Dr. Maeve handed me a backpack. Inside were my clothes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a comb. I shuddered to think what I looked like. She taped plastic around my cast.
“Go on. Clean up. Be fast. I’ll drive.”
I was ready in record time, the fastest shower of my life. I was unsteady on my feet and my arm ached, but I was on a mission. A quick glance in the mirror showed fading eggplant-like bruises in a sea of mottled yellow. At the bottom of the bag was a chocolate bar, a Clif bar, and a bottle of water. Protein and quick energy. I’d need both. I ate as I dressed and we walked out together.
Dr. Maeve led me toward the exit and her car. Nobody looked twice as we left, two women in street clothes. If I’d been in a hospital gown, they would have tried to prevent my departure.
We raced across town, parked outside the courthouse, and bounded up the concrete stairs. Dr. Maeve might be over sixty, but she was quick.
“They’ll be starting any minute, Courtroom Four.”
Our feet echoed on the slippery floor as we ran toward the proper courtroom. People stared as we ran past, skidding to a stop in front of the door.
“Let me start. I know the judge.” Dr. Maeve opened the heavy door with a nod to the guard while I trailed in her wake.
As we entered the courtroom, the judge said, “Dr. Maeve Fossey, you’re late.”
“I had to collect an important piece of evidence from the hospital,” she said.
All eyes turned toward us. My family sat in the front row, wearing confused expressions. Dad looked old and beaten down. His face crumpled at the sight of me and Meghan put her arm around him. I stared at the other side of the room. Christopher sat at a table with a man in a black suit. His lawyer. Christopher’s head hung low, his hands on his face. He hadn’t looked up at our entrance. Had he given up? Was he ashamed to look at me? I needed to fix this. There were no bricks in my mind, it was wide open.
I’m here, I love you.
He didn’t look up.
“Dr. Maeve, you know that’s not how this works,” said the judge. “You’ve taken part in enough of these hearings.”
“I know,” my red-headed therapist said, towing me forward, “but a grave miscarriage of justice is about to occur.”
The judge’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “You’ve got my attention. Who’s this you dragged out of the hospital? A strong breeze could knock her over.”
“Elizabeth Bergstrom, the woman the accused has confessed to assaulting. The police haven’t questioned her about what happened that night. If everyone had done their job, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Is that correct, Miss?” said the judge.
I nodded. The lump in my throat wouldn’t prevent me from speaking today. I needed to help Christopher since he wouldn’t help himself.
“Yes, Your Honor.” My voice wasn’t loud, but she heard.
“Bailiff, swear her in. We’ll hear her side of the story. I’ll ask the questions.”
Before I knew it, I swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and sat on the chair in the box beside the judge. I pretended the others in the courtroom weren’t here. There was just me, the judge, and Christopher. I had to be smart and tell the right part of the truth. Not time travel.
“I want the facts,” said the judge. “Help me understand what’s happened.”
“Your Honor,” I said. “My fiancé, Christopher Winters, was abducted and was gone for two weeks. Private investigators removed him from where he was being held captive and brought him home.”
“What happened after he came home?” said the judge.
“The abductors had drugged Christopher, leaving him tired and disoriented so, I sent him to bed. I went upstairs to sleep on my own. Sometime in the night, Eric Dahl attacked me. He’d hidden in the house, waiting for me to be alone.”
“Who’s this Eric person?” The judge’s voice conveyed a sense that her patience was wearing thin as she scanned her documents. “Does anyone know? His name isn’t in the brief.”
Both lawyers shrugged. The prosecutor flipped several pages, wearing a confused expression on his face.
“Your honor, if I may.” Andrew stood, wearing his Portland City Police uniform.
“You are?” said the Judge.
