Page 121 of Endgame
The courtroom is silent.
So quiet I can hear myself think.
And that’s what I do. Think.
About the high-profile case I’ve been overruling for months. About the sentence I’m going to give to the child molester in front of me. How he’s going to rot in prison for years.
Mostly, about Aurora, on her first day in the hospital.
While she’s probably crying over cuddling babies, I’m. Fucking. Here.
I’m working when I desperately want to see the expression on her face.
Hug her. I want that too.
Shut up.
I shake her out of my head.
The victim’s family is waiting for my sentencing. They’re crying, their tears running over the dark circles under their eyes.
Their pain bleeds and soaks up the entire room.
I’m suffocated by it. The longer I look at them, the less I obsess over Aurora.
In a way, this is good.
Because this can’t keep happening. The incessant craving can’t keep holding my attention hostage.
Every second I spend around Aurora, every moment I’m reminded of her, my resolve to hurt her weakens.
If not for this sentence hearing, there’s no telling what I would’ve done. I could’ve fucked up royally and pulled her out of the hospital. Kept her in my bed. Defiled her every hole until I got her out of my system.
I could bury my nose in her soft hair, kiss her, and tell her I’m sorry that either of us are stuck in this mess.
I silence that infuriating idea as soon as it rises.
Three dead people count on me to avenge them.
Which is why I don’t dare leave work early. That’s why I’m here, taking out the trash, like I did over the weekend. Since I don’t need my lawyers reporting to me about Aurora’s cases anymore, I cut out the criminal law division in my family’s law firm.
Enough about them though. I focus on my courtroom, on this piece of shit Silva before I read him his sentence. Then, I dive into harsh and unforgiving sentencing remarks. I talk about right and wrong. About justice and responsibility. I let everyone here see just how seriously I’m taking my job.
While I do, I’m being assaulted by memories of my family. Of everything we lost. Everything we’ll never have.
I use them as fuel, as justification for the harsh sentence I’ll give at the end of my monologue.
People shouldn’t be allowed to steal a part of another person’s life and get away with it. They shouldn’t be allowed to commit crimes against minors and cause them irreparable harm, like Winston did. Like Silva.
In the unfortunate case that they do, there’s a price to pay.
That’s why I’ve been put on this earth.
“Mr. Silva, you are hereby sentenced to serve the maximum term allowable under the law in a State Department of Corrections facility for You’ve been found guilty of rape in the first degree involving a minor.” Reading his offense, I feel anger, hot and claiming, shooting through my veins. “Twenty years in prison.”
I could’ve done worse. Could’ve pulled strings and sent him away for life, the same sentence I once threatened Aurora with.
But I have other plans for him. I called in different kinds of favors, paid off the right people. Made sure everyone in prison knows about the pedophile before he steps foot inside.
