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Edge of Reason Ch. 01

By: LaRascasse



Hi, 

So I'm back with yet another Lesbian story. You'd think I'd eventually run out of ideas at this rate. This story is in response to several commenters who want me make Heather Franklin a more sympathetic character. In this piece, I take her back to her roots, to the person she wanted to be, rather than the one she became. 

Although this is a story that can be read on its own, you can try "How To Catch A Falling Star", "The Day The Music Died" and "Moira" to get a better understanding of the protagonist. 

DISCLAIMER --There is implied graphic violence against a child in this story. It is not described in detail, but it's still there. 

A shout of thanks to my editors RuzieD, sexnovella and Bramblethorn. 

"Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." 

-Luke 15:10 

* *

"Will the defendant please rise," said the judge heavily. There was complete silence throughout the courtroom. Joey Lombardini stood up, looking desperately contrite.

"Madame Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?"

The elderly woman seated on the far right spoke up. "We have, your honour."

"What say you?"

She stood up unsteadily and opened a piece of paper. The eleven other members of the jury looked down, as if ashamed.

"Case number 32656 -- the state of New York versus Joseph Lombardini on the count of murder in the first degree. We the jury find the defendant, Joseph Lombardini, not guilty."

There were audible gasps of relief and shock around the courtroom. The woman spoke up again.

"On the count of murder in the second degree, we the jury find the defendant, Joseph Lombardini... not guilty."

There were louder gasps all around the room. The prosecuting ADA's eyes widened and he stood straight.

"The prosecution moves for a judgement notwithstanding the verdict," he said breathlessly.

"Denied," said the judge. "Mr Lombardini, you are free to go. This case is adjourned."

"Your Honour," continued the ADA. "This man is a killer and he will kill again unless you put him behind bars. Is it fair that he walks free just because he can afford good lawyers? This is a mockery of..."

"That's quite enough, Mr Sczyzmanski," interjected the judge sharply. "One more word and I will find you in contempt. Then you will be behind bars of your own."

The defeated prosecutor gathered his papers, preparing to make a hasty exit. This defeat would need all the Scotch at his disposal to digest.

"Ms Franklin, a private word in my chambers?" asked the judge. Heather Franklin looked up from where she was reluctantly shaking hands with her clients. Another unwinnable case won, just like that.

"Thank you, Heather," said Joey, shaking her hand profusely. "I can't think of a way I could ever make it up to you."

"Disposing of your bodies better is one of the ways," Heather said in a low tone. "Or else, keep paying my retainer."

"You got it," Joey said triumphantly.

* * 

Heather walked into the judge's chambers. Judge Giles sat behind a large teak desk, painted deep brown to complement the shelves surrounding them. There were law reviews, journals and case files going decades back. 

"The pen-drive, please," said Giles shortly. 

"Straight to the point then," said Heather with a smile. She opened her purse and took out a small memory stick. 

"Do you have copies?" the judge asked, sticking his hand out. 

"Of course I have copies," she replied with a grin, handing him the drive. Giles sighed, twirling the small device between his fingers. 

"How many more cases do I have to go through before I earn all the copies?" he asked wearily. 

"I'll let you know when you've worked them off," she said with a light laugh. "Did you really think a high school cheerleader was interested in screwing you?" 

"I'm a lonely old man," said the judge softly. "That girl seemed like she was really into me. Can you blame me for thinking it was real? Wishing it was real?" 

"I suppose not," Heather admitted. "That girl is one of the best. Outwardly, anyone would think blonde bimbo who can't wait to spread her legs. She plays that role particularly well. Inwardly, she's one of the sharpest girls you can hope to meet. Her parents have no idea of her side-job. It's how she wants it." 

"So she's your go-to girl when you want to set a honey pot, eh?" Giles chuckled. "How many videos are there? How many judges, politicians and businessmen do you have under your thumb because of her?" 

"Are you sure this place is not bugged?" Heather said jokingly, looking around. "I mean, with the NSA nowadays, you never know." 

"No it isn't," said Giles, leaning forward. "You're way too smart for that, Heather." 

"Still, I think I'll decline to answer," she replied glibly. "For a few thousand dollars, I think I could persuade Carly to go out once more with you. It depends -- how old and lonely are you?" 

"I'm not that lonely yet," he said, pocketing the pen-drive. "Thanks for this, Heather. You confirmed that the lawyers at Griffin, Markham and Wiley haven't changed." 

"I think I'll get going now." 

"No wait," said Giles. "Sit down. I want to talk to you some more." 

"I'm not really in the mood for chit-chat," she said wearily. "Let's not make this any harder than it has to be. It was a business transaction, plain and simple." 

"No, I got that," he said. "I just want to talk to you. After all you've done, the least you could do is humour me." 

"I guess," she said, pulling up a chair. "Do you mind if I light one up?" 

"I've got Cubans," said the judge, opening one of his drawers. "How about we celebrate yet another impossible case that you pulled off?" 

Heather reached out and took a cigar. She ran the length of it past her nose, inhaling the musky aroma of the wrapper and the filling. She rummaged in her purse for a while before finding her lighter. A second later, a flame licked the tip of her cigar before she held it out for Judge Giles to light his. They took a deep breath before letting out puffs of smoke. 

"Do you know why I ruled the traffic cam video as inadmissible?" 

"Because I told you so and because I had a tape of you getting it on with a cheerleader in a seedy motel?" Heather said sardonically, making the tip of her cigar glow when she took a long drag. "I think that's reason enough." 

"True," he admitted. "But the bigger reason was, I thought the case was still a surety. The state had Joey dead to rights, DNA evidence, threats made, fingerprints -- you name it. It all pointed to your client. I thought, 'what does it matter if I take out the video? They still have the guy,' and yet you managed to win." 

"That's why I get to charge the exorbitant fee," she said, taking out the cigar to create a ring of smoke. "You make my job too easy, really. The prosecution had to prove that Joey is guilty beyond reasonable doubt and all I have to do is find one gullible idiot in the jury who can believe he may not have done it. Not that he definitely didn't do it, but that he perhaps didn't do it. The state's burden of proof is what sinks it." 

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Giles said with a laugh. 

"Have I humoured you enough now?" she said, stubbing out her cigar. 

"Heather," began Giles. "I've been a judge for over forty years. I've seen thousands of lawyers come and go. Trust me when I tell you, you're one of the finest I have ever seen. Your drive to win and legal skill are incredible. You can convince a jury the sun shines at night if you want." 

"I'll let you know if I ever need to," she said, rising from the chair. "I had better get going now. It's been a long day and I could really use a lame rom-com to unwind." 

"Hold on," said Giles, shuffling through the mass of paperwork on his desk. 

"What now?" said a clearly exasperated Heather. 

"Here," he said, holding out a file. "There is a new case on my docket. The woman can't afford a lawyer, so I'm asking you to do your civic duty and represent her." 

"Get her a public defender," said Heather. "I don't have the time or the energy for a freebie right now." 

"The public defender's office is stretched as it is. Besides, those kids are fresh out of law school. They could never handle this case." 

"What are the charges?" 

"First degree murder." 

"You expect me to do a first degree murder case for free?" snorted Heather. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. My firm would never give me the time off." 

"At least meet with her once," pleaded the judge. "She really needs someone like you." 

"After all I've done, you still think I care about my civic duty?" asked Heather incredulously. "You obviously haven't learned much." 

"I know that you like a challenge." 

"Only when I'm getting paid for them," she dismissed. "If she can't afford a regular lawyer, I sincerely doubt she can afford me." 

As she said this, she opened the first page of the file. Her eyes widened when she read the name of the accused. 

"Natasha Belvedere," she said. "Of the Belvedere family from Brooklyn?" 

"Yes." 

"How come she needs a public defender? The Belvederes come from old money, one of the richest families in New York." 

"Apparently not any more." 

"It says here she shot a man at point blank range in broad daylight with three separate witnesses watching," said Heather, scanning through the thick file with a trained eye. "This lady doesn't need me, she needs a miracle." 

"She needs someone willing to fight for her." 

"No one can win this one," said Heather, shaking her head. She tossed the file back with the heap. 

"The prosecuting ADA is Seth Watkins," said the judge. "Do you really think any one in the public defender's office can match him?" 

"Not my problem," shrugged off Heather and began walking to the door. 

"Heather," said the judge, his voice trailing off. "Please. Give her a fighting chance." 

"Look, the best I can do is try to convince Seth to get the charges down to murder two. With that, she at least has hopes of parole sometime in the future. I say try, because there's no way he'll let something as sure as this walk away. What was this woman's motive?" 

The judge took a deep breath and said. "The man she murdered was Lance Whittaker. That man raped and murdered her six year old son and was found not guilty because the search of his home was on a bad warrant. My guess is, she simply snapped watching him walk out a free man." 

"Doesn't the prosecutor have discretion when not to charge?" Heather said, her interest piqued. 

"You know Seth," said Giles. "Do you think he'll ever drop a case as watertight as this? That too in the year he's making a run for the District Attorney's office." 

"Wait, so the prosecution's poster boy is rail roading a grieving mother to score political points? And I thought we were the bad guys." 

"You and Seth are very similar, Heather. Neither of you can stand losing." 

"Why are you telling me all this?" 

"You may not admit this, but I think there is a human being somewhere inside you," Giles said. "Very deep inside. Despite all you've done, I think you went to law school with the genuine intention to help people. Somewhere along the way, you lost that idealism. We all did. I suppose I'm trying to remind you of that person." 

"I doubt that person still exists," said Heather. 

"You'll never know unless you take this file. Think of what it could mean for your reputation if you win." 

Heather looked at the judge for some time, then looked at the door. Her gaze went back and forth while intricate wheels turned behind her eyes. 

Silently, she picked up the file off the desk. 

* * 

Heather Franklin lay on her back, resting against the cushioned headboard. She held her Galaxy Tab in her hands and searched through several news sites. It took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for. 

"What are you doing?" asked a voice between her legs. 

"Work," she said, without looking up. "That wasn't an excuse for you to stop." 

"Sorry," said the voice. Once more, Heather felt a slippery tongue bathe her thighs and the outside of her lower lips. Ever so subtly, it snuck inside her for a brief instant. She continued browsing the net, unperturbed. 

She looked through the news articles relating to Natasha Belvedere's son Cody. He was reported missing a few hours after his friend's birthday party. A week later, his body was found in a shallow ditch outside the Park Slope area in Brooklyn. Her eyes clenched and she cringed inwardly at the description of the body. 

Heather followed the links to more articles. The DNA tests came back and a match was found to a known sex-offender Lance Whittaker. He had recently been granted parole. The police searched his house and found the implements he used as well as several videotapes he had made of his time with Cody. 

Her brow furrowed when she read further. Even though the evidence against him was overwhelming, he had two technicalities on his side. There was a problem with the chain of custody in handling the initial forensic evidence and the search warrant missed a few clauses. Heather sighed, knowing how she had often used such reasons to get people off. 

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it felt like to be Natasha Belvedere on the day her son's killer walked free. Nothing came close. 

But then again, Heather was not one for emotions. She had long since eschewed that weakness. It helped her sleep better at night not feeling for the people she worked with. 

"How was your day?" asked the voice, lapping at her cunt earnestly. 

"Good, I suppose," she replied. "I won the case. Your Dad didn't look too happy with the result, though." 

"I can guess," came the reply. "He's locked himself in his room with all the bottles he could find." 

"Shouldn't you be there for him right now?" said Heather, running her fingers through the mess of black hair around her thighs. "He needs his family more than ever." 

"He'll be fine," said the voice callously. "It's not the first case he's lost and it won't be the last. I think the best thing he can do is drink this one away and get a fresh start tomorrow." 

"I've been a bad influence," muttered Heather. "Be careful or your Dad might wonder why you suddenly have so many extra SAT classes." 

She held the eighteen-year-old vixen's head down. The talented tongue made long licks all the way down her slit before making an agonizingly slow movement upwards. Heather groaned and bent down to kiss the back of the girl's head, nuzzling her hair. Her hair smelled of lavender and jasmine. 

"After we're done, can I pick your brain on law schools?" asked the girl. "All the magazines have different rankings. Some say Harvard is the best, some say Yale, some say Columbia. I really don't know where to apply." 

"Here's a little secret, Lynette," said the lawyer, unbuttoning her shirt and unclasping her bra while she spoke. "It doesn't really matter. All that an Ivy League college does is give you a head-start. After that, it's all about you. If you suck, no degree can save you." 

Her nipples finally free, Heather pinched and tweaked one. The tactile tongue in her pussy probed deeper, making her moan, and her vision went blurry around the edges. She lifted her hips off the bed, pushing her sopping wetness towards Lynette's mouth. The teenager took the hint and impaled her tongue as deep as it would go into Heather. She drew it out and thrust it back in like a well-oiled piston. 

Heather continued manipulating her nipple. Her other hand left Lynette's hair and found her own clit which she rubbed in fast circles. Her erogenous zones were red hot with sensation. The familiar feeling was beginning within her. Her breathing became more shallow. Her pupils dilated and her muscles contracted around the tongue. 

The intensity was too much now. Every nerve ending tingled and scorched with the sheer anticipation of climax. Heather felt her nipples harden to protruding points against her breasts. It was unreasonably hot. Sweat plastered on her forehead, glistening in the slanted light. 

Her body stood on the edge of meltdown, the heat having reached her very core. She closed her eyes to see a fireworks display. A riot of colours unfurled in her vision. Sparks of red, blue and green flew in different directions and scattered before blinding her in an incandescent glare. 

Heather slowly became aware of the room again. Lynette meticulously continued lapping away at the nectar dripping from her lover's orifice. She kissed every crevice and nuance of Heather's labia before her head rose. She planted gentle kisses on the breasts in front of her before her eyes met the lawyer's. 

The lawyer smiled when she saw Lynette's face painted with her ejaculate. It shone and was even more prominent when she brought her face closer and shared a deep kiss. They tongued each other slowly, like a waltz, in contrast to the fiery tango earlier. Heather liked to taste herself on someone else's tongue. 

"Wash up and go home now," said Heather. "You have enough for a cab, I presume?" 

"I do. Heather, can I ask you something?" 

"Shoot," said the lawyer, lighting up a Marlboro from her bedside. 

"My Dad comes home every day and rants about how defence lawyers use all sorts of unethical strategies to free clients they know are guilty. Is that true?" 

"He's just sour graping. It happens when you get frustrated after seeing so many cases. Don't worry about it." 

There was a pause. Heather sat patiently, studying Lynette's expression. It was obvious that something bothered her. She quietly picked up her trail of clothes from the hallway and went to the bathroom. Heather finished her cigarette by the time she walked out once more. Lynette stood at the entrance to the bedroom, looking down. 

"Is something bothering you?" Heather asked dryly. 

Lynette looked up, pursing her lips. Her well rounded face was taut with confusion and her large, elliptical eyes shimmered with a hint of moisture. When she spoke, it was so soft that Heather had to crane her neck towards her. 

"Will we ever tell my parents about.. this?" 

"That's not a good idea, Lynette," said Heather calmly, blowing a stream of smoke upwards. "Your Dad might not like the idea of you... sleeping with the enemy so to speak." 

"But how can I keep hiding this?" said the moody teen. "I think I'm falling in love with you. It's getting harder to hide from everybody." 

Heather put her cigarette down and held the girl's face between her hands. 

"You're barely an adult, Lynette. Do you really want to complicate your life with things like love and commitment right now?" she said. "This is your time to explore, to learn and to build a solid career. All that love stuff can wait." 

"What about you, Heather?" Lynette asked softly. "Do you have any feelings for me?" 

"Not really." 

Lynette seemed scandalized that two such words could have been spoken with such little emotion and introspection. Heather looked at her disinterestedly. 

"Look, honey, you knew what you were getting into. I never said I was going to be in a relationship with you. Our arrangement is good for what it is, fun," said Heather. "If you don't like that, you could always not show up like a love-sick puppy." 

The teenager seemed to be on the verge of tears. Heather rolled her eyes and kissed her again. Their lips melded together and she carefully used her tongue to caress hers. By the time, she detached her face, Lynette felt better about herself. 

"Same time next week then?" 

They kissed once more and Lynette left with her satchel. Heather watched the door close. She waited, in case Lynette had forgotten something and returned for it. After she was reasonably sure she had left, she opened her medicine cabinet. She retrieved a half empty bottle of Ipecac syrup and carried it to the toilet. 


