Unmasking Charlotte (a Taboo Love series) (3 page)

Charlotte

“We, the Jury, find the Defendant…Guilty.”

The first time I heard that statement, relief washed over me. I felt like I was able to breathe again. I may have even been happy. I think I cracked a smile for the first time in almost a year. The second time I heard it, is a completely different story. My mom was holding
onto me so tightly, I could barely breathe. She was rocking back and forth, whimpering and mumbling under her breath.
No, No, No, this can’t be.
My brother sat on the other side of me, tears sliding down his face. I grabbed his hand and squeezed, reassuring him that he was not alone.

Numb. That’s all I felt. Then came the disbelief. And lastly, anger. How could they find my dad guilty? He was protecting me. Defending me. Saving my life. But the law doesn’t see it that way. The law is objective, free of emotion.
Fuck that!
I was a sixteen-year-old girl; don’t tell me to be free of emotion.

When I finally got the courage to look at my father, he was staring back at me. Adoringly.
Huh?

“I would do it again in a heartbeat,” he mouthed to me.

“I love you,” was the only response I could muster. I felt so guilty. This was all my fault.

Seconds later, my dad’s public
defender – who looks like he was still in high school, by the way - shot up from his chair and shouted to the Judge, “The defense requests a Judgment notwithstanding the verdict!” What the hell is that? I looked at my mom and she shrugged her shoulders, my dad looked just as bewildered, and I chanced a glance at the prosecutor, and he had sort of a smile going on. Again, I asked, what the hell was going on? I reached for my mom’s phone and turned it on as quickly as possible so I could do some research. I Googled that notwithstanding term that I heard the public defender use, and landed on Wikipedia. “… is the practice in
American
courts
whereby the presiding
judge
in a
civil
jury trial may overrule the decision of a
jury
and reverse or amend their verdict. In literal terms, the judge enters a verdict notwithstanding the jury findings. This intervention, often requested but rarely granted, permits the judge to exercise discretion to avoid extreme and unreasonable jury decisions…”

Rarely granted. That’s the only term my brain was able to focus on. That’s probably why the prosecutor was smiling.
The Judge took a deep breath and started to speak.

“You know, Mr. Public Defender (there is no reason to give him a name because that’s all I ever called him), I realize that you are
a little new at this, being that you are only out of law school for a few months, so I am going to give you a little safety rope. Try not to hang yourself with it.”

“Yes, Sir,” the public defender responded. I
saw sweat forming on his upper lip. If my nerves weren’t already shot, I would have been freaking out even more than I already was.

“A JNOV applies solely to civil cases. We have just heard the verdict from the jury of a criminal trial.” The Judge looked pointedly at the public defender, as if he was
trying to hint at something without actually saying it.

All of the sudden, the public defender’s face lit up and he shot from his seat. “The defense motions this Court to Set Aside the Judgment!”

“Interesting, Counselor. You do realize that a Motion to Set Aside the Judgment is similar to a JNOV in that it is rarely, if ever, granted?”

“Yes, Your Honor. But if there were any case in which I thought granting it would be appropriate, this would be
it. I wouldn’t request it unless I was absolutely confident that you would agree.”

The Judge spoke again, this time addressing the prosecutor. “How about you
, Mr. King? What’s your take on this?”

I held my breath. I think. I felt like I was in the
Twilight Zone
. My mom was gripping onto my arm so hard, her nails digging in so deeply that she drew blood. It was an out of body experience to say the least. At the same exact time, the entire courtroom turned to look at Mr. King.

He stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and smiled again. “I h
ave no objection, Your Honor.”

There was a collective gasp amongst the entire courtroom, including the court reporter who was typing away on her stenography machine. Then there was silence. Dead silence. All I hear
d was my heart beating in my ears.

The Judge cleared his throat.
Was he really going to do this? Was he going to overturn the jury’s guilty verdict? My cynical and completely jaded mind said no. He was a silver haired, middle-aged white man. Probably part of some men’s club. Golfing with his other snooty buddies then dining at “the club” with a cigar in one hand and a whisky in the other. My dad’s a middle-aged, working-class, black man who beat the shit out of a young kid. We are screwed.

“T
his is very unorthodox. In my twenty years on the bench, I have never granted a Motion to Set Aside a Judgment. Certainly not one in which the Prosecutor didn’t try to vehemently oppose.” He paused again, and I wanted to kill him. “Just spit it out,” I wanted to scream at him.

He leaned back in his reddish-brown leather executive chair and steepled his fingers. “What you did, Mr. Fisher, was illegal. You are not
permitted to put your hands on another person, unless your life is in grave danger, and you certainly are not permitted to beat him to this degree. I am a Judge, and my job is to objectively enforce the law.” He paused again.
Shoot me!

After that little speech, I was completely deflated. There was no way
that he was going to let my dad off the hook.

“HOWEVER…”

My mom and I looked at each other in the eyes and didn’t look away. We couldn’t risk the earth shattering disappointment.

“…
I am also a husband, father, and grandfather. And if I would have been in your shoes
that
day, Mr. Fisher, I would have been on trial for murder, not battery; therefore, I find myself torn. I cannot condone what you did. Violence begets violence, and it is never the answer.”

I finally broke eye contact with my mom and peered at the Judge. He was looking back and forth between the prosecutor and the public defender. “Don’t get any ideas here boys; this will most likely never happen again.”

“No, Sir,” they both responded in unison.

What the hell just happened? Was the prosecutor fighting for us, too?

“With that being said…”

The whole courtroom again collectively turned to face the Judge. Eyes wide as saucers, I didn’t want to blink in case I missed it.

The Judge picked up his gavel. “Request for the Motion to Set Aside the Judgment …Granted! Mr. Bron Fisher, you are free to go. Court is adjourned.”

The last t
hing I heard was his gavel…BAM BAM BAM…before I fainted.

A bit more Charlotte…

Nothing was ever the same
after that day. Bron and I became inseparable. When he wasn’t at work, we would do everything together. He was my father, my best friend, and my hero.

The whole rape/trial ordeal wreaked havoc on my social life. The kids at school pretty m
uch tortured me every day. They accused me of lying, being a whore, and bringing down their star basketball player. The “nice” girls were mean, and the “mean” girls became intolerable. Thank goodness, it was almost summer vacation.

My
parents were sympathetic to the torment they saw me going through. They also understood that I could never feel safe in that house again. I had been sleeping in Tommy’s room with him since it all happened because I was afraid of being alone in a dark room. Knowing that we could no longer live there, the summer before my senior year of high school, my mom and dad decided it was time for a change of scenery and moved us to Brooklyn. It may not have been a cross-country move like last time, but it still felt a world away.

Two
life-altering events happened that summer. Well, three if you count DeShawn’s trial. Crap, four if your count my dad’s trial. Anyway, first, I met my best friend in the entire world, Delilah Sampson. We have gotten each other through a lot of shit. From bullying to cheating exes to her mom’s sudden death, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for that girl. And other than my family, she is the only person in my new life that knows what happened to me, in full detail.

Second
, I decided that Charlotte Miller no longer existed. I spent the first sixteen years of my life honoring my biological father. I am going to spend the rest of my life honoring my hero, my father, Bron Fisher. So, I officially, legally, and excitedly, changed my name to Charlotte Fisher. But I go by Charlie. Only Charlie. Not Charlotte. Never Charlotte. Charlotte was destroyed in my bedroom that afternoon. Charlie is who is left - wearing a sarcasm fueled, kick ass, take no prisoners, big girl panty wearing, yet still very vulnerable, protective mask. Take it or leave it.