Walking Wolf Road (Wolf Road Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

She tried so hard to tell me something, if only I could hear what…

I darted through the leaves and underbrush. He hunted me… Somewhere out there, I couldn’t pinpoint where.

He’d told me that if I could touch that old maple tree, he’d let me leave alive. Most dangerous game my ass…

I smelled the sweet sap of the tree with my powerful olfactory sense; the scent led me straight up to the house I grew up in. Except, it wasn’t any single house; it was Fen’s house and all the other houses I grew up in simultaneously.

In a burst of speed I made it through the open front door, feeling the crosshairs of the hunter’s rifle on me the whole time. Inside, Loki and my family were there, but no sign of Fen or Geri. They all tried to tell me where the hunter was, tried to distract him so I could make my final run… I could see the maple tree there, not fifty feet from the back door.

And somewhere with a perfect vantage point of that gap was the man with the gun. I shook as I realized I’d trapped myself. I had no choice but to just make a break for it, and hope that my luck was better than his aim. I launched out the back door and over the fence. Shifting form in midair, I landed on four paws and ran. I zigzagged and changed speed as bullets pinged around me.

Barely ten feet from the base of the tree hot agony tore through my hind legs. I tried to drag myself those last few feet to the safety of the tree’s roots, but a shadow fell over me.

The hunter kicked me over onto my back and I stared up at him past the barrel of his rifle, his face silhouetted by the sun.

I was so close…

My world ended with a bang as my blood sprayed across the trunk of the tree.

I sat up and grabbed at my heart to keep it from tearing itself from my chest. I gasped for air, and looked at the clock beside my bed. Thursday morning. I shut off my alarm and got dressed. I knew I wouldn’t get any more sleep.

I dressed in a nice button-down shirt and cinched my belt down to hold up a loose pair of slacks. Mom, Jake, and I drove across town to the courthouse instead of school. Officer Parker waited for us out front in a suit and tie with another man in a dark business suit. They stubbed out their cigarettes as we got out of the car and Officer Parker introduced us to Jonas Atchison, our attorney. They interviewed us inside a small counsel room while Mr. Atchison double-checked the details on his notepad. When he seemed satisfied, he gathered his papers and stood up.

“By the way, you should know Jack and Malcolm were likely offered plea bargains by the District Attorney, so if they plead guilty this should go rather smoothly.
 Honestly, I think they’d be idiots not to.” He opened the door and led us into the courtroom.

It looked almost nothing like the movie courthouses.
 We walked through a very plain wooden door into an almost empty courtroom. There was no ornate banister, no dark wood benches, no jury filling the side seats—which looked like they were borrowed from my school—and no imposing deity of a judge. The room was small, benches laid out like bland and uncomfortable church pews, and the rail was just a round piece of wood.

The judge looked like one of my old grade school teachers;
 middle aged, her gray-streaked hair pulled back in a bun. There was nothing particularly menacing or powerful about her, and it seemed odd that she wielded so much power over people’s lives and fates. Like letting old Mrs. Johnson decide whether or not someone went to jail.

Jack and his dad were already there with a lawyer talking to Malcolm and a woman I could only assume was Malcolm’s mom; the curly red hair was a giveaway.
 Mr. Spritari sat near them in a beige suit, while Officer Jenson watched from the back of the room. Officer Parker, Officer Jenson, and the two policemen who stood near the judge’s stand greeted each other silently as we entered.

There wasn’t much ritual involved. We rose as the judge entered the courtroom after the bailiff called “all rise”, and then sat back down and waited for Mr. Atchison to lead us through the next steps.

The judge looked from the attorneys to the District Attorney and said, “Counsel, enter your appearances.” Each attorney introduced themselves, who they represented, and who was present.

The attorneys stood and made their arguments, while the court reporter typed so fast that her keyboard clicked like an angry rodent. For about twenty minutes, Mr. Atchison and the other lawyer ran through their sides of the case. It was like they used familiar words to speak a different language; things like witness statements and submitted evidence, though my favorite line of jargon was ‘legal support for our relative position’.

It reminded me of the good-ol’-days with Fen, when I first learned about therians and shifting. I frowned at the twinge of pain the memory brought, and refocused on Mr. Atchison as he handed the judge Officer Parker’s pictures of our injuries. Beside me, Jacob squirmed on the hard seat, and I squeezed his hand to reassure him. The judge looked over the photos, then shuffled through some other papers and called Malcolm up to the stand. If possible, even his freckles had gone pale.

“Malcolm McRae, you are charged with assault and battery on school grounds, as well as accessory to child abuse.
 These are misdemeanors. I am going to ask you a series of questions which I need a yes or no answer for, do you understand me?” Malcolm’s voice barely worked as he rasped his replies. “Are you prepared to enter a plea today?”

“Um,” he glanced over his shoulder at his mom who nodded at him, “yeah.”
 

“Before you enter a plea, I must ask, has anyone forced you to enter into a plea?”

“No.”

