the office are spent avoiding the creep. Because, apparently, he doesn’t take no for an answer, even though I’ve politely made it clear I’m not interested.
But that’s only added to the real reason I’m doubting my chosen career. Having to see the photographic evidence and read about the depraved things people do to each other, in detail, day after day, no longer sparks a fire inside me. It extinguishes it. I’m beginning to consciously acknowledge the unwelcome fact that I might be burning out, that being bombarded with the worst aspects of human nature may very well be darkening my life in a way that borders on unhealthy.
Looking up, jealousy punches me in the gut as the bright, happy waitress practically bounces over to my table. Lucky her. I’d like to feel that carefree and joyful again. Last time I remember that sort of happiness was before Mum’s death.
After the waitress takes my order, I check my phone. There’s one missed call from a number I don’t recognise—no doubt scammers—and one message from Anika telling me she won’t be home for dinner tonight. Now that she’s eighteen, this is becoming a regular occurrence. For the most part, I don’t mind. Why should she stay home with me and Dad? I’ll be working and he’ll watch TV all night and ignore her like he always does. If I had the chance to relive my teenage years without the weight of all this responsibility, I’d be out every chance I got.
Anika’s quite the party girl, and she’s tested my limits to no end while raising her. She’s never been the type to willingly bend to authority. Which is why it came as quite the shock when she announced she wanted to become a police officer. After she finished her higher school certificate last year, she snagged ajob at a local pizza restaurant with no idea what she wanted to do with her life. University wasn’t for her, apparently. I suppose witnessing the amount of time I had to put into my studies while raising her, and forsaking a social life, may have put her off.
