Someone Else's Fairytale (23 page)

I wondered if blood would bubble from my mouth, like it did in the movies, but it didn't.

“Leave me alone,” I rasped.

Chris wiped the gun off on his shirt, polishing away fingerprints, and threw it as far as he could. I heard it land in the distance on the dry grass. Then he turned his back on me, got into his truck, and drove off, leaving me to stare up at the deep blue,
New Mexico
sky, my life's blood streaming out of me onto the dust.

An ant walked across my throat, but I didn't even move to shoo it. All the color was leaving the world. The sky went pale blue, then gray, then black. There were sirens, but they were impossibly far away. The last thing I had been aware of was the sound of my racing pulse and the feeling that my entire back was soaked through with blood.

A ringing silence had descended in the courtroom. Doug looked back at Jason, who just stared down at his hands.

Chris had his eyes closed, and his lawyer did not look happy.

“Your honor, as you know, I've entered into evidence some pictures of her gunshot wounds,” said Doug. “Ms. Winters, do you feel that the defendant might hurt you again?”

“He kidnapped me and shot me multiple times without warning and without provocation,” I said.

“Do you anticipate seeing him in the future?”

“Not if I can avoid it. And that's why I'd like this restraining order, to avoid it. I just want to get on with my life.”

“Why didn't they go for attempted murder?” asked the judge.

I looked up, startled. Was she allowed to ask questions like that?

But Doug didn't seem to think it was odd. “They did, your honor,” he said. “But the jury found him innocent of it.”

The judge shook her head in disbelief and turned to me. “How did you survive a gunshot wound at close range, to the stomach?”

“The police were right behind us, your honor. There was a cop at my school who followed my brother and radioed for backup, so that by the time I was out in the desert, they had four cars and a chopper on his tail. They airlifted me to
UNM
Hospital within minutes.”

“Still.”

“And I was lucky, I guess. If that term applies to someone who's been shot three times by her own brother.”

Her mouth quirked in a smile. “All right, is that all?”

“That's all from me, your honor,” said Doug.

“Fine, your witness, defense.”

Chris's lawyer got to her feet and fixed me with a very determined glare. “Ms. Winters, yes or no, has my client contacted you since he was released from prison?”

“I don't think so.”

“Yes or no?”

“He might have slashed my tires.”

“Yes or no!”

“There's been a lot of vandalism and he drove-”

She slapped the table with a bang. “Yes,” she said, “or no.”

“I can't answer that.”

Doug nodded.

“Have you seen my client, since his release?”

“No.”

“Has he called you?”

“No.”

“Has he emailed you?”

“No.”

“Facebook message?”

“No.” I got her game now. She just wanted a long list of “no's” to make my testimony look trivial. Fine, I thought, I could keep answering these questions. My story had made its impression. All the lawyer tricks in the world wouldn't dilute it.

Chris put his head on his hands, as if even he were embarrassed by this whole charade.

After everyone had made their case, the judge directed us to one waiting room and Chris to another. The decision, she promised, would be made shortly. I turned to Doug and Steve and smiled. “Thank you,” I said.

“You can smile. I'm still traumatized,” said Steve as he packed up his papers. “And now you're laughing.”

And I was. What could I say? Some days it was good to just be alive, and this day, watching Chris so ashamed that he couldn't look at me, was one of those days.

We got up and moved towards the back of the courtroom. Jason was on his feet and turned to look at Chris as he went past.

Chris paused, looked at him, then me, then him again. “What?” he said. “You got something to say?”

His lawyer took him firmly by the arm and steered him on.

Jason just shook his head.

“Oh yeah,
that'll
get you laid,” said Chris. He shot me a leer before his lawyer dragged him out the door. She looked like she was digging her nails into his arm.

I giggled. “Did you get that, Jas? Research for your next role. What a real criminal sounds like when he's trying to be manipulative and witty.”

“You feeling okay?” asked Steve.

“Maybe a little giddy.”

“Come with us, Jason,” said Doug. “I think you belong in our waiting room.”

We all made our way down the hall, only Jason hung several steps behind. I fell back so that we could talk.

“Chlo, I'm really sorry,” was the first thing he said. “I didn't know how bad it was. I should never have barged in on that.”

“I'm glad someone was here. I thought I could do this alone, but it was dumb to even try.”

A woman in a skirt and blouse came around the corner and planted herself in front of Doug and Steve. They both turned to wait for me to catch up.

“You've got your restraining order,” the woman said. “So the way this works is that it's effective immediately. You need to leave the courthouse now, and once you're away, we'll let Mr. Winters know that he can leave.”

“Thank you,” said Doug.

“Can I drive you home?” asked Jason.

“Jason,” said his father. “Chloe gets seen leaving the courthouse with you, the press might go find her old case.”

“Wait a minute,” said the woman. “You're... you're...”

“Yeah, hi,” said Jason.

She blinked and looked at Doug and Steve.

“There aren't that many Vanderholts in Albuquerque,” said Doug. “You're looking at about half of them.”

“We have a back exit. Would that be better?”

“You know, it would. Thank you,” said Jason. He turned to me. “You go out the front and meet me at the car, it cuts down on photo opportunities.”

“Jason,” said his father.

“Dad, I left my house in a car with tinted windows without telling anyone, besides Dave, where I was going.”

“Does that usually work?” his father asked.

Jason frowned and looked at the floor.

“It's okay, really,” I said. “I'll go meet you in the parking garage. Where's your car?” If Jason wanted to talk to me this badly, I could talk to him. If there were more paparazzi photos, well, I'd deal with it.

“Third level,” Jason said. “By the stairs.”

“Well, in that case.” Doug turned to Steve. “Post hearing powwow?”

“You got time?”

“I do.”

“Then yeah, that'd be great.”

“This way.” The woman gestured for Jason to follow her down the side hall. He tugged forward his baseball cap and got his sunglasses ready. The rest of us headed for the front door.

“So,” said Jason, as we pulled out of the parking lot in his Prius, “after they airlifted you, what happened?”

“I don't know. I was unconscious. I woke up two days later in a room that smelled like a flower shop.”

“And Chris was in jail?”

“I don't know all that. They arrested him, don't know if he posted bail or what. But there was a woman in my room who asked me what I remembered and was really happy that I could name Chris. She was from the DA's office, and you know, it might've been your mom.”

“Maybe. Your testimony must've really clinched it, then.”

“I dunno. It helped, but the forensics people were amazing.”

“Even though he wiped his prints off the gun?”

“Even though. First the cops noted that the gun was still hot from being fired. Then the forensics people matched the gun to the bullet that was buried in my shoulder, and found fibers from Chris's t shirt on the handle. They found powder burns on Chris's hands and residue on his clothes. The prints didn't matter. With some relatively simple tests, they had him nailed. And there was no one else out on the mesa, the cops weren't suspects, and everyone knew I couldn't have done that to myself.”

“So that's why you want to do forensics?”

“Yeah. I'm not sure I want to deal with the action that cops deal with, but I want to be part of the process.”

“Sure.”

Jason was driving to my house off Central, and I decided that was for the best. If there were any media following us, the last thing I needed was for them to track me to Val's. Since the house was close, we were there in no time. Jason turned to me. “You got time to talk?”