“Did anyone make any promises in order to ask you to make a plea?”

“Um, no?” Malcolm sounded confused and even more nervous. Even his voice shook, audible through the mic.

“How do you plea?” she asked.

Malcolm stumbled for words, “Look I—I didn’t mean for any of it to happen, I thought we were just gunna scare him. Jack’s the one that—”

“Dude!” Jack yelled at him and stood, “What the fuck, bro’?”

“Stop! Counsel, control your clients!” The judge shouted and cracked her gavel against the podium as Malcolm turned and yelled back at Jack, “No one’s your ‘bro’, the only reason I’m here is because of you!” The police officers moved toward them, while Officer Parker and Officer Jenson stood.

“I said
stop!
” The judge yelled again, each word punctuated in staccato, and Malcolm snapped to attention. Jack’s dad forced him bodily into his seat; his face livid with rage.
Like father like son…
The tension in the room ebbed somewhat and the cops’ hands eased away from their belts.  

“Please be advised that I do not tolerate outbursts in this courtroom.
 When I ask you to stop, you will stop talking, you will not shout, nor will you interrupt anyone who is talking. Am I understood?” The judge’s hard gaze switched from Jack’s nodding face to Malcolm’s as she continued, “One more outburst, and I will hold you in contempt, understand Mister McRae?” Her words were sharp as razors, and her eyes just as piercing as she scowled at him, “Now, how do you plea?”

Malcolm leaned toward the small gooseneck microphone that protruded from the top of the podium, “Guilty, your honor.”
 His voice broke like a freshman’s, and I felt some small measure of sympathy for him. Everything he did was because of Jack; he was being punished for being his friend.

“Guilty,” she repeated.
 “I have reviewed the offer and plea-bargain that was provided to me by the District Attorney and I will accept your plea agreement to a lesser charge.” Malcolm’s tense shoulders released a little, and it looked like he took his first breath since his outburst. “Therefore, in light of the facts that you have no prior record and are under the age of eighteen, you are sentenced to ninety hours of community service, and a $1,000 fine plus court costs. You may make payment arrangements with the clerk in the lobby. Since you are a juvenile, I will note that this record will remain with you until you are eighteen years old, at which time your file and records will be sealed. Do you have any questions?”  

Malcolm’s mouth moved but no sound came out, so he shook his head ‘no’.  

“You may be seated. Jackson Reinhart Junior, please approach the podium.”

Jack and Malcolm squeezed past each other in tense silence, and Jack stepped up and clasped his hands behind his back.

“You are charged with assault and battery on school grounds, as well as child abuse; both are class one misdemeanors. I am going to ask you the same series of questions which I need a yes or no answer for, do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Jack said in a hard voice, not turning away from the Judge. They ran through the same chain of questions she’d put Malcolm through. Jack handled them better though, having seen Malcolm before him.

“Furthermore, you have been advised of your situation and discussed your options with the District Attorney. Is this correct?”

“Yeah
.” I heard contempt in Jack’s voice, despite the fear he should have felt. Didn’t he realize there was no coach to vouch for him this time, no corrupt counselor to pull strings? This was the real world, and here he was nothing. Just another violent angry teen.

“I have the plea agreement that you and the District Attorney have entered into in this matter.
 This agreement is in exchange for your guilty plea, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Reinhart, understand that your sentencing will be more severe than Mr. McRae’s. First, you were eighteen years of age at the time of the crime, and I must sentence you as an adult. In addition, the court has also reviewed your school disciplinary records which indicate a repeated pattern of violence and anger management concerns. One of the charges that you have plead guilty to is child abuse, and this charge carries a maximum possible sentence of up to twenty-four months in jail, along with fines up to $5,000. Do you understand what I have just said?”

Jack swallowed hard, “Yes your honor.”
 I could almost see the realization dawning in Jack’s mind. I glanced at Jack’s father, who stared straight ahead with a scowl carved into his features.

“In accordance with the plea agreement you and your lawyer made with the D.A., I will grant you some leniency. You are still very young, but you must understand that you are being given one
last
chance to prove that you are not a risk to society as a whole. What is your plea at this time?”

“Guilty, your honor.”

“This court hereby sentences you to seven days in the minimum security penitentiary, where you will report to at 8:00 am tomorrow to begin your sentence. The court also imposes a $3,000 fine, court costs, and ninety hours of community service upon your release, along with one year of supervised probation.”

 
Jack’s hands shook behind his back. He looked back at his father, fear and desperation in his eyes; the eyes of a scared kid looking for his daddy to save him. Jack’s father wouldn’t even look at his son, he just stared straight ahead while muscles clenched in his jaw. In that moment, he reminded me a little of John
.

“This court is adjourned.” The judge declared and struck the gavel.
 Jack flinched and dropped his eyes from his father. We rose as she stood and exited a door behind her desk. I struggled to breathe around the weight of anger and fear that drowned the room, and I almost felt sorry for Jack, for both of them.