Jodi Picoult - House Rules

“So Jacob needs to be able to predict his schedule, in order to feel secure?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, what if I were to tell you, Doctor, that in the Southern State Correctional Facility, Jacob will rise at the same time every day, will eat his meals at the same time every day, will shower at the same time every day, will go to the library at the same time every day, and so on. Why isn’t that perfectly in line with what Jacob’s accustomed to?”

“Because it’s not what he’s accustomed to. It is such a deviation from his ordinary daily routine, such an unplanned break, that I worry it’s irrevocably affected him.”

Helen smirks. “But Dr. Murano, you do understand that Jacob’s been charged with the murder of his social skills counselor?”

“I understand that,” she says, “and I find it very difficult to believe.”

“Do you know what the evidence is against Jacob at this point?” Helen asks.

“No.”

“So you’re basing your assumption of his guilt or innocence on what you know of Jacob, and not on the evidence.”

Dr. Murano raises a brow. “And you’re basing your assumption on the evidence, without ever having met Jacob.”

Oh, snap, I think, grinning.

“Nothing further,” Helen murmurs.

Judge Cuttings watches Dr. Murano step off the witness stand. “Does the prosecution have any witnesses?”

“Your Honor, we would like a continuance, given the short notice we had-”

“If you want to make a motion to review, Ms. Sharp, that’s fine, provided we get that far,” the judge says. “I’ll hear arguments now, counselors.”

I stand up. “Judge, we want that competency hearing, and you can review the bail again after it’s completed. But at this point, I have a young man who’s deteriorating psychologically by the minute. I ask you to put limitations on him, on his mom, on his psychiatrist, even on me. You want him to come in here every day and check in with you? Great, I’ll bring him. Jacob Hunt has a constitutional right to bail, but he also has human rights, Your Honor. If he’s kept in jail much longer, I think it’s going to destroy him. I’m asking-no, I’m begging -you to set bail in a reasonable amount and release my client until after the competency hearing.”

Helen looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Judge, Jacob Hunt has been charged with the first-degree murder of a young woman he knew and supposedly liked. She was his teacher, they spent leisure time together, and the facts surrounding this crime-without getting into details-include incriminating statements the defendant made to the police and strong forensic evidence linking him to the crime scene. We believe this is a very, very strong case for the State. If the defendant is doing this poorly even before his bail hearing, Judge, you can imagine how much incentive he’ll have to flee the jurisdiction if you let him out now. The victim’s parents are already devastated by the loss of their daughter and they’re terrified that this young man, who’s been exhibiting violent behavior inside a jail cell and who doesn’t know right from wrong, might be released. We ask that no bail be considered until after the competency hearing.”

The judge looks into the gallery at Emma. “Ms. Hunt,” he says. “Do you have any other children?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I have a fifteen-year-old son.”

“I assume he requires attention, not to mention food and carpooling.”

“Yes.”

“You do understand that if the defendant were released into your custody, you’d have to be responsible for him twenty-four hours a day, and that this could significantly affect your own freedom of movement, as well as your responsibilities to your younger son?”

“I will do anything I have to do in order to get Jacob home,” Emma says.

Judge Cuttings takes off his reading glasses. “Mr. Bond, I am going to release your client on certain conditions. First, his mother will have to post the family home as surety on bail. Second, I’m going to require that the defendant be on home electronic monitoring, that he not attend school, that he stay in the house at all times, and that either his mother or another adult over the age of twenty-five be with him at all times. He is not allowed to leave the state. He’ll have to sign a waiver of extradition, and he is required to see Dr. Murano and follow all her directives, including taking medication. Finally, he will comply with the competency evaluation when it is scheduled, and you will get in touch with the prosecutor to determine when and where that might take place. The prosecution does not need to file a motion; I am going to set this case down for review on the day the competency evaluation comes back.”

Helen packs herself up. “Enjoy your reprieve,” she tells me. “This one’s a slam dunk for my side.”

“Only because you’re a giant,” I mutter.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said you haven’t met my client.”

She narrows her eyes and stalks out of the courtroom.

Behind me, Emma is locked in an embrace with Moon Murano. She looks up at me. “Thank you so much,” she says, her voice breaking like waves over the syllables.

I shrug, as if I do this all the time. In reality, I’ve sweated through my dress shirt. “Anytime,” I reply.

I lead Emma to the clerk’s office to fill out paperwork and pick up the sheets that Jacob has to sign. “I’ll meet you in the lobby,” I say.

Although Jacob was not in court, he had to be here while we deliberated on his behalf. And now, he needs to sign the conditions of his release and the waiver of extradition.

I haven’t seen him yet. In all honesty, I’m a little scared to do so. The testimony from his mother, and from Moon Murano, made him out to be a vegetable.

When I approach the holding cell, he’s lying on the floor, knees curled to his chest. On his head, he’s sporting a bandage. The skin around his eyes is black and blue, and his hair is matted.

Christ, if I’d had him in the courtroom, he would have gotten out of jail in ten seconds flat. “Jacob,” I say quietly. “Jacob, it’s me, Oliver. Your lawyer.”

He doesn’t move. His eyes are wide open, but they don’t flicker as I come closer. I motion for the deputy to open the door of the cell and squat down beside him. “I have some papers I need you to sign,” I tell him.

He whispers something, and I lean in.

“One?” I repeat. “Actually, it’s several. But hey, you don’t have to go back to jail, buddy. That’s the good news.”

For now, anyway.

Jacob wheezes. It sounds like one, two, three, five.

“You’re counting. You’re down for the count?” I stare at him. This is like playing charades with someone who has no arms and no legs.

“Ate,” Jacob says, loud and clear.

He’s hungry. Or was hungry?

“Jacob.” My voice is firmer. “Come on already.” I start to reach for him but see his whole body tense an inch before my hand makes contact.

So I back off. I sit down on the floor beside him.

“One,” I say.

His eyelids blink once.

“Two.”

He blinks three times.

That’s when I realize that we’re having a conversation. We’re just not using words.

One, one, two, three. Why five, and not four?

I take my pen out of my pocket and write the numbers on my hand until I see the pattern. It’s not ate, it’s eight. “Eleven,” I say, staring at Jacob. “Nineteen.”

He rolls over. “Sign these,” I say, “and I will take you to your mother.” I push the papers toward him on the floor. I roll the pen in his direction.

At first Jacob doesn’t move.

And then, very slowly, he does.