Page 72 of Falling for a Killer

The coffee in my mug is cold as I take another sip, knowing it won’t do anything to wake me up or make time move faster. I feel like I’ve been on this bench for months just waiting for the end, for the gavel to fall and this to be over. People have come and gone, both supporters and people telling me I’m crazy for loving a killer, family and strangers alike. My capacity for small talk has long since been met, and as much as I need my family here, I know they need sleep.

The jury has already been deliberating for days.

It’s been wild watching all the people show up to wait. Influencers, journalists, people from his past who spoke out against him. Even Krystal showed her face for a few minutes — but one look at mine had her heading for the door. Good. I’m not above beating a liar’s ass in a courthouse.

None of these people care the way that I do. They stayed for a few hours, maybe a day. Some came back the second day. But now at the end of day four, I’m one of the only people left. I don’t want to go home again without knowing. I don’t want another sleepless night where people try to force me to eat or shower. I want this to be over. So when Donna comes out with her briefcase, I have hope — right up until she shakes her head.

“Not today,” she says again. “I’m sorry, Joey.”

“What’s taking so long? I don’t understand. You said the prosecution failed to make their case. What could they possibly be arguing about in there?”

She leads me toward the door with a sad expression. “I told you. I did the best I could, but I think at least a couple of the jurors didn’t like him. Bentley agrees with me.”

Bentley Morgan is her second chair, one who has seemed rather useless so far, but he’s another set of eyes inside. If they both agree that some of the jurors hate him, it’s probably true.

“Why did you help him?” Stopping just outside the main doors, I turn to face her. “I know it’s not about the money because you insisted you wanted to talk to him first. The money didn’t matter.”

“I chose to help him because he didn’t strike me as the cold-blooded killer type, and I believe in our justice system. I know he says he did it, but people make false confessions all the time whether they’re trying to get clout or protecting someone they love. Occasionally, people even make false confessions to convince themselves that they had a hand in bringing about justice. So I didn’t care that he said he did it. I cared about the evidence against him and making sure that he was given a fair trial, one way or the other. I did my best to ensure that. The rest is up to the jury.”

This is why I think the concept of a jury is bullshit. Human beings can’t be objective enough, it’s not possible. Most don’t have the nuance needed to understand the laws or the reason required to put aside their own feelings. I’d personally never be able to. Life is just messier than that. I’d like to tell myself that if I heard some incriminating evidence that the judge then ordered me to disregard, I’d disregard it, but I know I wouldn’t. You can’t unhear things. You can’t just erase knowledge from your mind in the blink of an eye. I know it’s still a better system than allowing a single judge to decide things when judges can be bought, intimidated, or corrupt, but still.

She believes in our justice system.

I guess I don’t.

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“The jury is back,” Donna announces, pocketing her cell phone and heading toward the courtroom doors. “There’s no media in there so you’ll have to wait until someone comes out. I doubt I’ll be able to right away, but I can send Bentley out as soon as we know.”

I feel like a newborn deer trying to follow her on shaky legs. “Yes. Yes, go. Fuck. Okay.”

Adrenaline overtakes my system as two burly guards stop me from sneaking in, and I’m forced to head back to my least favorite bench to wait. My fingertips feel useless as I try to send a text to our family group chat that it’s time, now six and a half days past the closing arguments.

It’s finally time.

The next ten minutes seem to drag on for a dozen lifetimes as I stare at the door in front of me. More people are gathering inside again, and I bet the crowd outside is already getting insane. I know I should probably be out there with them holding signs and chanting or whatever it is they’re doing, but this is personal for me. It’s private. And as that door finally opens again, I have to admit I’m glad I’m alone.

“Well?” I demand, practically rushing the poor man before he can even get halfway to me. “What happened? What’d they say?”

He exhales hard as a smile breaks out across his face. “Not guilty on all counts. I’ve gotta get back in there, but Miss Steel wanted you to know.”

“Wait!” I yell as he starts to retreat. “What happens now? Where will he go?”

The doors shut and the guards block me again as chaos erupts around me. I wasn’t the only one who heard, and as word spreads, things get crazier.

I just don’t care.

Not guilty. My phone drops from my hands as my knees hit the marble floor beneath me. All the air leaves my lungs as all the blood in my body rushes south, making me dizzy.

Not guilty.

He’s free.

We did it.

Nausea rolls in my stomach as my body tries to adjust to the receding adrenaline, but I can’t get to my feet until Violet rushes to my side and picks me up. “We were waiting outside since you said you wanted to be alone. Are you okay? Joey?”

“I—” Am I okay? I should be, this is what I hoped for. What I begged for. “I think so. Just a little lightheaded. He’s free, Vi. He’s free.”

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