William Rabkin - Psych - A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Read

Every head in the courtroom swiveled to stare as Shawn marched down the aisle between benches packed with spectators. At the defense table, Veronica Mason gazed at Shawn with new hope. Under a low-cut blouse, her perfect breasts heaved as she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Man,” Shawn whispered to Gus, “does she ever button all the way up?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Gus said. “I thought we cared about her innocence, not her cleavage.”

“I can care about lots of things at the same time.”

Veronica’s was the only friendly face in the room. The spectators in the gallery looked like they were at a football game and Shawn had run onto the field just as the home team was about to score. Behind the bench, a graying Jerry Garcia look-alike in a black robe stared openmouthed at the interruption into his courtroom.

“I object!” Shawn shouted, striding toward the wooden gate separating the spectators from the trial’s participants.

The judge pounded his gavel so hard his small gray ponytail bounced up and down and his beard trembled. “What do you mean, you object? Who are you?”

Shawn glanced at the judge. And saw. Saw the crystal pyramid holding down a stack of papers. The leather thong around his neck disappearing under the black robe.

“I’m Oliver Mason, and I’m here to say my wife did not kill me!”

A shocked whisper went through the crowd. In the jury box, the forewoman, a saggy matron in a black dress, went ashen, the verdict sheet trembling in her hand. Bert Coules, the Santa Barbara district attorney, jumped up from his chair.

“Your Honor!” Coules shouted. A former Army Ranger, Coules still sported the buzzed hair and buffed body of the military’s most elite. When he looked at Shawn, Gus could almost see his eyes narrowing into sniper scopes.

“Veronica loved me,” Shawn said. “You must not convict her!”

The judge stared at Shawn. “Young man, this is a court of law. If you’re making some kind of joke, I will jail you for contempt.”

“Do not blame this young man,” Shawn said. “He is only a vessel for my spirit. I have taken over his body to speak through.”

The gavel hung in the air as the judge studied Shawn closely. “You’re a medium?”

“I used to be, but I think I’ve gained a few pounds,” Shawn said.

Gus shoved him. Shawn shoved back.

“Your Honor, this is ridiculous,” Coules said.

“It’s unorthodox-I grant that,” the judge said. “But many people believe that communication with the spirit world is possible.”

“Idiots,” Coules said.“The same brain-dead ex-hippies who believe that crystals cure cancer and-”

The judge pulled the leather thong out from under his robe, revealing the gleaming crystal hanging from it.

“-and if we’re going to take this ‘medium’ seriously, I demand some proof that he really is channeling Oliver Mason,” Coules said quickly. “Let him tell us something about his wife that only the deceased would know.”

“That’s fair,” the judge said, tucking his crystal pendant back under his robe and turning back to Shawn. “If you are channeling Oliver Mason, you must know all sorts of secrets.”

“Secrets,” Shawn said. “Yes, lots of them.”

“We only need one,” the judge said.

“One, right,” Shawn said. “You know, it’s amazing what being dead does to your short-term memory. Maybe if I had a couple of minutes to think…”

“Our client is about to be found guilty, and we’re parked in a red zone,” Gus whispered furiously. “Think of something now.”

“We’re waiting,” the judge said.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Coules said. “He’s obviously a phony.”

Shawn pressed his fingers to his forehead. “My wife has a small birthmark on her right breast, just above the nipple.”

The judge glanced over at the female guard who brought Veronica to the courtroom every day. “You’ve seen the accused change from her prison jumpsuit into street clothes?”

“I have, Your Honor,” the guard said.

“Does she have such a birthmark?”

“She does, Your Honor,” the guard said.

“I’m impressed,” the judge said. “Mr. Coules?”

“It’s in the shape of a strawberry,” Coules said, “and there’s a freckle at the top that looks like the stem. I guess I’m Oliver Mason, too. And so is every man in this courtroom. Including you, Your Honor.”

The judge banged his gavel. “I warn you, Counselor-”

“Come off it, Judge, I saw you looking when she was on the stand,” Coules said. “You’d have to be a lot deader than Oliver Mason not to. Now will you please get this fraud out of here?”

The judge sighed as if he’d just learned at sixty that there is no Santa Claus. He banged his gavel desolately. “Bailiff, remove the medium.”

The bailiff bolted up the aisle like a defensive end looking for a quick sack. He grabbed Shawn around the waist and started to haul him toward the exit.

Gus followed. “I told you to stop thinking about her cleavage.”

The judge cleared his throat. “I apologize to the jury for this interruption. Have you reached a verdict?”

As he struggled to free himself from the bailiff’s arm-lock, Shawn saw the jury forewoman stand up again. She raised the verdict form and began to read.

“We have, Your Honor,” she said with a quaver in her voice.

Shawn looked at the forewoman and saw. Saw the savage pen stroke under the verdict that almost tore through the paper. Saw the ring on her finger-a class ring, Santa Barbara High School, class of 1958. Saw the Med Alert bracelet dangling off her wrist-allergic to bee stings. Saw the small smile of triumph on her face as she sneaked a glance at Veronica.

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant-”

“I’m sorry!” Shawn howled. “I’m so sorry I hurt you!”

The judge gaveled again. “Quiet!”

“I’ve been quiet too long,” Shawn said. “I should have spoken up in high school-when I broke your heart.”

“How long does it take to get one guy out of a courtroom?” Coules said.

The bailiff yanked Shawn toward the door. Shawn grabbed on to a bench. “But it was the second time that was unforgivable. After my first wife died, I knew you thought we’d finally be together. But I married this waitress instead.”

The forewoman gasped. The judge glared at her. “Do you know this man?”

“No,” the forewoman said. But her face had gone pale.

The bailiff lifted Shawn off the ground, trying to break his grip on the bench. “And I know you didn’t mean to kill me when you stuck me with the epi-pen you carry in case you’re ever stung by a bee. Just like the one you undoubtedly have in your purse right now.”

“Bailiff, release that man,” the judge said.

The bailiff let go of Shawn, who crashed to the floor.

“You wanted to provoke a minor heart attack so you could save my life and prove that we were meant to be together. But when I died, you knew who was really responsible-it was Veronica, who had weakened my heart with her intense sexuality. Every time I saw her cleavage, it took another year off my life.”

“Enough with the cleavage,” Gus whispered.

“Bailiff, I’d like to see the forewoman’s purse,” the judge said.

The bailiff walked over to the jury box and held out his hand. The forewoman reluctantly gave him her large leather bag.

“And since you knew that Veronica was ultimately to blame for my death, you planted several of your epipens in her belongings so that justice would be done,” Shawn said. “When you were put on this jury, it was like justice itself was congratulating you for a job well-done. When in fact it was probably just a close friend somewhere in the court system.”