Edge of Reason Ch. 01



She swallowed some of the liquid and waited. It was coming. It was all too familiar -- the feeling of nausea and distaste. She scrunched up her face, waiting for the reverse peristalsis to run its course. Heather got on her knees, doubled over and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She waited for a few minutes before a second wave came and she violently retched again. 

For some inexplicable reason, it felt like she had purged her soul. The bitterness that festered within her was gone, for the time being. She washed her face of any remnants and looked at her reflection in the mirror. 

Was there any hope for her? The answer might lie in the file she took from Judge Giles. 

Before going to sleep, she marked her digital calender for an appointment with Natasha Belvedere the next day. 

* * 

How is one supposed to look when everything has been taken away from them? 

Heather had seen it all in the confines of the court. Some bawled, some fainted, some even tried to jump over the railing in a futile attempt to hurt her when she showed them what real world "justice" looks like. 

Natasha Belvedere looked different. She sat in the dingy little room in Bedford Hills Correctional Facility with grilled trellis on all sides. The orange outfit looked alien on her. She looked nothing like someone capable of thinking of murder, let alone carrying it out. 

Heather sat down on the other side of the table. Her client looked at one obscure spot on the dirty table. She did not even blink, focusing all her attention at that point. Heather took a quick glance around to see the guards looking on through the grills. 

"Mrs Belvedere," she began slowly. "My name is Heather Franklin and I'm your lawyer." 

The woman on the opposite side still looked down. Heather lowered her gaze and saw her listless eyes still staring intently. Neither of them spoke for a good ten minutes. 

"I'm sorry, Ms Franklin," Natasha said. Heather was not sure she heard right. 

"I beg your pardon." 

"I'm sorry to waste your time, Ms Franklin," Natasha said. "I'm sure you'd rather be fighting worthier cases than this." 

"Why would you think so?" Heather asked. 

"I think you know the answer to that one," Natasha replied grimly. "So how did they choose you? Did you draw the short straw or something?" 

"I'm not a public defender, Mrs Belvedere. I'm a counsel at a law firm." 

"Call me Natasha," her client insisted. "Are you aware that you will not make any money from this case?" 

"I know," Heather nodded. "I'm doing it pro bono." 

"Thanks," Natasha said softly. "I'll make your job easier, Heather. I'll plead guilty to whatever the prosecutor offers. I don't care if I have to spend the rest of my life here, or even if I get the needle." 

"Why would you say that?" Heather blurted out, stunned. 

"Heather," Natasha began. "Did you look into me? If you did, you would know I have no one and nowhere to go back to." 

"Do you really want the death sentence?" 

"It's only a formality. I died a long time ago. It's time I stop pretending otherwise," came the placid reply. "I might as well have shot myself too." 

"Natasha," began Heather. "I am deeply sorry for what happened to your son. I won't even pretend to imagine the magnitude of grief you must feel. All I ask is that you take a moment to think it through." 

"I just offered you a way to dump this case fast and get on with your life," Natasha said. "Take it while you still can. You don't owe me anything, Heather." 

"Why don't we take it one step at a time?" Heather said warily. "Let's think of your bail hearing and we'll go from there." 

"Why are you pressing this?" Natasha asked. 

"Because..." began Heather, unable to think of an ending. Natasha looked at her with a lop-sided smile. 

"It's okay, Heather. I know you came in hoping to play the hero and save me from the big bad prosecutor, but I've already made my peace." 

"Why don't you want to fight?" 

"Heather," started Natasha. "You need something to fight for first. If Cody was at home, waiting for me, I would fight. I would fight and fight until the bitter end. But..." 

Natasha's sentence was lost in a series of choked sobs and incoherent syllables. She looked down and squeezed out of her throat. 

"Cody, I'm so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have been there for you. I failed you. Baby, I'm so sorry." 

Heather watched as the woman opposite her clenched her eyes shut. Inside her, an ocean of tears formed, but she could not bring herself to cry. Natasha sat, reliving every bit of pain she felt when she first saw her son's body. 

"Can I ask you a question, Heather?" 

"Go ahead." 

"How likely is it that I will get the death sentence?" 

"Very unlikely," Heather stated. "Given the circumstances of this case, you don't need to worry about that." 

"Can you please tell them I asked for it?" Natasha beseeched. "If it is at all possible." 

"Why do you want to die?" Heather asked, shaking her auburn hair. "Do you think this is a way of punishing yourself for not saving Cody?" 

There was complete silence. Natasha studied the resolute face on the other side of the table. Heather took a deep breath. 

"Cody would not have wanted his mother to want to die. No matter what. Think about that." 

The grieving mother sat, motionless in the face of her lawyer. 

"I will pick you up for the bail hearing." 

Heather signalled to the guards to open the door. She left and walked to her car briskly. Once inside, she took a few minutes to think of what she was doing. None of it made sense to her. It was not who she was. 

Even though she did not know what she was going to do, she was inexplicably more resolute than ever to do it. 

* * 

"Yes, I am Natasha Belvedere's lawyer." 

The prosecution attorneys kept gaping. Seth Watkins' eyes, in particular, had taken the diameter of dinner plates. 

"As you know, you have a duty to turn over all the relevant evidence regarding this case," Heather went on in her businesslike tone. "I have made a list of other ancillary evidence I will need to prepare a defence. If even one of them is missing, I will file a case of prosecutorial misconduct and make sure you end up on the six 'o'clock news. Are we clear?" 

The younger prosecutor took the list and left the room. Seth sat behind his ornate desk, patting his fingers idly on the polished rosewood. Numerous awards decorated his walls culminating in a summa cum laude degree from Columbia. He eyed her with contempt. 

"Well, well, Heather. It would appear we finally have the chance to go up against each other," drawled Seth. "Did Natasha Belvedere suddenly inherit some money?" 

"It's called pro bono work, you hack. Look it up once you've finished shagging your ego." 

"Such language," tutted Seth. "That too from an officer of the court. What is the world coming to when we have the best and brightest queuing up to defend murderers?" 

"As I recall, you wanted my job quite badly," said Heather with a derisive smile. "I still remember the priceless expression on your face when the firm chose me over you to fill in the vacant associate position." 

Seth chuckled and leaned back on his plush recliner. His beach blonde hair was cropped short, leaving a fair amount of forehead before his cold blue eyes. Those eyes darted around excitedly, not betraying the razor sharp mind behind them. His rugged features had a few layers of tan. 

"Rub it in while you can," Seth gloated. "We'll see who has the last laugh once the verdict is read out. Lawyers like you sicken me, Heather." 

"And yet, you're the one threatening a grieving mother with life without parole. Don't you find that offensive?" 

"Natasha Belvedere executed a man in cold blood and she hopes to get away by hiring a flashy lawyer? I find that offensive." 

"Good sound byte, Seth," Heather laughed. "Might as well save it for the media for when you announce you're running for DA." 

"You think I'm doing this for the cameras?" 

"Of course you are," Heather spat out. "You personally took a case of a woman with no money to hire a decent lawyer, intent on putting her in jail when you should have dropped the charges. All for the sake of your shameless self-promotion. You are a hyena, Seth, munching on the bones of someone too weak to defend herself." 

Seth's lips curled into an ugly smile. His features hardened and his eyes flashed fire. Undeterred, Heather went on. 

"You thought you were going to get a weak, gutless public defender. Someone you could wipe the floor with," Heather went on vehemently. "Well, guess what? Now you're going to have to pick on someone your own size." 

"Have you even read the file, Heather?" said Seth calmly. "I don't care who you are, you can't win with those facts." 

"But I can win with the truth, and the truth is very different to the facts." 

"You think you'll win by pounding on the sympathy drum?" Seth mocked. "Oh please don't hurt her. She lost her only son. Best of luck with that." 

Heather felt an upwelling of bile. The bitterness rose to her throat as she surveyed the smug, self-assured ADA before her settling his paperwork. 

"I'll have someone send over the evidence to your office later today," said Seth, not looking up. "The bail hearing is on Friday. After which I'll wipe that smile off your face at trial." 

Heather turned to leave. She was almost at the door when Seth spoke up again. 

"Oh and Heather. I will be sure to discreetly let your superiors at the firm know you have taken such a long-winded free case which will take up valuable time you could have used making them more money," he said. "They'll still let you handle this case, right?" 

"For your sake, you'd better hope they don't." 

* * 

Heather carefully placed the boxes of evidence in her study. She yawned and contemplated getting started on the defence. Her eyes had dark circles around them, leading to cavernous bags. Working for the city's most powerful law firm was taking its toll. 

One of the boxes was from the Lance Whittaker trial. It had the offending warrant and test reports, all useless in retrospect. Under a pile of papers rested a small CD. Heather took it out. The description confirmed her doubts. It contained the tapes Lance Whittaker made with Cody Belvedere. 

She lit up a fine blend and began sifting through the evidence. The more she read, the more it became apparent to her that the prosecution had an iron-clad case. 

Ballistics matched the bullet recovered from Lance's cranium to Natasha's personal .22 calibre. Her fingerprints were on the handle and trigger of the gun. There was a copious amount of gun shot residue on her hands. The murder happened at the mouth of an alley in Windsor Terrace at ten in the morning. The alley led to a bar where Lance was a regular customer. Some construction workers were taking a break nearby and had a full view of the shooting. 

The final nail in the coffin was that Natasha showed no remorse after the action. She didn't rage or shoot anyone else. The report said she dropped the gun and quietly walked away. The police found her sitting on a swing in Prospect Park. All through her arrest and subsequent incarceration, she didn't say a word. 

The ashtray was littered with burn out stumps. Impatiently, Heather tossed her empty pack in the trash and took out a new one. The more she perused the case files, the less chance she saw of making a case of it. 

Her eyes fleetingly rested on the tape. It was the one piece of evidence she had not taken a look at. 

She exhaled a puff of smoke before resuming her search. She looked through her firm's databases for anything she could use. One of the things Heather had learnt was that the most obscure cases could be turned into binding precedents. 

After an hour, Heather had compiled a list of judgements which she would look at more closely later. The long day weighed on her. She yawned again, stretching her limbs. Maybe somewhere within that stack of work product lurked the miracle she was looking for. 

Her eyes wandered to that CD again. Inwardly, she cringed even thinking about what was on it. It was evidence, but not the kind she needed. 

Heather drooped on her desk, shaking herself awake. The paperwork looked as futile as when she started the evening. Her tired brain needed a break. 

"I need a fresh pair of eyes," she mused, getting up from the chair. "I'll take them to work tomorrow." 

She turned off the lights and was at the doorway when a glint caught her eye. It was the reflective surface of the CD. There was something about that disk that wouldn't let go. Without turning on the lights, Heather walked to her desk and picked up the CD. She twirled it in her hand, watching shards of moonlight reflect onto the wall. 

There was an eerie feeling of foreboding when she inserted the disk into her player. She took her place on the recliner and lit up a smoke while the 70 inch flat screen flickered to life. The video started with an empty room. 

A man carried a boy in his arms and brought him into the room. He took care to position the hand held camera at a good angle before turning his attentions back to his helpless victim. 

Heather's eyes burnt, her muscles tightened and a bitter feeling engulfed her as she watched. The boy screamed so much. His voice became hoarse from it after some time. He passed out eventually, but his horrific ordeal went on. She leaned forward, watching in sheer, grotesque amazement. 

Cody Belvedere's face came into focus. The pain was too much for him. His eyes opened again and he mouthed silently. Try as she might, Heather could not make out the words. The sight of his cherubic face bathed in tears and scars made Heather's cold heart beat faster. 

Then came the blood. So much blood. 

Heather could not tear her eyes away from the macabre soap opera as much as she wanted to. Her head hurt and pulse became erratic. A fresh wave of nausea swept over her. 

At last, it happened. 

Heather felt an alien wetness under her eye. It was a feeling she had long forgotten. She brushed her fingertips over her cheek and tasted it. It was the salty taste of grief. The last time a tear had crept past her was when her mother died. Since then, Heather had resolutely abstained from crying. 

It was how she got through the day and slept through the night. 

She let her fingertip intercept another lonely tear-drop. This time, she held it to her eyes and looked at the ephemeral liquid closely. It looked so normal and transparent, as if hiding the weight of emotion behind it. Heather watched the droplet trickle down her forearm and lose its way into nothingness. Not nothingness, because it reminded a private part of her that she was still capable of tears. 

It felt so strange to her. Her trembling fingers turned off the screen. She held her head in her hands, clutching tufts of auburn hair. Her entirety felt numb and the images from the screen danced before her eyes. 

Cody Belvedere's face came in vivid technicolour. His messy hair, his pleading expression at first which gave way to an expression of helplessness. His eyes were the most haunting. Heather kept seeing flashes of those crystalline green irises, so inhumanly robbed of their innocence. 

There was a stirring in her stomach. She got off the chair and rushed to the sink before vomiting into it. No drugs were needed this time. She puked over and over until all that came were dry heaves. 

She held onto the porcelain sink for support and caught her breath. She would not dare go to sleep that night. Instead, she looked in the mirror, trying to figure out the person on the other side. That person had a stoic expression set on her face. 

The message was clear. Silently, Heather Franklin turned on the lights and resumed reviewing the evidence sent over. 

* * 

"Case number 32699, the state of New York versus Natasha Belvedere on the charge of-" 

"Waive reading, your Honour," said Heather. "I ask that you release my client on her own recognizance pending trial." 

"You have to be joking," said Seth, straightening his tie. "She executed someone in broad daylight and you want here back out there?" 

Judge Giles leaned back on the leather chair, mulling over the facts. His hands were tied by precedent. 

"She is a danger to society, your Honour. You can't possibly let her go. Look, she hasn't even come for her own bail hearing." 

"She hasn't come because she is in the hospital, you lowlife," snarled Heather. "She tried to hang herself in her cell last night. The guards intervened just in time and rushed her to the prison doctor. She is still unconscious." 

Seth took a few seconds to digest the news. Heather's cheeks flushed and her temper flared. Every hair on her body bristled. 

"You charged a helpless woman with first degree murder. She can't survive in prison, your Honour. She almost died and all he wants is to keep her there so she can be successful next time." 

"That's a lie," replied Seth. "Your Honour, notwithstanding what happened, we still can't let a cold-blooded murderer back on the street. You have to consider the safety of the general public." 

"Your Honour, Natasha Belvedere has no prior criminal record. She is not a flight risk. She is not a threat to society. In fact, the only person she is a threat to is herself. It is an indecent hypocrisy of our justice system that we have her locked up." 

"All right, calm down both of you," admonished Giles. He turned his gaze to Heather. 

"Is there anyone who can vouch for your client?" 

"I can," said Heather steadfastly. "I have had opportunity to meet her and I can say with confidence that she is not the monster the prosecution wants you to believe she is. Right now, she is a broken shell of a human being who wants nothing more than to hide from what she did." 

"Do you agree to be personally accountable for your client's actions hereafter?" 

"I do," she replied. "As an officer of the court, I give that assurance." 

"Your Honour," spoke up Seth. "I would ask that you look at the facts in their totality. She took her gun and shot an unarmed man in the head. I understand that she might have done so in retaliation for what happened to her child, but we cannot set a precedent of killers out free because they thought their murders were justifiable." 

"I am not releasing her on her own recognizance," said Giles. He turned his attention back to Heather. 

"Bail is set at a hundred thousand dollars. We'll schedule a date for conferencing." 

Seth Watkins stood impassively. A scowl was painted across his face. 

"For now, I suggest the two of you get started on your cases." 

"Your Honour, at this time I would like to give notice of our affirmative defence," said Heather. "We plead not guilty by reason of temporary insanity." 

Seth looked like he had been punched in the gut. He quickly mouthed some instructions to his second chair. They began settling their papers. Giles moved his glasses up his nose. 

"Ms Franklin, may I see you in private for a moment?" 

Heather walked past an unhappy prosecution team and made her way to the judge's chambers. Giles settled down and motioned for her to close the door. 

"How is she?" he asked tersely. 

"Last I heard, the doctors said she was stable. They will contact me when she regains consciousness." 

"How are you handling this?" 

"I'm fine," shrugged Heather nonchalantly. 

"Are you sure? You lost your cool back there. I've seen you fight cases before, but you've never been off balance. Is there something about this case?" 

