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DAMN IT, MR. REYNOLDS

One Day Before I Die

I should’ve gone to medical school.

No.

I should’ve gotten a master’s degree in an easy field. Nope. That does not seem basic enough. I should’ve just graduated from law school and became a trophy housewife. Not the type that does actual work around the house, but the type that only worries about making it to their Pilates class on time and stresses about what new drink they will be trying from the Starbucks menu. I just want a job that does not make me want to jab my pen into my own eye at least once a day, or that does not involve dealing with other people's messed-up lives. Ever.

“Defense, are you going to cross?” The judge arches her eyebrows in curiosity of what I am going to do next. Girl, I wish I knew too.

I rise from my chair. “No, your honor. Defense will not cross at this time.”

Why?

Because there is not a single thing that I can ask the witness to work our way out of the giant crap-hole this case is now in. The prosecution just called a surprise witness to the stand. Which, in simple terms, means I just got screwed and not in a fun way.

Of course, I objected to it. But the judge allowed it after the prosecution argued their reasons for why they had not previously listed that person as a witness. I mentally rolled my eyes the whole time the prosecutor spoke.

I sit down in my chair, cursing vividly in my head. The prosecutor presented a video of my client, Mr. Reynolds, jokingly admitting to the crime he’s being charged with to a witness. They called the witness on the stand to confirm the authenticity of it. I didn't even know this video existed. Who kills someone, then gossips about it? Has he never watched a single crime show?

Like ever?

My whole case was based on misidentification. Until this point, the prosecution presented evidence and testimony that shows it’s likely my client did it, but left reasonable doubt. I was going to lay my claws into that uncertainty to show they did not satisfy their burden of proof. But now there is a video of my client admitting to it. Mr. Reynolds, so kindly, even went into specific details about that night. In other words, my client is screwed, and we haven’t even presented our case yet.

At this point, the chances of my client being found not guilty are slim to none. But I get paid by the hour, so it makes no difference to me. Especially, since I know the sick bastard is actually guilty.

I feel a tug at my sleeve and suck in a deep breath. My patience is running thin. I turn towards my client and fake a smile as I remove his hand from my suit jacket. Mentally, I’m reminding myself to burn this jacket later.

The judge nods and looks at the prosecution. “Will the State be bringing forth any more witnesses?”

I look to my right and see the prosecutor stand up. “The State rests its case, your honor.” As he sits down, he turns to look at me and winks. I grip my pen tightly and narrow my eyes at him, thinking of how I would really like to kill that egotistical, poor excuse for a human, who just happens to be my ex-boyfriend—Richard. I detest the name Richard now. Every time I hear it, I shiver in disgust. Not saying there are no decent men with the name Richard. Just that I haven’t met one.

I still can’t believe I wasted nine months with him. We met when I was working for the State Attorney’s office, and this is the first time I’ve seen him since I left two years ago. I had been blessed enough to go up against other prosecutors until now, but this case has not been a great one for me from the start.

Richard was a hot shot lawyer who dressed well and was oh so fine. He had that whole Michael B. Jordan look going for him and walked in a way that just captivated you.

Richard knew he was good looking too, which I thought added to his overall appeal; that easy confidence. We started dating a couple of months after I started at the State Attorney’s office, but I had fallen for him instantly. My infatuation with him was quick and consuming, but it had ended just as quickly as it started.

Lo and behold, his self-confidence made him think he could cheat. He thought I wouldn’t leave him, that he was ‘perfect’ and ‘any woman should be grateful’ to have him. Those were his exact words. He still believes, in his delusional mind, that I secretly want to get back together with him. Jesus himself would have to come down and tell me to get back with him, and even then, I would first ask Jesus what he was smoking up there.

Knowing Richard, he set up his case this way to end on a bang so that it remains fresh on the jury’s mind. He always tended to play dirty when we worked together, but now I am on the receiving end of it.

I discreetly look to the left to get a feel of the jury’s response to that video. One glance at them, and I know it’s a wrap. Their faces are twisted in disgust, all directed at my client.

“Okay. We will resume this case tomorrow at 8 a.m.” The judge gathers up her paperwork and coffee mug as she addresses the courtroom.

The bailiff stands and announces, “All rise for the Honorable Judge Davis.”

Everyone in the courtroom rises and watches as the judge makes her exit, using the convenient door placed behind her bench. Her robe follows her like a cape in the wind.

Once the door closes, my client turns to me with wide, wild eyes. Ah, shit. Here we go, again. He grabs my shoulders and shakes me. Hard.

“What are you going to do?” he exclaims. Still shaking me, he goes on an unhinged rant. “I can’t go to jail. I can’t! I won’t survive. What are you going to do? Huh? I pay you three-hundred dollars an hour for you to work. That video is fake! It isn’t me. I didn’t say that. Please do something. I can’t go to jail. I will not—”

I interrupt his rant. “Mr. Reynolds! First, I kindly ask for you to let me go.” He instantly releases me and mutters an apology. I sigh and turn away from him, rolling my eyes once I’m not directly facing him. He has been a pain in my ass since he was assigned to me by my boss.

“Second, we are still in the courtroom. We are going to continue with our original plan with some slight modifications. Sounds good?” He hesitantly nods and idly walks out of the courtroom. He is out on bail, so he has the privilege of going home to his million-dollar home. He should enjoy this time at home while he can, as he does not have many options and the plea deal is off the table, per his request.