“Yeah she does. Just don’t say the words ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, or ‘bitch’ on the stand please.” Cobb, who’d been in the same boat as Matteo, teased. He was wearing a sling to keep his wrist stable and had been put on leave by his boss for the next six weeks so that he could heal.
“I won’t say that!” I protested but then muttered under my breath, “Probably.”
Theo, who was sitting next to me laughed and kissed my temple, “Our girl has got this. She’s a badass.”
“Damn straight I am.” I’d spent the last six weeks terrified of this day. That somehow it was going to pull me back to who I’d been all those years ago, and I’d be stuck as that scared little girl again.
But sometime in the last week I’d woken up from a dreamless sleep...and hadn’t been so afraid anymore. I had my pack around me and no matter what, they’d look out for me.
Besides, an old man in a prison jumpsuit was a hundred times less scary than a drugged out man who was hell bent on throwing me into a burning nest. This would be a piece of cake comparatively.
“Is everyone inside?” I asked, staring out at the crowd that was waiting on the other side of the car door.
“Yep, Eloise and the rest of Pack Russo are waiting inside. Marcus is here with his pack too, and your foster parents are also here as well.” Theo replied and we shared a smile. Bernie and Janice had contacted the prosecutor’s office when they saw the news and asked to be reconnected with me. Janice had even come to the apartment last week, and we’d baked together. It had nearly made me cry introducing them to my pack and showing them how I’d come by my love for cooking.
I nodded a few times, psyching myself up. “Okay. Well, then, I guess we’d better head inside?”
Aria brushed her fingers along my collar, picking off a piece of invisible lint. “Yeah, it’s about that time.”
I inhaled one last deep breath, letting my pack’s scent wrap around me: roses, spearmint, pumpkin spice and faint eucalyptus. It was like some kind of armor, and it gave me the courage that I needed.
“Okay. Let’s go put this bastard in jail for good.”
I opened the door and stepped out of the car, and into the foggy San Francisco afternoon.
––––––––
––––––––
As seen on the five o’clock news...
“We were fully expecting an unusual day today with the retrial of cult leader Hezekiah Jordan, but what we weren’t expecting was the story of courage and resilience. I am speaking of Tabitha Sinclar, though she prefers to be called Tibby these days. Her brutally honest tale of religious fervor, and a man who took advantage of people’s weaknesses to get what he wanted touched our news correspondents who were in the courtroom today. The jury still needs to hear the rest of the case matter from the prosecution tomorrow, but judging by the jurors' expressions...it seems like this attempt at a retrial might actually backfire in Mr. Jordan’s face.”
Taken from the front page of The San Francisco Sentinel, two weeks later...
‘SENTENCED TO LIFE IN PRISON WITHOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF PAROLE. Hezekiah Jordan, infamous cult leader, was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole for his part in the deaths of thirty-eight members of his cult. Despite the fact that four of the original trial witnesses did not testify in this trial, the testimony by Ms. Tibby Sinclair was so powerful that it resonated with most of the city. That, paired with a strong prosecutor, up and coming lawyer Darian Bellis, and the trial went horribly for Mr. Jordan. Jordan’s angry expression has been photographed and forever memorialized by a court sketch artist. It took ten years, but justice has finally prevailed.
It is a good day to be a San Franciscan.