"I don't know, what do you think?" she retorted caustically. "You dumped this on my lap and now you don't seem happy with how I'm handling this." 




Edge of Reason Ch. 01



"Temporary insanity does seem like a stretch," said Giles. "It might have worked had it happened the day she found out who murdered her son, but it was after the trial." 

"How about you leave the legalities to me?" said Heather calmly. 

"Suit yourself, but remember, it's not me you have to convince." 

* * 

There was a heaviness. The air seemed laden with poison, the guttural filth of everyday sin. She took a deep breath, trying to figure out which side of death's door she had woken up on. Her heavy lidded eyes opened in slivers, praying she might see Cody waiting for her. 

Alas, all that Natasha saw was her lawyer waiting by her bedside. The attending doctor came in immediately and flashed a pencil light into both her eyes. 

"How do you feel?" 

"I don't," was Natasha's simple reply. 

"The doctors have to keep you here for seventy two hours. After that, I'll be back to pick you up." 

"Heather," she said weakly, feeling the weight of all the sedatives. "Why can't you just let this one go?" 

Heather didn't answer. She pursed her lips and averted her gaze. Natasha lifted herself off the bed on her shoulder. The weight was more than her weak joint could take and she collapsed. 

"I don't want to fight, Heather. I can't understand why you do." 

Complete silence reigned for a few seconds. Heather held the metal railing hard and clenched her eyes shut. 

"I saw the tape." 

Natasha's eyes shot up at her lawyer's. Heather took a deep breath and said in a steadfast voice. 

"I'm not going to let you go to prison, Natasha. After seventy-two hours, I'm coming to pick you up. That's final." 

The client gaped from the bed while her hitherto cold-hearted lawyer walked out of the room. 

* * 

SEVENTY-TWO HOURS LATER 

"Where are we going?" Natasha asked listlessly, leaning against the plush leather recliner. Her eyes were half-lidded from the remnants of the sedatives. She clutched her seatbelt gently. 

"Away," said Heather, looking straight ahead. 

Natasha looked bewildered for a few seconds. Heather slowed down to the point where she could control the power steering with one hand before speaking again. 

"Don't worry, we're not skipping town," she said. "The last thing you need is to be a fugitive. We're just going out for a bit." 

Natasha turned her forlorn expression out of the window. Unfeeling concrete walls and brownstones gradually gave way to the lush green country. The air was alive with the rejuvenated spirit of Mother Nature. Birds chirped and insects went about their daily tasks, cheerily heralding spring. 

There could not be a greater contrast to the shell of a human being in the passenger seat of the steel grey Bugatti Veyron. Heather kept a close watch through the corner of her eye. Her client idly twirled her hair around her finger and back, fixing a blank look at the scenery unfurled outside the window. 

"So you saw the tape?" asked Natasha, not turning her head. 

"Yes," Heather choked out, trying her best not to think of it. 

"That tape is the last record of my baby's life. The last time he was still alive," came a trembling reply from the side. "They didn't let me see it. The police didn't let me see it." 

"Natasha, they were only protecting you. No mother should ever see such a video." 

"Did he look scared? Did he suffer much?" 

An unusual lump caught in Heather's throat. She took a deep breath, forcing out glimpses of what she had seen earlier. 

"Please, I need to know," squeezed out Natasha. "Did Cody suffer?" 

Heather did not answer. She silently kept driving, her eyes fixed on the road. Natasha looked down. 

"Cody, baby. You're not alone. Mommy has felt so much pain since you left." 

Heather drove off the country road towards the shore. There was a row of yachts tethered to the wharf. 

"Alden's Cove," Heather informed her client as she drove to the parking area. "The southern route leads towards Locust Point. I come here when I need to be alone for a while." 

"Why have you brought me then?" 

"We need to be alone for a bit," came the reply as Heather parked and opened the door. "Maybe you'll find some perspective on the calm sea." 

They walked silently to the main office where Heather signed some paperwork and got a permit. Expansive yachts, each built on years of unfettered greed covered the coastline. She walked to her designated spot to find Norah standing exactly where she last left it. 

"Help me, Norah," she prayed silently. Within a few minutes, the boat set out on the crystal clear waters. Two heavy souls went with it, both seeking absolution in their own ways. 

* * 

Natasha sat at the edge of the railing. The water looked placid, reflecting the orange hue smeared across the horizon. Her forlorn gaze followed the streak of light splitting the cerulean surface all the way to the glowing semi-circle shrouded by clouds. 

"My Dad used to take me on his yacht," Natasha said. "We explored most of the Long Island Sound together. For days on end, we stayed off shore and ate from the hatches." 

"I would imagine he had quite a few." 

"Three, but his favourite was Amelia, named after my mother. She died when I was young, but Dad never let me feel her absence." 

Heather sat beside her, letting the boat idle for some time. Natasha's gaze was riveted on the blue expanse below her. Ripples lapped against the whitewashed exterior of the yacht. 

"Given your attempted suicide, I can make a case that you're mentally incompetent to stand trial," said Heather. "You would be examined by a court ordered psychoanalyst and, if found so, be absolved." 

"And then what? Live in a loony bin? Or so drugged up on various meds that I spend my life in a waking haze?" 

Heather looked to her side, trying to decipher the ennui sitting beside her. Natasha continued to look at the calm water below. She pushed herself to the brink, deep in contemplation. 

"You won't jump," said Heather quietly. "I've pondered over it a few times. The water looks so welcoming, but I can't make myself take that final push." 

Her client turned her head and looked at her lawyer dispassionately. All emotion had frozen deep within her, teething under stoic wraps. 

"I lost my son. What's your excuse?" 

Heather took out a cigarette and lit it. She took a deep drag, calming herself and giving her a chance to form coherent words. 

"I hate myself," came the soft reply. "Every single moment of every single day. Sometimes I think I could do the world a favour by ending it all, but I can never go through with it." 

The other woman looked on while Heather continued puffs of smoke. 

"Everyday at work, I have to set bad people free. The rich and powerful have tailor-made the system to help them get away with whatever they do. Who do they come to to exploit these flaws? Me. Whenever I get a case, I know that I'm defending someone who is guilty and has no intention of reforming. The only thing that separates them from common criminals is that they have the money to hire dirty suits like me to put them back on the street." 

"Why not quit?" 

"Are you kidding me?" she coughed. "This job is the reason I have the apartment on Fifth Avenue, the Bugatti, the yacht and all those zeroes in my bank account. Once you get a taste of this life, you can never go back. No matter how much it hurts." 

Both women looked straight at the sunset. The entire sun had dropped below the horizon leaving a red afterglow in the sky. Heather looked down at the water again, trying to see her reflection. 

"But you're different," she said. "You're a lonely grieving mother who has become a convenient target for an overzealous prosecutor. I want to defend you. I... need to defend you. But I can't do that unless you're willing to fight as well." 

Heather stopped, suddenly aware of how much she had bared her heart. She felt a desperate burn deep within herself. All sorts of unpleasant, unfamiliar emotions reared up inside her in unison. She had sworn to never let herself be so vulnerable. 

"You deserve better than to be a murderer. Cody deserves better." 

"It's too late for that," came the disembodied reply from the side. 

"No it isn't," Heather said, more to herself than anybody. 

The mellow light in the distance had paled, heralding imminent darkness. Natasha looked up to see a prelude of stars peek out from behind the inky blackness slowly stretching itself across the sky. 

A solitary tear formed at the corner of her eye, swelling with pent-up grief. It left a marked rivulet down her cheek. Heather's keen eyes traced its progress all the way to her chin. It glistened momentarily before falling on her lap and fragmenting into a million particles of a mother's unfathomable grief. 

She leaned on Heather's shoulder, letting the next few drops wet the skin of her saviour. The lawyer let a hand caress her client's hair, running her fingers through the dense tresses. Without thinking, she turned her head and kissed the straw blonde strands entangled near her lips. Natasha raised her face and looked at her curiously. 

Heather quickly averted her gaze, trying to let her moment of weakness pass. She felt a palm on her chin turn her head back. She saw into Natasha's eyes now, iridescent pools of affection flecked with shards of twilight. They shimmered and shone bursting to the seams with emotion. Their eyes were inches apart, as if each were trying to read into the other. She saw her reflection on her client's iris, for once not hating who she saw. 

After what seemed like an eternity, they kissed. Their lips met and waltzed, like two forgotten lovers remembering what made them one. 

* * 

Natasha Belvedere looked up at the myriad of twinkling stars embedded into the black canopy unfurled above her. The night sky was accompanied by a cool sea breeze, which tickled every part of her naked skin. She closed her eyes, trying to relive the sensations her body had just felt. Pleasure as she had not known before lingered in each cell. 

Footfalls approached. Heather came, sans all her usual layers of clothing, carrying a bottle of Glenfiddich and two glasses. She took a moment to take in the stillness of the sea, reflecting the starry night. The yacht remained motionless, frozen in time and captured in memory. 

"First time?" Heather asked, pouring out two glasses. 

"Yes," came the quiet reply. Natasha put her glass down beside her, content at watching the moonlight shimmer on distant waves. "I never thought I would." 

"I'm sorry if I took advantage of you-" began Heather, cut of by her client's hand. 

"You didn't. I had a moment of weakness," she said. "Are you gay?" 

"Very," Heather assented, sipping from her glass. "It's something I don't deny any more." 

"Did you enjoy it?" 

Heather did not answer, taking another sip of whiskey. Natasha lay flat on her back. The cold deck of the yacht clung to her sweaty back. Heather let her index finger trail around Natasha's thighs, tracing lazy shapes. She drew a long ellipse, all the way to her navel and back down to her clit, walking her index and middle fingers over her pulsing torso. 

"How fucked up am I?" Natasha mused. "I'm on trial for murder and I'm experimenting with my sexuality on a yacht with my lawyer." 

She raised her head to see the fingers continue their cyclic wandering over her stomach and abdomen. 

"You're confused, you're angry, you're depressed, you're desperate to make sense of your circumstances; but you're not fucked up. Not even close." 

Heather smiled and smoothed her auburn hair back. Her eyes were fixed on her client's. 

"My shrink says I have schizoid personality disorder," Heather said. "According to him, I block out emotions. I can't form attachments or feel connected to people on an emotional level. In fact it's probably what makes me a good lawyer -- that I don't emotionally invest in my dirtbag clients. I don't feel for them and what you can't feel... can't hurt you." 

No one spoke, listening to the waves rumble in the distance. 

"Still think you're fucked up?" 

"Apparently not." 

Natasha reached out and took her glass. The expensive, golden whisky went into her mouth, some of it spilling past her lips and pooling around her neck. Heather bent down and sucked it off her skin, savouring the feeling of contact. 

"How do we deal with this?" Natasha asked, squirming as she felt the other woman's lips pressed against her. The walking fingers came to a halt at her clit. 

"We don't," Heather smiled. "We enjoy it." 

Heather's lips returned to her neck, kissing gently. Her lips pulled the delicate skin, gradually descending past her clavicle and sternum. She left a trail of wetness, marking her new found intimacy. She closed her lips around Natasha's erect nipple, swirling her tongue around it. 

Natasha groaned and writhed with pleasure. Heather did not relent, moving to the other nipple and clamping her lips down on it as well. Her fingers came up and she gently pinched the free nub, eliciting a throaty moan from her client. Her tongue rubbed each nub in turn. Natasha's breathing became deeper, making her breasts swell more each time, pushing her nipples deeper into Heather's mouth. 

Eventually, she disengaged her lips and kissed down her torso. Natasha's erogenous zones were awake now, tingling in anticipation of warm lips and a dexterous tongue. Heather kissed across the length and breath of her abdomen, paying special attention to her navel. 

Her lips crept to her client's inner thigh. She planted soft kisses up her thigh, letting her lips explore. Natasha was shifty under her, but she maintained her focus. Her lips retraced their path all the way back to her mound before beginning their journey on the other side. Simultaneously, her fingers brushed against Natasha's vulva, feeling the wetness. Her index finger dipped in to the recently familiar orifice, prodding the fleshy wall. 

Natasha felt the roving finger probing inside her, radiating eddies of pleasure through her nervous system. Heather let her finger run from top to bottom of her slit, gently teasing the inflamed opening. She added another finger, pushing deep inside until she found the G spot. 

Her fingertips brushed the G spot over and over again, rocking Natasha's entire being with paroxysms of ecstasy. She felt a heat run all the way to her molten core. Every nerve ending was aflame with a singular desire. 

It was too much now. Heather's lips were on her clit, rubbing her tongue against her sensitive nub. She moaned and turned her legs, holding Heather's head in place. Abruptly, she pulled her lawyer up by her hair. Heather looked bewildered, but followed her lead. She rested her chin on her chest and looked into her eyes. 

"I want to do it to you," Natasha said timidly. 

"Are you sure? You've never done this before." 

"Please let me." 

Heather took the lead and knelt above Natasha's head. She bent forward slowly, taking care not to put her entire weight on the fragile woman under her. Her dripping mons descended perfectly into the client's mouth. She paused, letting Natasha get used the new feeling around her tongue before bringing her own lips near the engorged lips, so invitingly splayed for her. 

They tongued each other slowly and methodically. Natasha studied the beautiful opening before her, unfurled like the petals of a rose in full bloom. She let her naïve tongue taste the forbidden depths of her lawyer's desire once, liking the exotic, tangy flavour. 

She thrust her tongue in deeper, faster when she felt Heather slurp at her vulva in a series of long licks that traversed the entire length. The tip of her tongue grazed her clit and made her buck her legs up, pushing her clit past Heather's lips. She licked more vigorously, inciting a fervent response from the woman above her. It was a perpetual motion machine -- a cycle of each woman giving and receiving unbridled pleasure. 

Heather rolled to her side and rested her head on Natasha's thigh before resuming her licks. She saw moisture line her lover's orifice, glistening in the moonlight. The smell of sex intermingled with the sea breeze. A wave crashed into a nearby jutting rock and showered them with a fine mist. Heather's eyes momentarily detached from her lover to see the microcosmic droplets, suspended fleetingly and luminescent. They laughed, shaking the water off, and continued licking. 

Natasha felt a seething need within her. It morphed and grew, feeding on itself. She closed her eyes, feeling a tongue and two fingers impale her pussy in rhythmic strokes. Bursts of light clouded her peripheral vision, seguing into a scintillating flare. 

She whimpered and pushed her tongue as deep as it would go into Heather's warm, inviting folds. The taste, the feel, the ambience -- it all seemed so right. The very air was tinctured with the cool zephyr of night, ensconcing the sweaty lovers, exploring tantalizing parts of each other. 

The need took over her now, singeing every nerve ending in her body. Her erogenous zones were alight. Her stomach rose and fell like the angry sea after a midnight tempest. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, unable to wait for the hurtling imminent climax. She clenched her eyes shut once more and beheld a scattering of colours. 

Her orgasm swept her up like an inferno, searing through her and sending her into orbit. It had the intensity of a supernova and yet, the soothing calm of an autumn breeze. Her body verged on the edge of logic, before diving headlong into an abyss of untamed pleasure. It felt raw, animal, primal, and drowned her in endorphins. 

A kaleidoscope of images flashed before her. She fleetingly saw her life in frames. The reel raced past her eyes until she could only see herself and Heather naked in still life watercolour. Heather felt a flood of cum rush out against her tongue. She lapped it up and took as much liquid arousal into her mouth as she could. 

Wrung out from their mutual exertions, they lay in a tangled heap of flesh. So close that they breathed as one, panted as one. So close that their hearts beat in unison. So close that their skin in contact made them feel like a natural piece of the other -- a two-piece jigsaw puzzle which was finally complete. 

They were both afraid and incomplete alone, so they held on to each other tightly for courage. 

* * 

Heather stood and looked around, taking in the scenery. There were a few people in the distance. Her eyes lingered on the imminent sunset for a few moments. After a short while, she finally composed herself enough to speak. 

"I'm here once more to talk. It's been a while." 

Her parents' gravestones looked back at her with their usual deathly silence. She slowly browsed every letter elegantly carved into the polished marble slabs. 

"I'm sorry I haven't visited as often as before, but life gets in the way. You understand that, don't you, Dad?" she said. "After all, you were the one who encouraged me the most to become a lawyer." 

The stones gleamed back at her in the ambient light. Heather felt a chink in her cold, invulnerable armour. She shrugged it off. 

