Not Guilty

Alecs was cringing, internally, at each word spoken. The prosecutor—a sharp woman with a sharp suit and a sharp haircut—was merciless in her accusations.

His defendant—a lethargic, little man that was not at all able to keep up with the prosecutor—had the expression of a dead blobfish: sagging and agape. He stuttered out useless objections and protests occasionally, but he was gaining no ground.

Alecs felt bad for the man, really. There was no winning this case and they both knew it.

Murder, arson, manslaughter, vehicular manslaughter, possession of a controlled substance, possession of a different controlled substance—it was all damning. The evidence against him was piled higher than Everest.

He was already mourning his freedom. He had been hopeful that he wouldn’t have to go to jail. Oh—scratch that: he wouldn’t. He would be sent straight to the proverbial gallows.

Just as the juror was standing, about to deliver the final verdict, the door slammed open. It was a heavy door, and not very inclined towards slamming, so whoever was on the other end must’ve had a very strong desire to slam it and a very strong arm.

“Objection!” was the first thing said, louder than God in the echoey courtroom. Several of the jurors flinched and the judge frowned down imperiously at the woman who had stormed in.

She was tall, blazing with determination. She seemed to grow yet taller as opposed to the people bowing away from her fiery presence. “I am in possession of evidence that will prove this man’s innocence!”

Alecs blinked at her, very, very slowly. He didn’t understand what was happening. His brain was stuck just replaying those few moments over and over again. He wasn’t surprised because he didn’t recognize the woman; he was surprised because he definitely committed all of those crimes.

“The time for testimony is over,” the judge said sternly, glaring.

“Then you’re okay just sentencing an innocent man to the chair?” she called, turning to sweep her gaze over the jury members. Several of their eyes narrowed in interest or widened in apprehension. “This man couldn’t’ve done any of the crimes you’ve accused him of!”

“How so?” the prosecutor snapped, her expression suggesting she was considering throttling the woman. “We have undeniable—”

“Because he was on a three-month long trip!” She pulled out a file from—somewhere—where had she gotten that file?—and tugged a paper from its confines, waving it around in triumph. “He was over international waters, nowhere near the scene of the crime, and I have proof!”

The last interaction Alecs had had with a body of water was the last time he’d had a bath, and even that was so long ago he hardly remembered. He was almost insulted that his—brilliant, thank you very much—crimes were being dismissed so easily.

“But that doesn’t—that can’t—” The prosecutor’s face went simultaneously white and red, vacillating wildly between outrage and indignation. “We would’ve—”

“Legal documentation.” The woman marched over and slapped yet another paper from the file onto the table in front of the prosecutor, meeting her eyes without fear. “You can confirm the purchase of the ticket, the supplies taken aboard, and the witnesses who saw him aboard the ship the entire duration of the scheduled cruise.” She turned to face the room, arms crossed over her chest. “Now make your decision.”

She met Alecs’s astonished gaze and gave him a discreet wink.

“What the fuck?” Alecs was in the passenger side of Alex’s car—Alex, the woman who had effectively saved his life—as she grinned over at him. He hadn’t actually been able to communicate anything else beside that same sentiment. “What . . . the fuck?”

“Whoo!” she hollered, fanning herself with a splayed hand. “I didn’t know if that was going to work!” All of the hard-steel stoicism she had shown in the courtroom had melted off and she was upbeat and ecstatic behind the wheel.

“You didn’t . . . ” he shook his head to clear it, then shook it again. His head was not cleared. “Who are you? Why did you do that? I’m—” he cut himself off before he could say something he’d regret.

“Oh, you’re guilty,” she said with a laugh, elbowing him like they were sharing an inside joke. “You’re a terrible person!”

“What—hey!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mind.” She made a safe but illegal turn onto a private road and thundered through the neighborhood thirty MPH over what would be acceptable.

Alecs gripped the oh-shit handle with white knuckles. “You know I wasn’t on a cruise. How did you do that?”

She tapped her temple, grinning at him. “Don’t worry about it, sport.”

“But why?” That was the main question. His brain skipped mercifully over “sport” for obvious reasons. “Why did you help me?”

Alex gave him a conspiratorial wink, the same way she had in the courthouse. “We went to middle school together. You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you.” She sang this last bit, maniacal and deranged, as if remembering weren’t such a good thing.

He was painfully thrown against the side of the car as she slid into a large driveway of a large house, all of it brick and stone and fancy glass.

“Now.” She put the car into park and turned in her seat to face him. “Let’s chat.”