Steven Womack - By Blood Written

Two hours later, they were all full and buzzing slightly from the alcohol. There had been no word from the court.

Carey, who had indulged in nothing stronger than iced tea, drove them back to the courthouse, dropped them off, then headed for the parking garage.

Inside the courthouse, their footsteps echoing off the floor, their voices muted by the cavernous hallways, the group went back up to the third-floor courtroom. Inside the courtroom, a lone court officer was sitting at a table reading a newspaper. Talmadge looked at him, questioning. The officer shook his head and turned back to the paper.

“Holding pattern,” he said to Michael and Taylor. “No word yet.”

Taylor sat down on the hard wooden bench, the place where she’d spent more time than she ever imagined or intended the past few weeks.

“I’m so tired,” she said absentmindedly.

“Me too,” Michael offered. He sat down next to her.

“When this is all over,” he said, “when this is behind us, let’s go back to Bonaire. Back to where we started. We can make a fresh start.”

Taylor looked at him. “Does life give you that kind of do-over? Ever?”

“It can if we make it,” he said. He reached over and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. “I want you very much. As much as I always have. And I’ve missed you.”

She instinctively drew back. “Don’t,” she said. “Please don’t.”

He nodded, then turned away from her. A few seconds later, he stood up and walked back over to Talmadge and the other lawyers, who were huddled around the defense table.

Taylor felt as if she were dragging time behind her like a ball and chain. She looked at her watch-two twenty-five.

An hour later, she looked at it again and only ten minutes had passed. The soup and the wine in her belly washed around like waves pounding sand in a hurricane. She thought for a moment that she might be sick, but then took a few deep breaths and steadied herself. She realized her hips and legs were going numb; she couldn’t sit on this damn wooden bench any longer.

She walked out of the courtroom, pacing up and down the hallway, stopping and looking out the tall windows at the traffic and the milling crowds below. The news vans were parked bumper-to-bumper, all awaiting the verdict.

Michael and Talmadge walked out into the hallway and stood next to her. “How long will this go on today?” she asked.

Talmadge shrugged. “Forsythe’s a slave driver,” he said.

“He’ll make them go at it until dinnertime, anyway. My guess is he’ll keep ‘em here until they’re too tired to work anymore, then he’ll send them back to the hotel.”

Suddenly, a group of people hurried past them. Reporters, hangers-on, spectators. Talmadge, Michael, and Taylor turned.

“What’s going on?” Michael asked.

Talmadge shook his head. “I don’t know-”

Then his cell phone went off. Talmadge jerked it open.

“Yeah? When? Yeah, okay. We’re on our way.”

He snapped the cell phone shut. “Let’s go.”

“They’re done? The jury’s back?” Taylor felt her gut tighten.

Talmadge nodded. “Yeah.”

Michael suddenly looked flushed, his face tense, his breathing rapid.

“You okay?” Taylor asked.

“Look,” Michael said, “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.

No matter what happens in there, I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“Okay,” Talmadge offered. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Michael said. “This’ll only take a minute. You go with Taylor.”

“Are you all right?” Taylor asked again.

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

Talmadge turned and started down the hallway. “Don’t dawdle,” he said over his shoulder. “We don’t want to do anything to piss Forsythe off.”

Taylor hurried to follow him. At the courthouse doors, Taylor pulled up behind him as they stood in the crowd trying to get in. She reached out and touched his arm. He turned, a serious look on his face.

“I’m scared,” she said.

Talmadge looked directly into her eyes. “Me, too.”

Once inside the courtroom, she fought her way to her seat and jammed herself in between two other people. The room seemed stifling. Talmadge and the other two attorneys sat at the defense table as Collier and his assistant, Jane Sparks, paced around the prosecution table. Court officers buzzed around, the clerk taking her seat at the table in front of the judge’s bench. There was a din of background chatter and the shuffling of bodies vying for seats.

A court officer came over to Talmadge and said something. Taylor read his lips as he answered, “In the men’s room.”

Minutes passed, the energy in the room seeming to build by the second. Talmadge looked around nervously. A court officer came in through the doors to the judge’s chambers.

He looked over at the defense table, his face stern, almost angry, and crossed quickly over to Talmadge.

“Where’s your client, Counselor?” he demanded. “The judge is waiting.”

“He’s in the men’s room, damn it, the man had an attack,”

Talmadge said, his voice tense.

“Get somebody down there to check on him. Quick, or you’ll have some explaining to do to the judge.”

Talmadge turned and nodded to Hoffman. “Go get him,”

he said, his voice low.

Hoffman wove his way through the crowd quickly and disappeared through the doors. Taylor felt a lump growing inside her. She swiveled her head around, scanning the crowded courtroom. In the back of the room, standing against the wall, stood Agent Powell. Their eyes met and locked for a few moments, then Powell raised his left arm to his waist, pulled back his coat sleeve, and checked his watch.

Hoffman pushed through the crowd back to the defense table. He leaned down and whispered something in Talmadge’s ear. The lawyer sat up straight, his body almost stiff, as he glared at Hoffman. Taylor stood up, leaned over the rail, and motioned to the defense table. Hoffman saw her and stepped over to the rail.

“What’s going on?” she whispered into his ear.

He turned to her and cupped his mouth around her ear.

“We can’t find him,” he said over the courtroom din.

“Oh my God,” she said out loud. Hoffman shushed her, turned back to the table as the court officer came in once again from the judge’s chambers. He bent down into a huddle at the defense table, his face darkening. Collier and Sparks, watching from the other table, suddenly stood and walked over to the group. Taylor watched as Jane Sparks brought her hand to her mouth in shock. Collier turned and walked away from the group.

The court officer backed away, pulled a Handie-Talkie from his belt, and spoke into it. A second court officer stepped over from the other side of the room and whispered something to the first officer, then turned and disappeared.

By now, the noise in the courtroom was rising as the press and spectators got wind of what was going on. People pushed and shoved, voices were raised. The court officer motioned for people to quiet down. The radio on his belt crackled loudly, and he held it to his ear for a moment, then spoke into it. A second later, he turned and strode quickly through the doors into the judge’s chambers.

Taylor stood at the rail, staring. Talmadge turned to her, his eyes dark and serious, and shrugged his shoulders.

Moments later, the court officer reentered, his voice loud:

“All rise!” he began.

Judge Forsythe came in behind him, his robes in a flurry, and immediately took his seat and began banging his gavel before the officer could even finish his spiel.

“Be seated!” he yelled. “Everyone take a seat, or I’m going to have this courtroom cleared immediately! Those of you in the back, stand against the wall and be silent. This is my last warning. I will have this courtroom cleared.”