"Remember how excited you guys were when I got my first job? You'd be so proud of where I am now. I am in line to be the youngest partner in my firm's history. It's everything you dreamed for me." 

Heather paused to kneel between the gravesites, letting her fingers softly caress the grass. 

"See how happy I am?" she laughed. "See?" 

The dead could not laugh at the irony. 

Broken. Lonely. Desperate. Confused. Betrayed. Crushed. Disconsolate. Fragile. Pathetic. Rejected. Depressed. Hollow. Worthless. Destructive. Empty. Defeated. Tortured. Numb. 

"I'm fine. I'm happy." 

Even among those who could not tremble in fear or gape in awe at her stature, she felt it imperative to try and maintain her walls of stone. It was part of her psyche now. 




Edge of Reason Ch. 01



"It's all your fault," she said, forcing the raw emotion back down her throat. "You left me all alone. You weren't there to guide me and look what I do for a living now." 

The sentence sounded as hollow as herself. 

"Sometimes, I'm glad at the thought of losing a case. Maybe someone will get their just desserts if I do. But I can't. It's unbecoming for a lawyer like me." 

"But I've found someone worth fighting for. She's different from the others. She doesn't deserve to be in jail," Heather went on in a dispassionate voice. "She deserves so much better. I can give it to her, right?" 

The stones sullenly refused to answer. Heather smiled and wiped a phantom tear off her cheek. Unbeknownst to Heather, the clear sky had slowly given way to a slate grey visage during her monologue. 

"I'm going to fight for her. I'm going to fight and I'm going to win." 

The lawyer inside her knew how improbable it sounded, but it was all she had to cling to. She turned her attention back to her mother's stone. The clouds overhead bulged and rumbled intermittently. 

"Remember how we used to go to Church on Sundays, Mom? You made me sit in front and sing all the hymns you did. I'm sorry but I haven't gone in years. I used to think I'm too far gone for even God to help." 

She put her bouquet down between the headstones. Her voice was no more than a choked whisper when she said. 

"Am I too far gone?" 

Before she finished the sentence, she felt a fat drop of water hitting the top of her head. It was followed by several more in quick succession, tears from above to answer her question. She looked up at the torrents of water cascading down from the sky. Touching both stones one last time, she rushed back to the interior of her Bugatti, cursing at the untimely weather disruption. 

"Get it together, Heather," she said, lighting a Marlboro. "Get it out of your system." 

She took a long drag and let her mind calm down before exhaling the smoke. The feeling of tender vulnerability abated, leaving an uneasy disquiet. 

* * 

Once in a while, Heather had had occasion to drive past the Belvederes' mansion. She usually had her phone plastered to her ear, but did throw a quick glance at it. It looked grandiose from her vantage point. 

That day, she stood at the heavy iron gates, studying the façade of the ancient structure. Ivy grew between the white-bordered windows going all the way to the ground. The tiled roof had a few gaps, as did the aged paint on the walls. She parked her car and quietly walked to the front door. Her finger pressed the doorbell once. 

The door swung open, revealing a burly old man standing with dignified poise and a coat to match. 

"The men from the bank came less than an hour ago," he said, visibly irritated. "Why have they sent someone else so soon?" 

"She's not from the bank." 

The man turned around. Natasha stood behind him, dressed in a simple skirt and top. 

"She's my lawyer, Gerard." 

The man turned around with a softer gaze and bowed his head. 

"I'm deeply sorry," he said, holding his arm out. "Please, let me take your coat." 

"Could you prepare two cups of tea?" Natasha asked. The man silently disappeared to the right. She turned to face her flummoxed lawyer. 

"You'll have to excuse Gerard. He doesn't like it when men from the bank pay unsolicited visits. He's been my family's butler for over twenty years. I haven't been able to pay his salary in months, but he insists on serving me. He says he wants to stay with me, even after the bank eventually forecloses the place." 

"That kind of loyalty is rare these days," said Heather, walking alongside her hostess. Her eyes wandered through the cavernous hallways, somehow lacking their accustomed opulence. The high oak ceilings were not polished. Her eyes noticed a conspicuous lack of furniture. There were patches of light-coloured plaster visible on the walls, where paintings had probably once hung. 

"There used to be a lot more furniture," Natasha reminisced. "Many of them were really expensive and one of a kind. I had an original Chippendale armoire in my bedroom. I've had to sell most to get by." 

"What happened?" 

"The crash happened," she said. "We were among the worst hit. Within a few months, all the real estate owned by my family plummeted. Our investments fell through and before we knew it, we had to look up Chapter 14." 

"I'm so sorry." 

"My Dad doted on me growing up," she went on, leading the way to the sitting area. "I never had to raise a finger to get anything. Maids, housekeepers, butlers, chefs -- you name it and I had them at my beck and call. I wanted to see kangaroos and we immediately got on his private jet to Melbourne for a couple of weeks. I was more spoilt than you can imagine." 

She escorted Heather to a cheap, dusty sofa set and a small adjoining table. They sat down before she resumed. 

"Dad was so happy the day he walked me down the aisle. Morgan was the best man anyone could hope to marry. He took my surname. Within a year of our marriage, Cody was born. Dad passed peacefully, confident that nothing would ever disturb the life he had set up for us." 

"What happened to Morgan?" 

Natasha stiffened at the mention of his name. Her discomfiture lasted while Gerard reappeared with a porcelain teapot and two cups. He lay the tray down and went his own way. 

"You don't have to answer that question-" Heather began, only to be cut off by a resolute hand. 

"It's okay," Natasha whimpered. "I want to tell you." 

Heather took a sip and leaned in closer. 

"I knew the business was doing badly, but I always thought things would eventually work out. Morgan was so smart. He was at the top of his class at Wharton. There was no way he would let the company sink. I was so sure of it." 

She paused and clutched her raven black tresses in despair. 

"I should have known how bad things really were. Morgan looked so tense all the time and would spend most nights pouring over ledgers of how much we owed. He barely ate or slept. I tried to comfort him, but he pushed me away. Instead, I focussed on Cody, who was just a baby at the time. I took him to the park, the playground and never left him alone with his nannies." 

"What happened then?" 

"One day, I returned home with Cody and found Morgan in the study," Natasha said listlessly. "His lips were wrapped around the barrel of his gun. His brains were splattered all over the walls and furniture. Cody and I had to walk in on that." 

"I'm deeply sorry," Heather said, knowing her words could never be enough. 

"Suddenly, I was jolted into the harsh reality that I had been shielded from all this time. I went through the papers in the study and realized that all our stock options were worthless. It was only a matter of time." 

Natasha poured herself some more tea. Heather scanned her face for anguish, failing to find any. She had hardened herself to the point where she shut out all the pain. 

"An all too familiar feeling," thought Heather. 

"Cody became my life. He was all I had left to cling to. I made every moment of my day about him so I wouldn't have to think about my finances," she said. "Everything fell apart around us, but we had each other. It was like a bubble, where the real world couldn't reach in." 

"What about family? Didn't you have any relatives?" 

"No one. Cody and I were all that was left of the famous Belvedere family. I got three jobs to keep us afloat and made sure Cody could still go to school. I cut down to one meal a day to ensure he had three and had a new uniform whenever he needed it. He wanted to give a gift for a friend's birthday, and I pulled extra shifts to make sure he was not disappointed. I never let him feel what was not there." 

"The same way your family sheltered you," Heather completed with a nod of understanding. 

"I even begged the bank to hold off on the foreclosure for some time. All the imported jewellery my Dad ever bought me went towards earning extensions. In a month or so, we were supposed to move to a small apartment. I had set everything up with the help of a waitress at the diner where I take the late shift." 

Heather put her cup down and looked at the pitifully weak woman seated across from her. She looked so frail and delicate, with a gaping void where her soul once resided. 

"I didn't believe it at first, you know?" Natasha went on in a disembodied voice. "When the police called me to the city morgue to identify my son's body. It was a mistake, it had to be. No one could possibly hurt Cody. Everybody loved him so much. All he had to do was smile and he had a new friend." 

"I've seen his picture," Heather said. "He looked adorable." A sentiment entirely lost on me. 

"It all seemed like such a surreal dream to me when the coroner pulled back the white sheet," she went on. Heather was not entirely sure that her client knew what she was saying. 

"I saw my baby's beautiful face with so many bruises and scars. I held his hand to comfort him, but it was so cold. I held it tightly, trying to remember when it used to be warm. My baby, so warm and full of life was now no more. My brain simply went numb. It was as if every sense switched off at once. From then on, I've been living this nightmare, hoping that I can wake up and hold my baby again." 

"Tell me about the day of the verdict," Heather asked. "It was last week, I understand." 

"I can't describe it," she said. "I keep hearing the judge saying that the evidence is inadmissible and without it he has no choice but to let him go. Those words kept playing in my head in a loop. After that, it's all a blur. The next thing I remember is when the police arrested me in the park." 

"Here's the problem, Natasha," Heather said. "That day, you took your gun out of your locked cabinet, filled it with bullets. Then you went to the entrance of the alley leading to Lance's favourite pub and waited for him. That will sound like the actions of a sane person to the jury and the prosecutor will make special mention of it." 

Natasha looked disenchanted while Heather opened her pad and started writing. 

"Did you hear voices? Maybe Cody's voice. Did they maybe tell you to kill Mr Whittaker?" Heather asked hopefully. "Did you see Cody in your dreams where he asked you to take revenge? That I can give the jury." 

"I see Cody every time I close my eyes. We are in the park, him on my lap. He tries to count the pigeons eating nearby, but some of them always fly away." 

"Please, Natasha. Did you feel anything that told you to kill Lance Whittaker?" Heather beseeched. 

"Truthfully, I stopped feeling altogether. I didn't even feel the satisfaction that came with putting a bullet in him. It was all so... natural." 

She looked at Heather's face, ashen with concern before giving a wry smile. 

"Not a helpful case of temporary insanity, am I?" 

"Don't say that," her lawyer said fervently. "I can get all the doctors you need to testify how you were out of your mind." 

Immediately, she knew it was a bad idea. None of her picks had evaluated Natasha in the aftermath of her shooting, and she knew from experience that juries did not respond kindly to an array of experts designed to confuse them. 

"By your expression, I see you don't think that will help," her client said. 

Heather looked up at her. There was an unnerving nonchalance writ large on her face. She threw her head back and smiled. 

"Oh well. It's not like there was much hope for me anyway. Let's go upstairs now." 

"What do you have upstairs?" Heather asked. 

* * 

"Wow." 

"I get that a lot," said Natasha, standing next to her piano. It was a Fazioli grand, made from specially prepared red spruce found in the Italian Alps. It sat in the middle of the upstairs hallway, a stark contrast to the destitution around it. Heather's eyes beheld the massive musical instrument. 

"It's the one thing I haven't been able to let go of yet," Natasha said, running her fingers over the ivory keys. "My father bought it from Milan when I was five and I fell in love with it. I even had a teacher for ten years." 

As she spoke, her fingers wandered over some of the keys. Melodic strains floated through the air. Heather walked closer and Natasha sat down. 

"When I play, it's like I'm in a different place. Cody liked it too. He often sat beside me and tried playing," she ruminated. "One of my jobs is at a piano bar down town. It helps me relax after the gruelling work at the others." 

Heather leaned against the far end and let her fingers create a few notes idly. Natasha stopped playing, listening to her lawyer's attempt at the Fifth Symphony. 

"You have some hidden talents, Heather." 

"I'm not too good at it," she laughed back, missing a few notes. 

"Come here," Natasha said, patting the part of the stool beside her. Heather sat and watched as her client's dainty fingers danced over the keys. There was a languid elegance in the way she glided from one note to the other, stitching together a harmonic rhythm. 

Natasha didn't speak like someone who was facing life imprisonment. She seemed at peace with whatever was going to happen to her. 

"Heather, can I ask you a question and expect an honest answer?" 

The lawyer nodded tentatively. 

"What are my chances like?" she asked. "Please. Tell me the blunt truth." 

A few agonizing seconds of deafening silence answered her. Heather averted her gaze. She smiled and lifted her face till they made eye contact. 

"Thank you for not lying to me," Natasha said softly. "I want you to know that I couldn't have asked for any more from you." She turned back to the black and white keys in front of her. 

"This piece is my favourite," she said, letting her fingers rest for a moment. "I find it calming. Cody loved it too." 

The first few notes rose from within the piano. Heather listened, smiling weakly. Her fingers played the next notes on a higher scale. Natasha looked at her, surprised. 

"Clair de Lune is one of my favourites too," she said, continuing with her amateur tapping. "I heard it at Carnegie Hall last month and haven't been able to get it out of my head ever since." 

"Can we try it together?" 

They sat close to each other. Natasha played on a lower scale and Heather matched her notes on a higher scale. There was the occasional mistimed note, but they went on. Heather smiled, trying to lose herself in the tranquil tune. For a fleeting sliver of time, she forgot about the grim reality of her existence. She turned her head to see Natasha's eyes closed and her fingers ghosting from key to key. Maybe she could see Cody sitting beside her, taking in the soulful rendition. 

"We're going to win, Natasha," she said. "I don't know how but we're going to win." 

"Don't make promises you can't keep," came the lilted reply. Her fingers kept playing Debussy's masterpiece. "Let go, Heather. You did all you could." 

The next instant, Natasha felt a pair of luscious lips press against hers. She ignored the heavy stench of nicotine and tongued hungrily. A pair of hands grasped her waist and hoisted her atop the smooth surface of her piano. She opened her eyes to see Heather in front of her, looking like she was desperate to show some emotion. 

They kissed again and Heather ripped open the buttons of her lover's top. She hungrily pressed her lips between Natasha's breasts. She groaned and threw her head back. Heather stood up and took her client's dress completely off, feasting on her aroused nipples. 

Her fingers reached down and rubbed along the length of her wet orifice. She frantically rubbed her clit, all the while her mouth wreaked havoc on her torso. Her teeth grazed each nipple before she moved up, leaving a wet trail on her neck. 

Natasha moaned and pressed a few random keys. The cadenza of lust played intermittently while Heather became more frantic with her manoeuvrings. Her fingers now concentrated on her clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. Her lips kissed all over her face before culminating in her mouth. 

Suddenly, she impaled Natasha with her fingers. She gasped loudly into Heather's mouth in response and let a few notes ring loudly through the room. They reverberated off the walls and lost themselves in the furious panting. Heather pushed Natasha down until she was lying flat on her back and continued ravaging her G spot. 

They shared a torrid kiss, letting a multitude of passions drown them. Three fingers were now sawing in and out of Natasha at a breathless pace. She closed her eyes and saw the darkness segue into a dazzling ensemble of colours. A riptide of orgasm crashed through her body, leaving her weak in the aftermath. 

Natasha could barely open her eyes into slivers, seeing the spent and sweaty face of her lawyer. Heather gave her a lop-sided smile. 

"I won't let go, Natasha Belvedere," she said with cold conviction. "I will hold on till the bitter end. If you burn, I promise you that I will be burning right beside you." 

* * 

Heather Franklin had an hourly rate of a thousand dollars. Tom Markham's figure was closer to a hundred thousand. Based on the numbers, a layman could conclude he was a hundred times better, but Heather knew all too well that was only half the story. 

In reality, Tom Markham wasn't better. He was the best. Period. 

She forced herself to stand straight outside his heavy door. Behind it was the Markham of Griffin, Markham and Wiley, a lawyer who every law student in every college aspired to be. Some of the most famous cases of the past two decades had been won by this man. As much as she hated her firm and everything it stood for, she had nothing but reverential awe for that man. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door twice. 

"Come in, Heather," came the reply. "Have a seat." 

Heather sat down on the other side of his ornate desk. He had his head down, going through some paperwork. Most of his hair was black and combed neatly. Despite pushing forty-five, he looked lithe and athletic. After a few moments, he raised his head. 

"Heather, I think you know why you're here," he said. "The senior partners wanted to talk to you themselves, but I told them that I would. I think it's most appropriate that way." 

She nodded. Tom spread his arms out and leaned forwards. 

"Your superiors tell me that you have taken a pro bono assignment from Judge Giles and are intent on going through with the trial, rather than dump it quickly," he said smoothly. "This in the same year where we might consider you for a promotion to junior partner. Are you sure you're doing the right thing here?" 

