Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
“I’m begging you to drop the insanity defense.” I keep my voice even. “I’ve written you letters—ones you’ve clearly refused to read. Your interns claim you’ll return my calls, but I only ever see you when you come to the jail and talk over me like I’m a child.”
He grits his teeth.
“Now that I’ve said everything I’ve been meaning to say—” I lean back in my chair. “I’d like us to go the purely innocent route. I’m not insane.”
“Purely innocent?” he fumes. “Not insane?”
I say nothing. His questions are always rhetorical.
“I might’ve taken you up on that long ago, but I’d like to not ruin my career over a simple, open-and-shut ‘she fucking did it because she’s crazy’ case,” he says. “Now that you’re serving me some half-baked ‘Me Too’ pity act—crying rape just to justify murder—”
Something in me snaps. But I keep my face still. If I let him see what that line does to me, he’ll win. Again.
“—with just one of your three victims, mind you, I’m going to have to pass on what you want.”
“You’re supposed to do what’s in your client’s best interest.” My chest rises and falls. “You have other things to present at the next hearing—and the rape should be one of them.”
“I am doing what’s best for my client.” He scoffs. “She’s just too fucking insane to see that.”
Two Weeks Later
Final Evidentiary Hearing
“Are you a psychopath, Sadie?”
“What was going through your mind when you killed those men?”
“Why are you wasting taxpayers’ money on a trial?”
“Why did you do it?”
The crowd shouts at me as I’m led from the jail into the courthouse. At this point, I’m immune to the noise. I know there’s a rear entrance the police could use to spare me the spectacle, but they don’t.
They want me to suffer.
Inside the courtroom, the loudest sound is the opening and shutting of laptops. I take in the room as a guard bends down and clamps a cold chain around my ankle, bolting it to the floor.
Like I might fly away.
Or turn into someone they’d actually believe.
Behind me, on the prosecution’s side, the benches are packed with the so-called victims’ families and friends.
On my side: a few members of the media. And my mother.
I don’t know why the hell she’s here.
But I can feel it—how she’s going to make this about herself. She’ll cry for the cameras. Cross her legs just right. Say she “had no idea her daughter was capable of such things.”
Then later, when the lights go off, she’ll remind me that it’s all my fault she lost her favorite stylist.
All my skills in acting and art? They came from her.
She’s the best actress I’ve ever known.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Chevy.”
My thoughts snap into place. I rise—straining against the ankle shackle—along with everyone else.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” the judge says, putting on his reading glasses. “It’s my understanding that the defense is requesting more time to prepare for trial?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” my lawyer says.
“I don’t see anything new in your latest motion,” the judge replies. “So on what grounds should I grant you more time?”
My lawyer looks at me. Then back at the bench.
“My apologies, Your Honor,” he says. “There’s been a huge misunderstanding on our side. We’re ready to proceed with the trial.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.” Judge Chevy lifts his gavel. “The trial will proceed next week as scheduled. Best of luck to you, Miss Pretty.”
Like it’s a raffle.
Like the prize isn’t my life.
I came here hoping to be heard.
I should’ve known better.
This place was never built for girls like me.
32
DR. WEISS
Night Eleven
The sky outside is heavy and gray, weeping in slow, steady sheets. The storm mirrors the energy in the room—tense, exhausted, quiet.
As my team pores over the data from the first session, I skim the next round of questions. Then my phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Yes?” I answer without checking the screen.
“We’re going to allow the guards to transition to a shift change early,” he says. “They’re heading to the bunker at the bottom of the hill, and we’ll let you know when the new guards arrive to take their place.”
“Why?” I glance outside. “Is something wrong?”
“Just following our typical procedure when severe weather is on the horizon.”
I blink, remembering the thunderstorm from a few nights ago. “Wasn’t there severe weather a few days ago?”
“Not a flash flood warning with a potential tornado as well, sir. No.”
“I see.” I pick up the remote and turn on the local news.
A few team members glance up at the screen, leaning back in their chairs.
It doesn’t look that bad…
Just as I’m shifting back to my notes, a loud round of thunder roars across the sky, followed by violent cracks of lightning.
“Can we go ahead and handle part two before the storm rolls in?” I ask. “We can at least do half—to make use of the serum still in her veins.”