John Nance - 16 Souls

“I’ve got a hell of a headache… and I don’t recall any of that. Obscene?”

“Yep. You apparently put on quite a show as they were approaching.”

“God. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Alive, I mean.”

“I know. I broke into your house when you stood me up. Found your goodbye letters. You don’t have to kill yourself to avoid an appointment, y’know. You could just call.”

“You broke into my house?”

“Sure did. It’s another form of attorney-client privilege.”

“Okay. Right. Go away, Judith.”

“Let’s get at least one thing straight,” she said, smiling ruefully. “I get really ticked off at criminal law clients who leave me prematurely, okay?”

“But, I thought I was your only criminal law client.”

“That’s right. You are. And I’ve rearranged my entire professional life to defend you, and, I have to say, I’ve become almost as angry as you over this stupid prosecution, so I’m not going to let you deprive me of the experience. Don’t try this again or I’ll do the job for you.”

“Defending me, you mean?”

“No, killing you as painfully as possible.”

He fell silent, eyes downward, rubbing his head as he lay back.

“I’m sorry, Judith. I was… I’m still… being tortured.” He paused, looking up. “Does anybody know about the whole thing on the peak… other than the rescuers?”

“Oh, just the majority of the population of Colorado, plus a few tens of millions who watch national television, all thanks to a very clever and persistent Denver Post reporter. Same guy I’ve told you is trying to write a book on the crash.”

Marty cringed.

“They don’t have your suicide notes,” she continued, “…and so far, no videos have surfaced of you flipping the bird at the bird, but the sudden notoriety is enough to make jury selection problematic for the DA, so… well done for that!”

“What’s the point?” Marty turned away. “You said I was guilty.”

She released the bed rail and paced around to the other side. “There’s an immediate legal argument about the propriety of even bringing these charges that will make solid grounds for appeal if it came to that. But it’s much more important to show a jury that what this idiot DA calls premeditation in no way fits the criminal definition. You were exercising captain’s emergency authority. I need you on the stand to drive that point home. But you can’t flip off the judge or the DA.”

He was shaking his head again, gingerly. “My decision would have worked if…”

“I know, I know,” she said, hand extended to stop him. “and no one can disprove what you thought you saw, and what you calculated. It doesn’t matter one whit what the company ordered you to do. You were the legal authority. They weren’t in that cockpit with you. You were doing your best and that story’s got to be told. And you are not on trial for the midair collision, regardless of whether the NTSB ultimately tries to pin it on you.”

Marty nodded as he looked quizzically at her. “I… was thinking the very same thing last night up there on Long’s. I remember being distraught and furious that no one, including you, understood. At least I thought you didn’t… maybe you do.”

“You’re going to stay with me through the trial, right?” Judith asked abruptly. “No more early sneaking out via suicide?”

There was a long moment of silence as Marty turned to stare out of the window, then turned back to her, nodding, his tone resigned.

“Yes. I’ll stay.”

“Okay. I am the only one licensed to terminate your existence before this is over.”

“I got it. I got it.”

“Anyone I should call to come see you? I know there’s no immediate family…”

He laughed, a singular, explosive sound.

“Nope. No one cares. Except you.” He looked at her in mild horror, as if he’d accidentally said something sexist. “I don’t mean you care, care, just… that you have an interest.”

“Well, actually I do,” Judith said, almost if she were trying to bite off the words before they found air.

“Have an interest, you mean.”

“No, dammit, care care, as you put it. I… also want the torture to stop for you, but with you still on the planet. Okay?”

Marty looked shocked. “I’m… not sure what to say?”

“Then don’t say anything. That’s not some weird declaration of love, all right? I just happen to care. End of sentence.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And thank you for not giving up on me… for saving me. When was that? Last night?”

“Just about fourteen hours ago. Life and death move faster these days.”

She started to turn toward the door, then turned back. “I’ll look in on you tomorrow. I expect they’ll be ready to kick you out of here by then.”

“I hope it’s not sooner,” he said. “I feel like crap.”

“But you look alive, and act alive, which is what counts.”

“Judith, is what happened going to affect the trial?”

“Other than pissing off a judge who loves to overreact? Actually, I don’t think so. You didn’t violate any court orders, and attempted suicide isn’t illegal — though in ancient Rome it was a capital offense punishable by, wait for it, death. But in this case, in short, I don’t think it hurts or helps us, but I could be missing something.”

“Missing something?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Yes. That actually happened once. Meantime, I have an assignment for you. Think of it a trial prep.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, Marty, I am not unaware or unsympathetic to how much this is torturing you, each time you have to re-live the crash and everything that led up to it, but I really need you to go over the last twenty minutes of the flight sequence with great care… meticulously, in fact. Write notes. Use bullet points. Leave out nothing.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say something’s missing from the logic of the story, and I have to know what. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying that you’re purposefully leaving something out, but some dots just refuse to connect. Also, I need you in my office in one week for a boot camp on surviving a criminal prosecution, and then we go to trial in three weeks.”

“And after that?” he asked, meaning the question to be sarcastic but surprised at the hunted look that suddenly crossed his lawyer’s face like the shadow of a fast building cumulonimbus.

Judith stepped toward him, her eyes on the floor for a second, her lips pursed, before she looked up.

“Marty, I’m going to presume that by then you will be a free man who can re-start his life. I can’t guarantee anything. I can’t guarantee someone doesn’t bomb the courtroom and kill us all, or that we aren’t obliterated by an asteroid, or that you won’t have a massive coronary, or for that matter that I won’t have one during opening arguments. But in the meantime, I simply refuse to see you as anything but free.”

“Thank you.”

In the dead of night an innocuous noise somewhere down the hospital corridor caused Marty to jolt awake as if jabbed in the ass with a red hot poker. Once awake, the only apparent pathway back to a tortured nightmare-ridden sleep was through the nurses and the hospital’s pharmacy, and there was nothing to be gained with that approach. Besides, Judith wanted an excruciatingly detailed review from him of the last twenty minutes of Regal Flight 12, and now was as good a time as any.

He felt a heavy shroud of sadness settle around him as he sat there in the bed, torn between despair over having been robbed of his final exit from all this pain, and yet entertaining a faint flicker of hope that he would be heard; and that maybe he was no longer alone in this fight.