"I think so, sir," she said, feeling a rising dread within her. 

He looked at her dourly, studying her expression for a few seconds. 

"You know that I can force you to drop the case or else fire you if you remain adamant, right?" 

"I do, sir." 

"Drop the sir, Heather," he said genially. "Let's leave that to the other petty sycophants who work under me." 

She was unsure if she should laugh. Tom's grin broadened. 

"I want to ask you, Heather, what is it about this case that you can't dump it?" 

"It's the client," she said. "She doesn't deserve to be in jail." 

There was silence while he collected his thoughts. 

"You know you can't save the world," he said sombrely. 

"I don't want to save the world. I just want to save her." 

"Can you save her?" Tom asked. "I've seen the facts of your case, you know." 

"Please, let me try at least. If that means you have to fire me, so be it. If those are my choices, then being fired is the one I can live with." 

Tom chuckled and leaned back in his padded recliner. 

"You must think of me as some kind of monster," he said. "In all fairness, corporate lawyers have earned that stereotype. Let me tell you something, Heather and I want you to listen closely." 




Edge of Reason Ch. 01



Heather leaned in, pricking her ears. 

"You are by far the best lawyer here," he said. "I don't know if you're aware of it, but you are. I follow every case of yours and I am truly impressed by some of the things you pull off. The last thing I want is you leaving, believe me." 

"Thanks," she said shortly. Tom reached out and turned a picture frame on his desk towards her. There was a picture of Tom and a black man. Heather surmised that it had been taken twenty years back. 

"David Carruthers. He used to be a dock worker back in the early nineties when I met him. He had a rare adenocarcinoma and needed an experimental procedure if he wanted a chance to live. The problem was, his insurance company refused to cover the cost. His case fell through the cracks, right onto my lap. I was a rising star back then, not unlike yourself. 

"He was so different. He wasn't smug, rich and entitled like all the other clients who came my way. Here he was, a decent working man who needed a potentially life-saving procedure which he was going to be denied by his insurance company. The insurance company was one of the clients at my old firm, creating a conflict of interest. Everybody I met told me to drop the case, some not so politely." 

"But you didn't," Heather said. 

"I can't explain why but I clung onto it. I had had enough of defending trust fund jerks. I filed motion after motion and went to every damn deposition the insurance company set up. There was so much time wasted in discovery, trials and the opposition kept getting bogus continuances." 

"They wanted David to die before the case got resolved," Heather said from experience. 

"Precisely, but I fought through all that bull shit and adversity. I forgot about eating, sleeping and everybody yelling at me to drop this case. It became my obsession. Finally, I won and David got his treatment. Of course, I got fired from my firm for losing the insurance provider as a client." 

"Did it work?" 

"He walked his daughter down the aisle last month," Tom said with a satisfied smile. "I'm her godfather." 

"Is that why you keep his picture on your desk?" 

"I keep that picture so that I can look at it as often as I need to. No matter how many scumbags I defend, I can always look up and see that I did something good." 

He turned the photo back towards himself. 

"Everybody should have a David Carruthers. Everyone who still has a conscience, I mean. That's more than I can say for most of the lawyers in this city." 

"So you want me to fight this case?" Heather asked. 

Tom smiled and said. "Heather, you are standing on the edge of reason. In front of you is a precipice of untold misery. When you jump, you are going to experience all sorts of emotions and attachments you never knew existed. For once, you are emotionally invested in your client. It's a good person that you're fighting for. Use that to positive energy to fly. But I should warn you, it's a long way down if you can't." 

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled. 

"Have you considered what will happen if you lose this case? Have you even thought about how it will feel like seeing someone you have grown so desperately close to be sent to prison?" he said quietly. "Losing this case will destroy you, Heather. I've seen it before. You will never be the same again. Are you sure you want to take that risk?" 

"Yes," she said immediately. Tom placed his hands behind his head and beamed. 

"In that case, I grant you carte blanche to do whatever you want. If somebody stands in your way, give them my reference," he said. "There is one thing though, you will need a second chair. Pick anyone you want and I will make sure they are available." 

Heather thought it over, mentally evaluating the people she could pick. After a few seconds, the penny dropped and she said the bravest thing in her life. 

"I pick you." 

"Me?" said an amused Tom. "You're joking, right?" 

"No, I'm not." 

"Heather, I am the last person you want on this case," he said plainly. "You work in the shadows. My simply being there will put this case in the media spotlight. There's no way you're ready for that." 

"I can handle that," she said. "It means little compared to having you as part of the defence." 

"What about your client? Will she be okay with this?" 

"I'll talk to her, but yes," she said firmly. "You're the only person I can think of who can pull this off." 

Tom pursed his lips thoughtfully, patting his fingers on the wood. A few minutes later, he shook his head. 

"Can't, sorry. I have this anti-trust case to deal with. I'm not even half-way through the research. Pick someone else." 

"I know anti-trust law inside out," Heather said triumphantly. "After my case is over, I will give you all the work product you need that very day itself." 

He looked at her determined expression and smirked. 

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" 

"Not a chance." 

"Then I don't have another choice. Looks like I'll be fighting my first murder case in years." 

"Thank you," said Heather breathlessly. "I'll get the files ready and inform the prosecution that you are taking over." 

"The case is still yours, Heather," he said. "All I'll be is second chair." 

"Why would you be second chair?" she asked incredulously. 

"Because the lead on the case needs to be a woman. You want me in the background, guiding the case, not leading it. If I do, then it becomes about me and not about the plight of your client. We don't want that." 

"Fine," said Heather, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She would never get used to the fact that she was going to have Tom Markham as second chair. 

"What is our plea?" he asked. 

"Temporary insanity." Tom stroked his chin contemplatively for a few minutes. 

"But she wasn't temporarily insane and any doctor who says so will obviously look fake," he said. "There might be a backlash from the jury if we try that." 

"Then what do we do?" 

"Nothing, we just fight the case." 

"I don't understand." 

He stood up and walked across the table to where Heather stood. 

"You know she wasn't temporarily insane. I know it. The prosecution knows it. The judge knows and the jury will know it too. In fact, everybody who watches this case on TV will know it. The thing is, they're going to set Natasha free anyway." 

He took a moment to see the priceless bewilderment on Heather's face before he laughed out loud. 

"Temporary insanity isn't the reason they will set her free. It's merely the pretext. They are going to want to set her free and all they will need is an excuse." 

"Why will they do that?" 

"Because they won't have another option. We are going to fight this battle outside court. You have a grieving mother who lost her only son against a sick pedophile who walked free. Give it to our media contacts and watch the public's blood boil. There will be so much public sympathy for her and outrage for the DA's office that the trial will be irrelevant." 

Heather's eyes widened. Tom placed his palms on his shoulders. 

"Get an immediate trial date. Make the sure the event is fresh in people's minds. Exploit the heartburn every New Yorker will feel for her while it's still fresh. By the time we're done, the ordinary citizen should be so angry at the system that their only regret is not shooting that child-killing sicko themselves. They make up your jury pool." 

"Isn't that illegal?" Heather asked, overawed by the plan. 

"That's our only shot." 

She collapsed back into her chair, overwhelmed by the events of the past half an hour. Her brain hurt from all the information trying to sink in. Tom got on his knees and looked her in the eye. 

"You'll have your own picture soon, Heather." 

* * 

If you have reached so far, I would appreciate your votes and comments. Private feedback is also welcome. Chapter 2 is the trial itself.



Edge of Reason Ch. 02



Without further ado, I present the concluding chapter of Heather Franklin's biggest case to date. I would like to take this moment to thank all of you who take the time to vote and comment on my stories. As a hobbyist writer, your comments and feedback are all the returns I get for the time I invest in writing.

An extra special vote of thanks to my editor, beta reader and general story advisor, Bramblethorn without whose input, this story would read considerably worse than it does. 

DISCLAIMER – There is mention of graphic violence against a child in this story. Don't read further if such material makes you uneasy. There is also one scene of BDSM.

"Red: Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane."





Edge of Reason Ch. 02



"Is this her?" she asked, belying a faint Eastern European accent intermingled with a trace of Russian.

"She's the one," Tom affirmed. The woman had an unnerving air to her. She was tall and thin, to the point of anorexic. Her lips were thin and villainous, more so when they curled into a twisted smile.

"Yes, I see what you meant earlier, Tom," she said. "This one looks like she has a point to prove."

"Heather, this is-," Tom began, only to be cut off by a wave of her hand.

"Let me ask her first," she said. "Have you heard of me, Heather Franklin?"

"I don't believe I have."

"You haven't, trust me. It's a job requirement."

"As I was saying, this is an old friend of mine, Tatiana Dezerian, from Keller, Stanton and Young."

"The global think-tank in DC?" Heather asked, her eyes widening. 

"The very same. Tatiana is a part of their image consulting division. Her speciality is public perception," Tom said. "I had my private jet pick her up from Ukraine, where she was stoking some rather sizeable fires."

Heather looked at her, trying to figure out what she was all about.

"Some greedy Russians wanted me to destabilise the government by turning public mood against the incumbent. I would say I've been quite successful given what's happened to Crimea."

"Wait, so all those riots are your doing?"

"In a way, yes. I look for strategic points of impact. Media channels that can influence more people, events that can stir greater emotions. For a price, I can make the public think a sinner is a saint, or vice versa, depending on what I'm paid for."

"She's worked behind the scenes with both of Obama's campaigns. You see, Heather, she is the best spin doctor in the country."

"You flatter me good sir," she laughed. "Let me put it this way – what actually happens is an event. No one really cares about an event. What they care about is a story, how the event is told. My job is to tell them the best story to achieve my ends."

"You didn't hear it from me, Heather," Tom said discreetly. "But she has built and destroyed countless political careers depending on who paid her more."

"Oh please," she said, rolling her eyes. "Politicians are merely pieces on my board. They keep changing, falling off the map when they have outlived their use. The general public is what remains constant. Public perception and public opinion today works the same way it always did. You see, Heather, public perception is like clay. It needs to be shaped and moulded. There is an infinite potential for anger out there within the everyday citizen. All you need to do is harness it."

"Enough posturing. Do we have a plan?" Heather asked.

"I like her. She has sass," Tatiana said. "I like them feisty."

"Her team is at the Lowell, preparing a documentary of sorts. They have dug up some pictures of Natasha going back to her more prosperous days. We'll review it once it's done and it can run with the late night news."

"Pick CNN, the others will jump in once they see the bait," she went on. "We also want Stephen Colbert to satirise the system that lets child killers walk free. I'll make sure it's their next episode. There should be a collage of photos starting from Cody and ending at his mother being cuffed as part of a featurette. You still have your contact at the Times?"

"I'll give Stanley a ring," Tom said. "I can also put it on the Post and the Ledger."

"Excellent," she said, clapping her hands. "In the meantime, I'll put the word out to my team to contact our pet bloggers. They'll set the social media on fire with this. I'll also get some prominent tweeters to get our ball rolling."

"You want to do all of that tomorrow?" Heather asked, flabbergasted.

"The Germans called it blitzkrieg, where you attack with everything at once. The prosecution won't know what hit them. By the time they get their bearings straight, Natasha Belvedere will be the topic of discussion in households, pubs and parties. Anything they say after that will be 'typical government bullshit'. It helps when you have the public so cynical of them already."

"Okay, I see," said Heather. "What about the press conference?"

"At our environment, the Lowell Hotel. We'll have a background banner set up for her and also make sure some of the journalists ask questions we will have prepared beforehand. I'll probably need to sit down with Mrs Belvedere sometime tomorrow."

"Isn't this all too sudden?"

"You need a strong impact at the start. Jolt the public out of their armchairs and onto the street where they can be part of your fight."

Heather looked at this odd woman for a long while before turning her head back to her boss. He shrugged and smiled.

"Tatiana charges an arm and a leg, but she's sure as hell worth it."

"Speaking of which," began Tatiana, "I will charge the usual fee for my services routed to my usual bank account in the Cayman Islands. I hope you remember which one."

"I'll remember it soon enough."

"Heather, there is something else I would like to talk to you about. Tom tells me you are in possession of a certain tape. Is that true?"

"Yes," Heather affirmed shortly, trying not to think of the contents.

"There is something you might want to consider," Tatiana said, shooting a sideways glance at Tom. "What if that tape were to be leaked onto the net? It would certainly act as a catalyst for getting the public fury where we want it. There's nothing quite like seeing the crime happen to elicit maximum sympathy for Natasha."

"You want to exploit a dead child's last moments for publicity?" Heather yelled out reflexively.

"Heather," Tom interjected. "I know how you feel about it. All I'm asking is, think over it. Every little bit of help we can get is worth it."

"Forget it," said Heather, stomping her foot. "I am not doing that. If that video goes viral, Natasha will have to see it. There is no way I will let that happen."

"In that case, go get some sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow."

Tom and Tatiana watched the receding form of Heather until she turned the corner towards the elevators.

"I thought you said she was cold and willing to do what it takes."

"And I used to be right," Tom chuckled.

* *

"Your Honour," said Seth. "The prosecution moves for a change of venue. The newspaper and media events of the morning have tainted the jury pool to such an extent that we can no longer have a fair trial."

"Funny, that's not the impression I got when you were running your mouth off to the media," said Heather with a broad smile. "Your Honour, the news has spread everywhere. There is no alternate venue which the prosecution will like, unless of course you want a jury of penguins."

"Shut up, both of you," Giles barked. "I gave an express directive not to turn this into a media frenzy and you have done just that. Mr Watkins, your tirade about Ms Franklin was inexcusable. You are a disgrace to the state."

He turned his angry gaze to Heather.

"And you. I can barely turn on the TV without seeing some feature about your client and what she has been through. You have turned her life into a public spectacle."

He looked down into his papers for a minute and began.

"I know if I impose a gag order, the two of you will immediately start using social media to greater effect. So all I'll say is this – if I see even one of you trying to colour public opinion, you will be that much closer to a contempt of court verdict. Now go and get ready. The first witness takes the stand in an hour."

His keen eyes watched the two lawyers walk out the door and he sighed aloud. From the second he picked up the paper in the morning, he knew he was in the middle of one of the greatest media events of all time.

* *

The media presence in the room had quadrupled. Every square inch of gallery space was consumed by cameras vying for position to get a clearer view of the drama unfolding in front of them. Veteran journalists waited. The air was pregnant with expectation when a construction worker took the stand.

"Mr Tucker, could you please describe where you were on Thursday, 20th February in the morning?"

"I was at my construction site like always."

"Did you see the defendant?" Seth asked, gesturing in Natasha's direction.

"Yes, I did. She asked me where to find Harmon's – a local bar."

"What did she do after that?"

"She thanked me and waited under the awning around the corner. After twenty minutes or so, a man came from the opposite side of the road. She walked up to him, took out a gun and shot him in the head. Then she dropped the gun and slowly walked away."

"Did she seem erratic? Unstable?"

"Objection. The witness is not qualified to give a medical opinion," Heather said loudly.

"All I'm asking for is a lay opinion, your Honour."

"Objection overruled. You may proceed."

"No. Actually she was rather calm and collected. I would never have guessed what she was going to do next."

"Nothing further," said Seth. Heather waited until he was seated. All the cameras in the gallery panned to her figure as she rose.

"She shot this man. You saw the entire thing. Your eyes were riveted to her all the way from her talking to you to her shooting Mr Whittaker. Am I right?"

"I was on my break," he shrugged. "Not much else to do." 

"I see. You said that she seemed calm and collected during the whole scene. Could you elaborate on that?"

"She seemed lucid and had clarity of thought," Mr Tucker said. "In fact, I didn't see any evidence of diminished capacity."

Tom looked down and laughed heartily to himself. Heather had done it again. She took her time walking from the witness stand to the jury and back again, calmness visible in her stride. The witness began to feel uneasy by the time she spoke again.

"Diminished capacity," said Heather slowly, emphasizing each syllable. "That's quite the legal term. For a layman's opinion, you certainly dropped that easily. Did someone tell you to specifically highlight this perceived lack of diminished capacity?"

"I don't know what... you're talking about," he blurted out.

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile." Giles nodded in assent and Heather took the gloves off.

"Let me rephrase the question – did the prosecution ask you to make special mention of her lack of diminished capacity?"

"Objection, your Honour," yelled Seth.

"It goes to the credibility of the witness."

