T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“Yes.”

Her eyelids were languid, heavy, the look she gave him blankly ardent. “Why did you make this choice, Mr. Glenwood?”

“I was going through a difficult period. I wanted to scale back.”

“For the moment, let’s set aside just how far you’ve scaled back.” This time the smile actually touched her lips. “I’d like to spend a moment discussing this difficult time of yours. It began with an accident, is that correct?”

His swallow was forced through a throat gripped by a terrible hand. “Yes.”

“Objection. This is utterly irrelevant.”

Suzie Rikkers did not bother to turn toward the judge. The pleasure was there in watching Marcus. Holding him with her gaze. “Not only is it relevant, Your Honor, it is critical to this case. Vital.”

Judge Nicols’ tone said she had no choice but to declare, “Overruled.”

“You were in an accident, is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“You were traveling back from the coast.”

“Yes.”

“Your son was with you, was he not? What was his name?”

From the corner of his eye Marcus caught sight of two other smiles. One belonged to Logan Kendall, the other to General Zhao. The two dark-suited men sat close together, the pleasure on their faces shouting across the distance. “Jason.”

“How old was he?”

“Three and a half.” Laughter lucid as heaven’s chimes sparkled in the dead courtroom air.

“Your daughter was there too. Her name was …”

“Jessica.”

“And how old was she?”

“Sixteen months.” Another sound, the gentle music of a contented child, tore the heart from his body, leaving him bleeding and exposed.

“Tragically, you lost both your children in this accident, did you not?”

The courtroom gasped a breath Marcus could not find for himself. “Yes.”

She leaned closer still, blocking out all but her own presence. “The loss hurt you deeply, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It was a terrible, painful blow, was it not?” The lilt given to her words by the tiny panting breaths erased her screeching whine almost entirely. “It shattered your life.”

“Yes.”

“You have a drinking problem, don’t you, Mr. Glenwood?”

“No.”

The fingernail returned to its slow tracing. “I must warn you, we have a number of witnesses who will testify to the contrary.”

“I had a problem before the accident. Since then I have stopped drinking altogether.”

“Have you?” Her snakelike whisper trapped him in an unwelcome intimacy. “As a result of this same accident, you also endured a difficult divorce.”

“You should know,” he said, the words strangled in his own ears.

A slow turn, an almost chanted, “Your Honor, please instruct the witness to answer the question.”

Marcus did not wait for Judge Nicols to speak. “Yes. It was difficult.”

“You lost your little boy, Jason. You lost Jessica, your daughter. You lost your wife. You lost your standing within the legal community. You could say, could you not, that the accident totally demolished your life.”

Marcus found himself unable to answer. Hearing Suzie Rikkers speak his children’s names left him desperate to reach across the railing and crush her neck between his hands.

Suzie Rikkers took a pause for breath, both hands out and reaching across the wooden railing. Her blood-red fingernails weaved and danced as if they were casting a spell. “Have you recovered from this accident and the losses you suffered?”

“As much as anyone can.” Not caring that it was the wrong answer. Not caring how it sounded at all. Simply striving for control.

“I suggest that you have not recovered at all.” Another intimate smile. “A lone attorney, working without support, bringing such a case as this to federal court-would you not say that was the act of someone who still has a long way to go to recover?”

“Objection!”

Suzie did not turn. Did not speak. She simply waited for the inevitable, “I am going to allow the question.”

“No,” Marcus replied, “I do not agree.”

“Don’t you.” Her sigh was a small shiver of ecstasy. “How many clients do you now have?”

“Several dozen.”

“Of these, how many are major corporate accounts?”

“None.”

“And yet, before the accident, how many clients did you carry?”

“Several hundred.”

“And how many of those were corporate accounts?”

“I don’t recall exactly. About thirty.”

“Thirty major clients, hundreds of cases.” She gave him a little grimace, regretting the need to add a slight whining edge to her voice. The intimacy was giving way to the knife. “And now, almost nothing. Except this one case.”

“I said I have other clients.”

“Indeed you did. I’m sure they must be something.” She moved to the podium. “This case against New Horizons is your ticket back to the big time, is it not?”

“Objection.”

Judge Nicols shook her head. Slowly. Almost in apology to Marcus. “Overruled.”

“Let me rephrase the question.” Sharper now, the whine that of a jagged-toothed saw. “You are trying to reestablish your reputation, are you not?”

“No.”

“You are desperate to generate some publicity for yourself.”

“No. That’s not-”

“You have everything to gain and nothing to lose in this case. Is that not so, Mr. Glenwood?”

“I believe this case represents a genuine-”

“Starting over in a small town, operating out of your own house, starving for business, missing the big time. You had to come up with something so off-the-wall, so utterly outrageous, that the press would have no choice but to take notice!”

“No. That’s not true.”

“Is it not. Is it not.” Her features twisted with the scarring of jaded lust. “Would it not be more truthful to say, Mr. Glenwood, that you have taken aim at a fine local corporation and trashed its good name for no other reason than to jump-start your own dismal career?”

“No.” Knowing the weakness in his voice would sound like guilt, caring only that the end was now in sight. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it.” The sneer was acrid. “Isn’t it.”

“No.”

“Well, I suppose then I am done here.” She gripped the podium with a vulture’s claw and forced herself around. “No further questions.”

When Marcus stepped from the car, he had difficulty mustering enough strength to get himself moving. The vague scent of ashes drifted about the car like the remnants of his own pyre. Darren walked over and gripped his arm. “You j-just come on.”

When he saw the three women gathered on his veranda, Marcus could have wept with relief over having someone there to help vanquish the ghosts. Netty was the first to come forward, inspecting his face and then embracing him hard. “I’d like to roast the lot of them over a slow fire.”

Alma was next, her arms as strong and solid as her frame and her concern. When she released him, it was to say, “I brought you some dinner.”

“I’m sorry, Alma, I should never have taken this-”

“You hush up now.” She tugged him up the steps. “You need something hot in your stomach.”

Alma released him so that Kirsten could approach. Her concern was just as genuine as the others’, her embrace as natural. But her arms were sweet as honeyed wine, her fragrance drawn from a season of greater promise. Marcus closed his eyes and gave in to the thought that here he could finally rest.

They took him inside and put a plate in front of him. He ate because they watched him, though the only flavor in his mouth was dust and ashes.

They knew enough of hard times not to make the moment linger. Only Kirsten hung back after Netty and Alma moved toward the car. “I could stay if you like.”