"Overruled," said Giles. "Go ahead with your cross, Ms Franklin."

"Now, Mr Tucker, since you are a layman who only knows about diminished capacity, allow me to introduce you to another legal term – perjury. It carries a prison sentence. Are you sure Mr Watkins didn't tell you to mention this term?"

Mr Tucker and the entire prosecution lost all the colour on their faces in unison. The poor witness trembled and looked around helplessly.

"Let me ask you another question then, this one is simpler," Heather said. "Do you have two charges of felony drug possession in the past year?"

"Objection. The witness' priors are not relevant here." 

"It is relevant, your Honour," said Heather. "Just give me a minute."

Giles looked around, deep in thought before speaking up. "I don't know where you're going with this, Heather, but tread carefully."

"Did the DA's office agree to drop those charges in exchange for your testimony here?"

The poor man spluttered haplessly for a few moments. Heather's sharp eyes spotted his exposed jugular, pulsing in the open. She went in for the kill. She held the railing of the witness and leaned over the cowering figure within.

"Answer my question, Mr Tucker. Did the DA's office agree to drop the two charges of felony drug possession in exchange for a favourable testimony here?"

"Yes," he squeaked into the microphone.

Heather turned to face the jury, all her viciousness from earlier replaced by a gentle smile.

"That sounds like an awfully good incentive to lie."

"Objection," hollered Seth, knowing fully well the damage that had been inflicted.

* *

"Ms Franklin, Mr Markham, can we have a comment?"

"Not at the moment, but soon enough, Judy. We plan to hold a press conference with Natasha sometime over the next few days."

He could almost see the tabloid hack's eyes widen and mouth water at the prospect. Tom winked and dove through the crowd into the car. Heather sat beside him, taking out a Marlboro from her pocket.

"Want one?" she offered. Tom waved it off politely. The driver made his way away from the milling crowd of reporters.

"You seemed different today, closer to your usual self," he remarked, leaning back and watching her blow ringlets of smoke.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to go over the psychologist's testimony and make sure it sounds credible," Heather said, briefly dropping her cigarette hand. "When do we do that?"

"As soon as possible, actually. We want to get that out of the way at the earliest so we can go back to our real agenda – pulling on the jury's heartstrings," he said. "I've added a Dr Kravitz to the witness list. He should do fine."

"What about him?"

"He's a certified psycho-analyst and a long serving faculty member at Princeton University. In short, he has the credentials."

"But we both know it won't help, right?" Heather remarked, making the burning end of her cigarette glow as she spoke. "I don't think the jury will like us pushing such an obvious lie onto them."

"Then we won't push," said Tom simply. "His testimony will be done and dusted in minutes. It's a liability for us, but a necessary one."

"You can expect Seth to come after him all guns blazing," she said. "He is going to rip him apart before putting up his own witness to refute his testimony."

"We'll have to take that risk," he said heavily. "I'll give you a white-paper research piece when we get back to the firm. It's a study at Princeton on delayed action insanity. Basically, it says how our brains can react to devastating news later because some random part of it shuts down in the immediate aftermath."

"Some random part?"

"Yeah, well the study is basically insurance I came up with years ago in case we had a high-profile case that needed it. It looks official and has all the right stamps of approval and peer reviews, but it's about as true as Star Wars."

She looked at him with a lop-sided smile. Tom stretched his arms in the spacious limo and looked back nonchalantly.

"Hey, I gave Princeton three million dollars in endowments last year alone. The least I can expect is one helpful study. Memorise it, will you?"

"You got it," said Heather. They sat in silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by the flick of Heather lighting another cigarette.

"You seem awfully morose for someone who's had a good day in court," Tom asked.

Heather sighed and said. "It's quite silly, really. It's as you said, everything is so different now. I'm fighting for someone I can root for and yet, I'm going back to the same old dirty methods I resort to for the crooks."

"There are no heroes among lawyers, Heather. Only those who win."

"Don't you think what you did for David back in the day was heroic?"

"Perhaps," Tom shrugged. "But for every David, there are thousands of others who are the victims of corporate and governmental inhumanity. I gave it everything I had and saved one. Heather, are you really naïve enough to believe it made a difference?"

"David's wife and children would certainly think so."

Tom smiled weakly. Heather reached over and put her non-smoking arm on his jaded shoulder to pat it comfortingly.

"Where's Natasha?"

"I told her to take the backdoor in disguise where I had a car and driver waiting. She went straight to the Lowell. Tatiana would like to get started on prepping her for the press conference."

"Schedule it for the day after both the psychologist testimonies are done. We need to bring the people's focus back to what's important. How is she holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose."

"After you've read the study, go to the Lowell, pick her up and head straight back to the courthouse. I'll try to join you if I wind up my work by then."

"What's happening at the courthouse tonight?" Heather asked, furrowing her brow.

"Something the two of you are going to want to be a part of."

* *

Natasha held on tightly to Heather's hand, watching the scene in front of her with childlike wonder. Her eyes were arrested by the innumerable specks of light strewn across the road. Each of them represented a New Yorker with a candle in hand. The crowd cut a cross-section across society. Men, women, children – irrespective of race, religion and strata stood together in a show of luminescent solidarity.

Tom handed both of them a plastic holder with a candle mounted on top and let Heather do the needful and light all three of them with her lighter. All eyes in close proximity were focused on the grieving mother amidst them. Natasha took a few unsteady steps forward in slow unison with the rest of the vigil. Her hands trembled to the point where she almost dropped the candle but Heather helped steady her.

"Heather, don't let go," she whimpered and her lawyer nodded and held her arm tightly.

"We'll do this slowly. One step at a time." 

The two of them walked. Once in a while, they caught a kindly gaze from a fellow walker. Natasha had a glassy look in her eyes, smiling weakly at the road ahead. Every step was slow and measured, hiding the monumental effort behind it. It took a small eternity until they reached the front of the courthouse. A small shrine had been erected in front of the steps. It had a large picture of Cody prominently displayed and hundreds of candles, bouquets and cards placed around. The adjoining space had been used to erect two empty cardboard signs where the occasional soul paused to write a message in memory of Cody.

Natasha stopped in front of the crude erection, her lips quivering with a nameless emotion. Slowly, she sank to her knees and put her candle down right in front of the picture. All eyes were fixed onto her now, carefully watching her every move.

In front of a few thousand people, Natasha Belvedere did something she had never dreamt herself capable of.

She threw her arms around her baby's picture in a fierce hug and cried powerfully enough to force tears out of the coldest hearts around her.

All except Heather Franklin who still chose to hide them.

* *

"What did Tatiana tell you?"

"She gave me a few hints," squeezed out Natasha between kisses. "I'm going to sit down with her again to rehearse a few finer points of the press conference."

She detached her lips long enough to yank her lawyer's custom made Fioravanti suit right off her body and fling it onto the floor. Her hands wrapped around the mass of reddish brown hair and she kissed hungrily, her tongue assaulting its counterpart with frantic energy. 

Heather grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down onto her couch. She took a step back to admire the inviting naked form before her before rushing her lips onto her lover's. They kissed with torrid passion. She hurriedly undid her trousers and threw them next to her pile of discarded clothing.

"I found something in your cupboard recently," Natasha said. "Something I thought we could make use of."

Heather sank into the couch and cricked her neck. She lit up a Marlboro by the time Natasha returned, wearing a thin strap-on harness with a bulbous violet dildo affixed to the front. She had a devilish look on her face.

"What's gotten into you today?" Heather asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Nothing, except a wild need to fuck you raw with this," Natasha replied, patting the protruding plastic. She pranced forward and grasped Heather, forcing her in for a kiss but she pushed her away.




Edge of Reason Ch. 02



"What's wrong with you?" Heather spat out. "You're on trial for murder, you have a press conference ahead of you and all that's on your mind is my strap-on?"

"Don't you love me, Heather?" pleaded Natasha, her large eyes flickering in the light. Heather saw something amiss.

"Did you look on the top shelf of my cupboard?" she asked. Natasha did not respond. Her clumsy attempts to push Heather onto the bed confirmed her suspicions. Her client had indeed found her recreational meth.

"Fuck. Why, Natasha? Why would you take that stuff?"

Heather held her client up by the shoulders. She shivered weakly and looked up at her large, looming eyes for an aeon.

"I thought it would make me forget about Cody."

* *

"Fuck."

"I'm sorry, Tom. I should have removed it."

"Do you realise what we're doing here?" he asked. "We're trying to build the image of a loving mother driven insane by the grief of losing her child. We're trying to give the public someone to relate to. Did I say we need to put drug addict in her character description?"

"I'll fix it," Heather said. "I've removed the stash and I'll make sure she doesn't get her hands on any more."

"Which brings me to my second question – why do you have a meth stash?"

"Not relevant to our case," she shot back.

"Fine, but I do intend to ask this question again in the future," he said, composing himself. "How is she doing now?"

"She's stable. I let her sleep it off."

"No red eyes, short breath?" Tom asked warily. "You do realise she will be at the centre of all those cameras."

"She'll manage. Is the doctor ready to testify?"

"Yes, are you ready as well?"

They walked into the courtroom, ducking the usual melee of reporters. Natasha took care to rush to her seat at the defence table and looked down. Heather rose and walked to the witness stand.

"Could you introduce yourself for the court?"

"Dr Ernest Kravitz," said the middle aged man. "I have a post doctoral degree in clinical psychology from John's Hopkins and I have been associated with the psychology department at Princeton University Hospital for twenty years. I have also published several papers on post traumatic stress disorder and other trauma induced mental issues in that time."

"Dr Kravitz, in your medical opinion, how do you evaluate my client's actions?"

Ernest took a deep breath to collect his thoughts and began. "I would say she has delayed onset traumatic disorder. The death of her son made her brain shut down, so to speak. In simple terms, she went numb. It then took a secondary shock to break her out of that haze into any sort of action."

"The second shock being...?" Heather began helpfully.

"When her son's killer was released," he said plainly. "In my estimation; initially, her brain simply could not reconcile with her natural urge to avenge her son's death. So, it created a reality where the perpetrator of the crime would be punished by the state on her behalf. It was her fantasy world, so to speak. But, when that did not happen, the wall came crashing down leaving nothing except her primal urge for revenge. The double effect of losing her son and being failed by the state caused her to do what she did."

"Have there been any documented cases of delayed onset traumatic disorder before?"

"Yes," he said. "In my article to Lancet last year, I described the case of a man in Seattle who committed suicide a full two months after his wife died in a car accident caused by his drinking. The guilt festered and grew within him, but did not have an impact until two months after the fact."

The prosecution team talked among themselves in hushed tones. Seth gave instructions to the others while one of them arranged some papers.

"One last thing, Dr Kravitz, do you believe that Natasha Belvedere is a threat to society any longer?"

"Objection, speculation."

"I'm asking for a medical opinion, you brain dead retard."

There was a brief ripple of laughter from the gallery and jury alike. Seth glowered and fumed. Giles shifted his glasses up his nose.

"You're on thin ice, Ms Franklin," he said sternly.

"I'm sorry. I'll remember to be more sensitive to the prosecution's stunted intelligence the next time I speak." 

"Wafer thin ice."

"Sorry. Now where were we? Yes, in your medical opinion, do you believe that my client is capable of hurting anyone else?"

"It is obviously hard to predict such things with absolute certainty, but from my examination of her, I feel that she is a gentle person who is in equal measure, distraught over the loss of her son and horrified that she could murder someone. She should be pitied, not feared."

"Thank you, Dr Kravitz," said Heather before turning to the judge. "No further questions."

Seth rose from his seat and walked briskly to the witness stand. The recent humiliation seeped out of every pore.

"Delayed onset traumatic disorder?" he asked curiously. "Is it an established syndrome?"

"The research is still ongoing," the doctor said dryly. "I expect we'll know more about it a few years from now."

"Does the American Psychiatry Association recognise this disorder? Is it a part of the latest version of the DSM?"

"No, but awareness about it is growing."

"So we have no way of knowing right now if this disorder will actually be accepted as such by the APA? All we have is your word to go on."

"And all the names mentioned in the peer review."

"Let me ask you something else, did you evaluate Mrs Belvedere in the aftermath of the shooting?"

"No I did not, but-"

"Thank you," Seth interjected. "Are you aware that she made a series of conscious choices that day such as taking out her gun, loading it, finding out where the bar was and staying in wait outside? Does that sound insane to you?"

"There is no one definition to insanity. Sometimes actions which may seem completely normal to us can be the products of a deranged mind."

"Again, all we have is your word to go on," he shrugged. "Nothing further."

"You may step down," said the judge. "We will break for lunch and resume with the prosecution's rebuttal witness."

The trio did their usual ducking act to their room. Tom put his papers down and chuckled to himself.

"That was risky, Heather, getting under his skin before his cross examination. It could have backfired. You can thank your lucky stars it didn't."

"Thanks," she said, turning to her client. "How are you doing?"

"I'm better now. I think the effect has passed."

Natasha turned to Tom. "Mr Markham, when do you plan to have me testify?"

"Soon," he replied. "But first you need to hold a press conference where you can get your story to the people, free from cross examination. The eyeballs of the world are on you. The internet, the media and the city itself is buzzing. The entire world is an audience for us."

"Might as well give them a good show then."

"Natasha," said Heather, clutching her arm. "I'm sorry your life has become a public spectacle, but we couldn't think of any other way to win this case."

Her client smiled back weakly. Tom spoke up again.

"Are you prepared for the prosecution's expert? He will have strong points against the existence of such a psychological condition. Have you found a weakness?"

"Yes," said Heather, clearing her throat. "Dr Groener has not practised or published in the last five years, instead giving expert testimony for the prosecution on a number of cases. I'll spin the fact that he has a vested interest in the prosecution seeming more credible, irrespective of the truth."

"Hence why I think you're the best."

* *

"This is ridiculous. You have no legal basis for this."

"Why don't we let the judge decide that?" Tom asked pointedly. "Your Honour, give me one possible objection to our new witness."

"What could you possibly have to gain by calling the state medical examiner as a witness?" Giles responded.

"It goes to our claim of insanity. He was the only one present when Mrs Belvedere first saw her son's body and is therefore, the only one able to give a description of her reaction."

"He's not qualified to give a medical opinion on her state of mind," Seth protested. 

"Less qualified than a construction worker?" Tom barbed sarcastically.

The prosecutor gritted his teeth for a few long moments before he turned to Judge Giles again.

"Your Honour, this is some kind of trick and you know it. Please, don't let them go ahead with this."

"Some kind of trick," said Tom calmly. "Is that a legal argument, Seth?"

"All right, both of you," said Giles angrily. "Mr Markham, I don't know what you're thinking, but I can guess from experience that there is more to this testimony than meets the eye. However, there is nothing legally holding you back from this course of action. The testimony is set for next Tuesday before lunch."

Tom walked out of the judge's chambers with an airy calm in his stride. He met Heather, who was getting the media ready for the imminent press conference.

"Did Giles allow it?"

"You bet he did."

"Do you think it'll work?" she asked, raising her brow.

"We'll find out soon enough. Are all the arrangements ready for the press conference?"

"Yes."

"Let's not waste any more time then. Tell Tatiana to meet me at the Lowell lobby as soon as we get there."

* *

The lobby of the Lowell hotel was chaotic. A veritable army of reporters, cameramen and others had embedded themselves in position. Some of the crowd even spilled out of the doors. A rostrum had been erected near the staircase, displaying microphones bearing the logos of all the major networks.

"How's Natasha?" said Heather, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

"Well she knows what to say," said Tatiana, partaking in a Marlboro herself. She squeezed her lips together and let out one thick ring of smoke. "Let's hope she can manage the delivery."

"Sites and blogs in her support have popped up everywhere. I got a call from a client saying his nephew in Seoul wants to help financially if at all possible. She gets more followers by the second."

"This is the age of social media, sweetheart. You're about to witness OJ's trial on steroids."

"Do you enjoy what you do?" Heather asked suddenly. "Misinformation, misdirection, propaganda – you essentially make a living of peddling lies."

"Me and every other politician in the world. After all, lies are the currency of politics."

"...and corporates, don't leave them out."

"Still, I suppose it makes it worth it that I'm sticking up for someone not entirely despicable this time. It's not often that I get that luxury."

"That makes two of us," said Heather, lighting up a fresh fag. She stuck out her lighter for her friend to do the same. "Do you ever get to help out someone worthwhile?"

"Ellie Meyers ring a bell?"

"Yeah, I remember. The journalist covering the Gaza strip six months ago. A Palestinian rocket blasted her to bits. It caused a massive international uproar and gave Israel an opportunity to push their military into the area as a result."

"Did they ever mention how they identified her?"

"By her wallet and watch," Heather asked, narrowing her eyes. "The rest of her was charred beyond recognition."

"A watch and a wallet she left at the scene with a corpse before the rocket hit," Tatiana replied calmly. "The Mossad paid me quite handsomely for that."

"Wait, so she didn't die? Where is she?"

"Are you trying to get me to admit to arranging for a fake identity to be made for her and sending her to a remote corner of the world just for my petty gains?" she sighed dramatically. "I'm crushed."

"What about her family?"

"Her husband was an abusive bastard who she was desperate to get away from. That's why she spent so much time in Gaza. She was only too happy to be part of my scheme. Wouldn't you say that qualifies as saving someone?"

"And killing dozens of others, but let's leave the specifics to you."

"It's not about how many I save or how many I kill, it's about the control. It's about being a puppet master and watching the fuckers dance without even realizing it."

"So you like control? Interesting. Do you like to be in control all the time?"

Tatiana's thin lips slowly curled into a wicked smile and she licked them while she cocked her head to the side.

"Would you like to see first hand?" she said.

"Shh... Natasha's about to start," Heather said, peering down at the lobby.

"This conversation is not over."

* *

The glare of the spotlights was unnerving. Natasha Belvedere stood unsteadily on her podium, looking at the throng of journalists, cameras and microphones in front of her. Her eyes made out all the major network logos protruding from her rostrum waiting for her to say something. Tom stood by her side. There were three pictures of Cody facing the audience, two at an angle and one looming large behind her.

"I thank all of you for being present here. What I have to say will not take much of your time. These last few weeks have been so ... difficult for me to get through. More than once, I have considered ending it all. It seems like the purpose of my life was taken from me the day Cody died. Since then, I've been walking around in a haze, desperately trying to make sense of everything. Who could want to hurt my little boy? Who could be such a monster?"

She took a moment to stifle a sob. The screen showed her wipe a tear with her finger. In New York, Chicago, Boston, Los Angeles and Washington – young mothers glued to their television sets might have done the same.

"I loved my son. I don't know why I feel the need to say it, but I did. He was all I had left. I lost my money, my husband and was only months away from losing my house, but none of it mattered. All I needed was my son. He gave me a reason to get out of bed and face every new day."

In San Francisco, Austin, Miami, Las Vegas and Philly, hearts went out to her in every household.

"I swear I didn't cry at first when I saw his body. The shock was too deep. I kept thinking it was a bad dream, that I would wake up soon and hold my baby tight once more. It had to be a dream, there was no other option."

Her words became slightly less coherent, the occasional syllable lost to a sob choked in her throat. In Portland, Seattle, Albuquerque, Phoenix and Houston, entire families huddled around the TV, watching in awe.

"My baby was so warm and full of life and now, there was nothing except the cold emptiness he left behind. I just knew that the man who did this wouldn't walk free. I forced myself to believe it. The thought of hurting him came to me in every waking moment, but I knew Cody deserved better. I went to court, I testified and relived the agony of his death, all so I could ensure that that man would never be able to do to another boy what he did to Cody."

She had to hold onto the podium for support to keep her trembling body upright. In San Diego, Denver, St. Louis and Indianapolis, there was a pall of silence as grief claimed more and more souls.

"I'm sorry," Natasha squeezed out. "I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't mean to break the law. I'm not a violent person. When Mr Whittaker was released by the court on a technicality, all I kept thinking of is how Cody felt in his last few moments. How he must have felt when that man put his hands around his neck and pressed down. I kept thinking about his final thoughts – why me? What did I do to deserve it?"

She let her misty gaze swim over the assembled reporters for a few moments. A few of them looked down to hide their unprofessional tears.

"I ask all of you here – what did Cody do to deserve it? What did the next boy who Mr Whittaker would've killed do to deserve it? These thoughts wouldn't let me go. The court let him free but my conscience simply could not. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't think. So on that fateful day, I wasn't even aware when I took my gun, found him out and pulled the trigger. The only thing I remember that day was when the police arrested me."

"I do not expect to be forgiven for what I have done. It was a crime in the eyes of the law. I do hope, however, for your understanding and compassion. I am not a monster. Until a few months back, I was a mother. Now, I am not even that. Bear with me, my heart hurts from the memories that my mind won't let go of. Please, let me take a few moments to remember Cody."

A pin dropped in the lobby of the Lowell hotel would have given off a deafening sound, such was the silence. Seasoned journalists sat in their seats, alternately staring at Natasha and the enlarged pictures of Cody in a small Yankee tee. Cameras kept rolling, their operators lost in the moment.

Hidden out of sight, Heather and Tatiana peered out at the crowd and took a long drag from their respective cigarettes.

"Wait for it," said Tatiana.

"Wait for what?"

Tatiana held her hand up, silencing Heather for a few moments before she took out her smartphone. A few taps later, she smiled and held the screen out for her. Heather looked on, stupefied by what she saw.

#RememberCody was trending.

"Wait till tomorrow when the rest of the world sees the press conference on YouTube. Twitter will explode."

They turned their attentions back to the podium as Natasha began taking questions.

* *

"All right, Seth. You called us in here for a reason," said Tom dryly. "Let's hear it."

They stood at opposite ends of the table. Heather sat beside Tom, eyeing the prosecutor with a look of consummate disdain. He pushed a file of papers in their direction.

"Second degree murder. If you take the plea, I'll add my recommendation for parole in ten years."

"What's the matter, Seth?" drawled Heather. "Not as arrogant now, are you? Was it the protesters outside the courthouse who caused this sudden change of heart?"

"Don't play those games with me, Heather," he snarled. "You have done nothing but incite a mob. If you think that will make me back off, you're sorely mistaken."

"Evidently not, given how you suddenly seem in a generous mood."

"Ten years in prison is a gift considering how plain your client's guilt is," he said. "I'd take it if I were you."

"A gift, huh?" she replied. "I'll make sure to wrap it up and stick a card on it saying it's from you."

"You're making a big mistake," seethed Seth. "The jury might be sympathetic to her, but not enough to give her a free pass for murder."

"Is the medical examiner here?" Tom interrupted. "I'm just about ready to put him on the stand."

Seth turned pale. Even Heather looked stunned by the revelation.

"You're going to take his testimony? Yourself?"

"Why not? I've been bored sitting on the sidelines so I thought I'd get some exercise," he said stretching his arms over his head. "That's of course if you're okay with it. You're still first chair."

"Of course," stuttered Heather, still dumbfounded.

"It's settled then. I'd better get ready. It's been a while since I last did this."

The two of them walked off, leaving the prosecutor a bundle of nerves. He was going to witness a legal legend in action. Unfortunately, he was going to be on the receiving end of it.

The media went into a feeding frenzy as the news spread about Tom Markham himself taking a witness testimony. The jam-packed courtroom sat in silence as a wizened old man took the stand.

"Could you state your full name and occupation for the record please?"

"Gilbert Sykes," he said in a dignified voice. "I work for the office of the chief medical examiner and have done so for the past thirty years."

"Thirty years. That's a long time," said Tom. "How many cases have you worked on in that time?" 

"Objection, relevance."

"I want to provide some context, your Honour. It's relevant."

"Objection overruled," said Giles. "Please do get to the point soon, though."




Edge of Reason Ch. 02



"I repeat, how many cases have you been a part of in your tenure as a medical examiner?"

"Thousands," he shrugged. "I don't like to keep count, Mr Markham."

"And among these thousands, how many have involved the death of a young child at the hands of a sick pedophile?"

"More than one would hope," he replied.

"Do you remember Cody Belvedere's case?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Gilbert sighed. "It is one of those things I would much rather put behind me."

"How horrific was that case compared to the other cases with children as victims?"

"No case involving a child is ever pleasant, Mr Markham."

"But still, in the interests of finding out how my client was affected when she first saw her son's body, how bad was it? Worse than the usual you have seen in your experience?"

The old man pursed his lips for a few seconds and drooped his shoulders.

"No mother should ever have to see what Mrs Belvedere saw that day," he said, turning his grey eyes towards the defence table. "I'm truly sorry for your loss, ma'am. Please accept my condolences."

Tom stepped back for a few moments. His sharp eyes went to the jury and he immediately had their undivided attention. They seemed overawed by the fact that they sat before a household name – someone they only got to see in the news.

"Now, Mr Sykes, could you describe for us the exact nature of the injuries sustained by Cody Belvedere?"

"Objection, relevance."

"It goes to determining what my client saw that drove her to do what she did," said Tom. "However nauseating it may be, it is necessary."

"Overruled," said Giles reluctantly. 

An hour later Natasha, Heather and Tom sat in their room. Natasha looked wide eyed and hugged herself tightly. Heather held her head and softly stroked her scalp before shooting an acid look at her superior.

"You should have told me you were going to do that," she spat vehemently in his direction, forgetting that he was her boss. "Neither of us knew about it."

"For good reason," said Tom. "There's no way you would've gone along with it."

"You're damn right we wouldn't have gone along with it. I've tried so hard to shield her from what happened to her son. I destroyed the tape. You just forced the ME to describe what happened to Cody in detail. Do you have any idea what you did to her?"

"I won our case," he said simply. "The goal of it was to horrify the jury by the description and, judging by the two of them that almost threw up, I'll say I've been quite successful." 

"That's all that this is to you, isn't it? Winning a game of wits with the prosecution."

"You're one to judge. If you weren't in love with her, you'd have thought of something similar yourself. Don't blame me for doing what is needed just because you're too emotional to see straight."

There were a few moments while Heather patted her client's head and whispered soothingly in her ear.

"You needed someone on this case to do what your emotions wouldn't let you. Right after this case, you can go back to being the dirtiest suit in the building, but please, for this case try to be a better person. Leave the dirty work to me. Let me be the bad guy on this one."

* *

"You should stop beating yourself up over it, Heather," said Tatiana. "Tom knows what he's doing."

Heather did not reply. In all fairness, it was considerably hard to reply with the gag stuffed in her mouth. Her hands were tied over her head to a hook hanging from the ceiling, her feet parted by a spreader bar. Weights hung off her nipples and her clit was clamped. There was an oversized toy vibrating in her pussy and her ass. 

Tatiana took the opportunity to circle around the helpless lawyer. Ever so often, she cracked her flogger against some furniture. Her prey shuddered, hearing the twisted leather tongues make a fearful sound.

She orbited closer to her prey now, watching intently as beads of sweat rolled off her skin, leaving an ephemeral trail. The lean body looked curious, naked against the subtle interplay of light and shadow. 

"There was something about you I couldn't put my finger on right at the beginning," she went on, letting the tip of her implement graze around Heather's torso. "You have this cold defiance to reality. I've never quite met someone like that."

Heather flinched slightly as one of the tongues smacked against her waist. Tatiana let her hand slip down to where the flared end of the vibrator stuck out of the lawyer's front. Her hand grasped and turned it. Heather bit into her gag, feeling the grooves and ridges rotate against her velvety insides. 

"Your entire philosophy revolves around the truth that the world is beyond redemption. No matter how much we try, we're cogs in the same machinery of corruption and greed."

The sentence ended with Tatiana tugging on one of the weights dangling off Heather's nipples, eliciting a muffled cry into the gag. She smiled and continued to press downwards, watching her firm breast contort out of shape.

"I think there's more to the story though," she went on. "I think behind this world weary cynic, there once was an idealist."

She let go off the weight and watched Heather's breast regain shape. She stepped behind her prey and let the flogger make contact with her ass. She grunted into the gag, feeling heat radiate off her skin. Tatiana stepped back to admire her handiwork, seeing unblemished flesh turn pink. She repeated the swat, a mere flick of her wrist, over and over again in rapid succession until a deep shade of crimson covered Heather's posterior. Every strike was precisely aimed at hitting the back of the butt plug, jarring it inside her.

The shots came in a staccato rhythm. She moved behind her upright submissive and trained her sights between her legs. The next several swings of the flogger caused the tails to curl upwards and swipe at her exposed lower lips. Her delicate mound turned an angry shade of red and went numb under the barrage of shots. They were more deliberate now, curling between her legs and smacking directly across her exposed lips and the rear end of the inserted device. The twisted leather yanked on the edge of the inflamed orifice on its way back.

Heather closed her eyes and lost herself in the torrent of pain cascading through her body. Her legs trembled and she felt her vision go hazy around the edges. A familiar churning deep within her made her acutely aware of the simmering arousal building up.

The flurry of strokes had both parties gasping. Tatiana worked her way up the lawyer's back letting her skin taste leather. Angry red patches appeared on Heather's pale skin. She really got into it as time wore on, every lash coming after she wound up her arm. She took gaps now, watching the skin react to the last lash before adding a new welt.

Finally, she put the flogger down and reached around her waist. Her bony fingers found the fleshy inside of her thigh and she pinched hard enough to hear the aria of a muffled scream.

"Yes, Heather, I know your secret," she hissed into the lawyer's ear. "I know how much you hate doing what you do."

She pulled the gag out of her mouth and tossed it away. Heather panted, saliva dribbling off her chin to the ground.

"Imagine if Natasha were to find out? Imagine if she walks in on us in such a position?" Tatiana went on.

Her eyes met Heather's as she pulled the lawyer's hair back. She searched her face for a while before she twisted her lips into a lop-sided smile of understanding.

"You want her to find out, don't you? You want her to be horrified of you, so horrified that she runs far away."

Heather didn't say anything, her skin still burning from before. The toys continued humming within her.

"She deserves better," Heather forced out between gasps.

"And this is what you deserve," said Tatiana, shortly followed by the flogger colliding with both the clamped nipples at once, detaching them. A sharp jolt of pain seared through Heather's body. Blood rushed back into her hardened nipples, leaving a jagged aftermath. "Am I right?"

She merely nodded. Tatiana got some distance and rained down a series of lashes across her breasts. Heather felt the sharp sting sporadically, gradually increasing in frequency. Each flash of pain triggered pleasure within her until they became deeply inextricable entities. The cocktail of sensations flowed over her nervous system. Her pussy leaked all over the embedded toy and dripped onto the floor.

She let the tongues of her flogger dance down one breast then another and alternated back and forth for several minutes. Top to bottom, left to right – the flogger smacked her delicate flesh with a resounding thump. All throughout, she kept her eyes level with Heather's who didn't so much as blink.

"Let me tell you something, Heather Franklin, no matter how much pain your body absorbs, it won't make what you do right. The pain you feel is a mockery compared to the pain you inflict. Pain for pain isn't how the world works."

Her eyes followed Tatiana's gaze until they rested on the wrists that had flogged her so thoroughly. There were still faint scars from when she had evidently taken a sharp object to them. Tatiana put her arm by her side and let the flogger rest.

"Tunisia, 2011. I set the spark to the simmering discontent on orders from certain individuals. One thing led to another and the entire region rose up to fight their dictators. I believe the media called it the 'Arab Spring'. My small campaign turned peaceful cities into warzones killing more people than you can imagine. Look at Syria and you'll see it's not over yet."

She put her palms on Heather's cheeks and brought her face so close that Heather looked into her aquamarine blue eyes and saw an unbecoming wetness shimmering within them.

"So don't you tell me you can heal the harm you cause with a self-inflicted dose of pain. It becomes a part of you until the day you meet the devil. You, me and the rest of our kind – we have a lot to answer for downstairs."

* *

"Are you ready?" asked Heather with some trepidation. Natasha looked ahead with a blank, glassy expression. "Your testimony is up next."

"What happens if I don't make an impact on the jury?"

"You will," said Heather, leaning in and locking lips with her client briefly. "You have to."

The courtroom stood perfectly still when Natasha took the stand. Entire news crews waited in silence. Heather took a deep breath and steeled her resolve.

"Mrs Belvedere, I'm sure the jury would like to hear your version of what happened that day. I know it is difficult, but I would ask you to tell us exactly how you felt from the moment you heard the judge letting Lance Whittaker walk free."

Natasha's hands held the railing of the witness stand and she spoke in a voice with little emotion.

"I just kept hearing it over and over again. The man who so heinously killed my baby was going to get away with it. He was going to walk free. That one thought stuck in my head. Everything else is a blur. The next thing I knew, I was standing over his dead body with a gun in my hand." 

"How did it feel at that moment?"

"All at once, it felt like this weight I was carrying around with me was lifted. I felt a strange happiness. For once, I didn't have a care or an attachment in the world. In that moment, I didn't care who saw me shoot him or who would call the police."

"But you do understand you committed a crime?"

"The last person I loved was my son. When he died, a part of me died with him. The only reason I didn't end it all that very day was I wanted to see Mr Whittaker go to jail and not be able to do to another boy what he did to mine."

"So you took the law into your own hands?"

"I'm not a violent person, you have to believe me," Natasha implored. "I had never before done anything which was against the law. But when he walked out of that courtroom, laws and morals suddenly seemed irrelevant. My body went into auto-pilot."

Heather paused and turned to the jury. She made sure she had their collective gaze before turning back to her defendant.

"Mrs Belvedere, I know this is going to be very hard to answer and I wouldn't ask you if I didn't have to. How did you feel when you found out your son was dead?"

She took her cue to step back and let the spotlight go to her client. Not a single eye in the room wavered from the witness and not a single ear remained idle. Natasha clenched her eyes shut and gripped the railing hard, trying to push back the deluge of memories flooding into her. When her eyes opened, a solitary tear seeped out and left a trail down her cheek. The cameras zoomed in and sent that tear to the television and computer screens of hundreds of millions around the globe.

"Cody, baby, why did you leave me and go away so soon? Can't you see how much Mommy misses you? Can't you see how hard it has become to go on without you? Please come back. I love you, baby, and I promise I won't let anybody else hurt you. Please come back, Cody. Please."

The rest of her words were reduced to incoherent syllables by her sobbing. She clutched the wooden rail and wept bitterly. Heather looked on in open-mouthed wonder. Somewhere through all the misdirection and the propaganda, she had forgotten that this case was about a barbaric tragedy that had befallen a six-year-old boy. What she saw before her was not a woman who had been prepped or a woman who had rehearsed a speech.

She saw a mother, crying her heart out at losing the one person who still gave it a reason to beat.

Instinctively, she did something she had never even considered before. In two swift strides, she reached the witness stand. She reached in and held her witness to her chest. The rest of her tears wet the shoulder of her suit, but she didn't care. She cradled Natasha's face in her hands and wiped away the tears with her fingertip.

"Let it go, Natasha. It's what Cody would've wanted. If he is looking down on you, your tears hurt him more than you will ever know."

And then she kissed her client. The kiss lasted a few seconds, stretched out infinitely in the moment. In that moment, there was no trial, judge, jury, prosecutor, media or courtroom. There was nothing else except a woman who had bared her soul for the world to see. The kiss was captured by shutterbugs and rolling cameras, immortalizing the tender embrace of two pairs of lips.

Heather stepped back, taking a deep breath and letting the rest of the world come back into focus. She turned to the jury and saw several handkerchiefs out to contain the overflow of emotion from the juror's eyes. Even one of the prosecution team members shielded her face with her palm.

All around the world, in front of television sets, computers, smartphones and tablets alike, there was an outpouring of emotion. Mothers immediately missed their children, going to the adjacent room to hold them close. Others called up their far-away children just to hear their voice and hold them the best they could over the phone.

For a few moments, set firmly between swathes of mundane reality, parents suddenly felt so much more attached to their children.

"No further questions, your Honour," said Heather, regaining her composure. She strolled back to the defence table. 

"Go ahead, Seth. Make my day and completely alienate the jury by going hard at her."

Seth had apparently read that thought and rose tentatively to his feet. All eyes in the room looked at him as if he was a misshapen sea slug.

"Mrs Belvedere, I will be very brief with my questions. If at any point of time you want to take a break, I will let you do so."

She nodded. He stepped towards her and began. "On the morning of the 20th of February, do you remember your actions?"

"As I said, it's all a hazy blur until after the shooting."

"Let me tell you then, you took out your personal gun from your closet, withdrew money from an ATM, went to a store to buy bullets matching the calibre of the gun, found out the bar where Mr Whittaker spends his time, lay in wait at the mouth of the alley leading to that bar and then shot him. Do you remember doing any of these things?"

"No, I don't."

"But you did them nonetheless," Seth said calmly. "You carried out a series of logical actions, all leading to your ultimate aim of killing Mr Whittaker. Am I right?"

"I suppose you are."

He turned to the jury and crossed his arms over his chest. "You heard her. She carried out a series of logical actions to achieve her goal that day." 

Before returning to the table, he turned to face the defendant once more.

"It should go without saying, Mrs Belvedere, but I am truly and deeply sorry for your loss. I would not even pretend to imagine the grief you must feel."

"Mr Watkins, do you have any children of your own?"

"I have a little girl," he smiled weakly. "She turns four next month."

"In that case, Mr Watkins, despite our current circumstances, I will pray that you never ever have to feel what I feel right now."

He looked down, the realisation of how bad he looked to the jury sinking into his skin slowly. 

"That will be all, your Honour. The prosecution rests."

"The defence rests."

"We will have closing statements on Wednesday morning," said Giles. "Adjourned."

* *

"I gotta tell you, Rick," said an analyst on TV. "I didn't see that coming. I mean, the lawyer kissed her right in front of the cameras."

"Do you think it will have any bearing on the outcome?" asked the sharply-dressed news anchor.

The analyst put his palms together. "If Twitter is anything to go by, there is an outpouring of support for her. In the morning, there were millions of tweets per second coming from all over the world. A whole host of celebrities have tweeted their support too. Heather Franklin is a lesbian icon now."

"Interesting you mentioned that, Bob," said Rick. "We've just got news that there are gay pride marches being planned in at least six major cities tomorrow in her support, and this is in addition to the rallies that have been going on all over the world anyway."

"Thanks, Rick, back to the studio with Jen now where we'll be following more of this legal phenomenon as it unfolds. Stay tuned for an interview with Dr Shreedhar Banerjee, a widely respected professor of law at Columbia University, over videocall, where we will get his expert insight into-"

Heather turned off her television set and yawned. The last few days had been taxing to say the least. She had half of her closing statement written down. The urge to call up Natasha was overwhelming but she was with Tatiana and her team at the Lowell and Heather had sworn to keep a distance.

"What the hell was I thinking?" she repeated to herself, stubbing out her latest Marlboro stump on the ashtray.

The hug, the words of comfort and the kiss. It wasn't who she was. Definitely not in front of the whole world to see. These unusual feelings had come at the exact wrong time. 

"I can't give my closing so messed up."

Heather needed answers. She needed closure. There was one place where she once used to go to get it, but that was a lifetime ago. 

She shrugged and threw on her overcoat, hoping there were some answers for the many questions in her mind.

Fifteen minutes later, her Bugatti drew up in front of a church. She didn't know the name, but it seemed grand enough to warrant a try. She made sure no one was around and slunk in through the door and settled herself quietly on the last pew. She looked around her furtively, waiting for the answers to come from somewhere.

"Hello there, young lady," said a voice. Heather turned her head to see an elderly priest standing behind her. "What brings you here at such an ungodly hour?"

"I'm sorry, I'll be going now. I didn't know someone else would be here."

"No, stay," he said, placing a palm on her shoulder. "This is the house of God. All are welcome at all times."




Edge of Reason Ch. 02



"Not me, I'm pretty sure," she said, desperate to get away before he recognised her from TV. Curiously, the priest sat beside her, taking a good close look at her face. She gulped and tried to turn away.

"Don't bother hiding, my child," he said genially. "You've seen my face too."

She turned towards him and her jaw dropped in amazement.

"Juror number six."

"My parish likes to call me Father Donnell," he joked.

The white hair was combed back neatly as every time Heather had seen him in the jury box. Immediately, she got up to leave.

"I'm sorry, Father, but I have to go. If news of this meeting gets out, I could be charged with jury tampering."

"Oh nonsense, you're not here as a lawyer," he waved off. "As of now, we're strictly priest and parishioner."

"The court might see it differently," she insisted. "Moreover, you don't want me here. I'm sorry for coming. I thought I could be in and out without anyone noticing."

"Why?" he asked, trying to read her expression. "Is it because you're gay?"

She looked straight ahead, not answering. He sighed and leaned back.

"You should stop listening to what some idiots say on TV. God is for all of us. Who are they to tell you otherwise?"

"Tell me, Father, what does the holy book say about revenge murder? I remember God saying to turn the other cheek, not seek out vengeance."

"You take the word of God too literally," he laughed. "There are crimes you can forgive, but killing an innocent child? No one's God can tell you to let that go. There is also the 'eye for an eye' principle."

He put his arm around the lawyer and said. "We could go on debating the semantics of what she did forever, but that's not why you came here, right?"

"No," she admitted, for once looking into his kindly grey eyes. "I have some long overdue confessions to make."

"How many?"

"Too many."

"Carrying around the weight of all those sins is not easy," he said. "Would you like to shed some of them here?"

"Not here, not now. Not when you have to decide Natasha's fate tomorrow morning. Trust me, Father, you will utterly despise every bit of me by the time I'm finished."

"You don't think very highly of yourself, Ms Franklin."

"Neither will you. Irrespective of the verdict, I will be here tomorrow night to make my confessions. Keep a large block of time open, Father Donnell, I will need all the Hail Mary's and Our Father's I can give. I should get going now, my closing isn't finished."

"Godspeed, my child."

* *

Seth Watkins rose from his chair and straightened his tie. All eyes were riveted to him when he walked to the jury with brisk, even strides. He took a moment to look at them individually.

"Members of the jury, I have a private admission to make. I admit to feeling a degree of satisfaction in the actions of Mrs Belvedere. If it were my child, I would have been tempted to do the same thing and not feel bad about it. But I wouldn't have, and neither would you. Do you know why?

"Because we have laws in our country. We do not give in to anarchy and let ourselves be ruled by our emotions, however natural they may seem. As much as we may want to condone her actions, we cannot forget she broke the law when she killed Mr Whittaker. You and I well know that she was not temporarily insane. It is merely misdirection by the defence, hoping you will let her walk because you will sympathise with her plight.

"I do sympathise with her plight, I really do. None of us can stand here and say their hearts do not bleed for her. But think of this, by excusing her actions, you are essentially sending a message that vigilantism is okay, that it is okay to take the law into your own hands when you need to. Ladies and gentlemen, I know that deep down inside your heart, you know that that is not the message you want to send out. We need to tell the people to have faith in the system. We need to restore faith.

"I will ask you to leave out your feelings and evaluate the defendant's guilt objectively, on the basis of the evidence shown. This is your trial now and you are being challenged to uphold the law, as you swore to do.

"I end my closing by requesting each of you to go home today and say a prayer for Cody when you have a moment to spare. But please, don't go home after excusing a murder. This case is about whether we as a society adhere to our laws even when doing so is so heart-wrenchingly painful and I am confident that you will. Thank you."

Nothing was said even when he walked back to his seat. Tom looked beside him to see Heather's eyes closed.

"Are you ready?"

Wordlessly, she got up. The cameras in the room captured every movement and nuance of her body as she made her way to the jury. A billion bated breaths waited for her to part her lips.

"Mr Watkins told you about how the defence used misdirection. He told you the case was about adhering to the letter of the law. I am here, to tell you not to fall for his misdirection. The case is not about the law, or vigilantism, or what kind of message we send out. It's about a young boy named Cody Belvedere."

On cue, the projector facing the jury lit up with a picture of Cody dressed in a Yankees tee with an oversized mitt and ball in his hand. He smiled, baring a row of pearly white teeth for the jury.

"Natasha tells me, Cody had a different dream every day. One day, he wanted to be a pilot; the next, a teacher; an astronaut; the President. He loved to play softball.

"Members of the jury, Cody will not be a pilot, or an astronaut, or a teacher, or President. He will not blow out seven candles over a birthday cake. He will not have a first crush. He will not have a first date. He will not have a first kiss. He will not go to prom. He will not wear a graduation gown and he will not play softball any more. Cody Belvedere was brutally and heinously murdered, so he will only be a memory now."

Heather paused to wipe away a few tears.

"Do you know the question we lawyers are asked all the time? How can we sleep at night knowing we help criminals get back on the street? I'll tell you how – because every once in a while there comes along a case like this one and it reminds us what we're fighting for. Ladies and gentlemen, Natasha Belvedere does not deserve to spend her life in jail. She had one lapse of sanity, after undergoing an ordeal we can't even begin to imagine. Her son died an excruciatingly painful death and the man responsible was let free.

"Mr Watkins asked you to help restore faith in the system. I ask you, where was the system when Natasha needed it? She didn't kill Mr Whittaker at first, instead letting the police and the courts handle it, like a model citizen, and what did that get her? Nothing. Where was this exalted system then? How dare Mr Watkins or anybody defend such a system? Tell me what I'm missing here, because all I see is that the indecency of a system which lets a child killer walk free can only be surpassed by the inhumanity of the same system prosecuting a grieving mother to the fullest for doing what they couldn't."

She wiped away a few more tears and cleared her throat before resuming.

"I apologise for my digression. Let us return to the facts of this case and the only fact that matters is that Cody died and his killer was not punished by the state. It was then, and only then, that my client took the law into her own hands. You heard Dr Kravitz, her mind could not bear the second shock of seeing her son's killer walk a free man. She has no history of violence prior to this, so why would she in her sane mind ever kill someone? It took a trauma, the scale of which confounds us, to push her over the edge to do what she did. 

"If it were your child, would you have let it go? Would you have been able to sleep at night knowing the man who meted out such a brutal end to him is out there? Think about the grief you feel at Cody's death and make it a thousand-fold, and maybe, just maybe we can begin to imagine what his mother felt. The grief drove her to something she would never do. You will find within yourselves sympathy, understanding and compassion enough to let her remain free. She does not represent the worst of society in any way, for whom we reserve prison.

"I will end my closing with hope. Hope that if mercy truly resides in your heart, you simply cannot reconcile sending a grieving mother to prison for a crime she did not commit out of malice or forethought. We are better than that. We have to be. Thank you for your time."

She walked back robotically to the defence table, averting the multitude of gazes on her. She sat beside Natasha and squeezed her hand tightly. Tom leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Were any of those tears real?"

"Not a single one," she replied coldly, desperate to believe it.

* *

"I got an offer from Pearson to write a book," Natasha said inside the waiting area. "I've thought about it and I want to write on dealing with the grief of losing a loved one."

"What are you going to do if you're found not guilty?" asked Tom.

"The publishers want to set me up with an agent to start a book tour around the world. They plan to pay me a lot for it. I've also come to the decision to sell my house. There are too many memories of Cody there. I will give some of the proceeds to my butler, Gerard, and use the rest to pay off some of my debts."

"Would you mind if I bought it?" asked Tom. "I'll pay well above the current market value."

"Thank you, Mr Markham," she said. "I don't need all that money though. The last time I checked, there are several Kickstarter and Indiegogo campaigns out there for me and I stand to get quite a lot from them."

"Natasha," he said, indicating to her right where Heather sat silently. Natasha turned her face towards her and saw the hint of fear flit across it.

"Don't worry, Heather. Even if I am found guilty, we can still appeal this to higher courts, right? You'll still be there for me."

"Of course," came the hoarse reply. The very real possibility of hearing that solitary word – guilty – was beginning to sink into Heather's mind.

"If I am found guilty, there is one more thing I need to ask of you. Can you promise you will do that?"

Her lawyer nodded.

"Promise me you will not let this case be the end of you. Promise me you will know that you did all you could and more and not let yourself be destroyed by this one loss. Prison can't hurt me anywhere near seeing you destroy yourself. Can you promise me that you will be okay even if I'm not there with you?"

"Yes," said Heather and they kissed. The kiss was tender and quaint, like the first kiss they shared on her yacht all those days ago. They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"The jury's back."

* *

"Mister Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?" said Giles.

"We have, your Honour," said a middle aged black man on the far right.

"Will the defendant please rise."

Natasha, Heather and Tom rose in unison. Natasha and Heather held hands tightly. Heather didn't show it, but there was something new to her now. She knew for the first time in a long while, she would be able to look at herself in the mirror when she got back home.

With that knowledge, there resided hope.