This week, I came across another great DV story here on WP and this chapter is dedicated to the author. I encourage all of you to check it out. It is called "Retribution" by @CJLawrence and describes the struggle of a young mother after suffering the abuse of her partner for many years.

32 - Uncooperative And Hostile At Times

The sweltering heat hits me like a brick wall when I step into the prison yard on Tuesday morning. The humidity is pressing and my body is covered with a thin layer of sweat as I make my way to the prison van. Luckily it is only a few feet away, though with the shackles restricting my legs and the heavy handcuffs, it seems like an eternity. The van is stuffy and by the time we leave the jail, I am drenched in my own perspiration.

I try to peek outside the window to get at least one look at freedom but the hole is small and covered with meshed wire, allowing me to see only random color streaks passing by. Roland is seated right across from me, glaring at me, that strange glow I noticed after my fall out with Doc still prominent in his eyes.

I can't shake the feeling that it is pity which I truly don't need. Everyone has been really nice, bending backwards to make my stay at the jail more bearable and Thelma even smuggled in a candy bar on Sunday but that hasn't helped my sullen mood. The more I am thinking about my performance last week with Doc Sullivan, the more I despise myself. I acted like a stupid stubborn brat.

My lawyer stopped by yesterday and informed me that I burned my last bridges. He showed me Doc's report and the words "uncooperative" and "hostile at times" stuck out the most. I don't know what I expected but I thought to have at least earned a bit more sympathy from him. I tried to confide in him though maybe not as hard as I could have.

The van is swaying and I'm getting queasy, stroking my belly to calm the kicking baby. My son is oblivious to what I did, that I murdered his father in cold blood and that he will never get a chance to know him. Maybe Brent would have changed if he had found out I was pregnant - after all, he wanted a child so badly and would have probably never hurt him since he resented so much being abused by his own father. I just didn't think things through before I got the knife - and now, it was time to pay for my mistakes.

The court house is cool and the shackles dragging over the stone floor echoing in the narrow corridor. I am hushed into a tiny elevator which transports me right up into a small office next to the courtroom which is used as a holding facility for the prisoners. I was here a few times before for my arraignment and various motions and slump into the offered chair. They take us up early and it is time to wait. The proceeding won't start for another hour and I am dying of thirst but too lazy to ask for water.

I am finally led into the courtroom and can't help taking in its beauty. It is the old kind you see in movies with wooden and polished bannisters and large heavy tables for the defense and prosecution. The chairs are actually cushioned. The whole room just smells of tradition and my eyes dart around with respect. Justice has been rendered inside these walls for decades and soon it will be my turn to face a jury of my peers.

The attorneys are already present and so is my dad. Marcus glances at me with disdain before continuing to whisper to the group of underlings who are there for his assistance. Six young men and women are on his team, ranging from maybe twenty five to forty while my lawyer, Mr. Porter, has to stand his ground on his own.

He looks totally pathetic next to Marcus who wears one of his designer suits and is impeccably groomed. Mr. Porter's outfit is definitely polyester, his shirt slightly stained and a crooked tie hanging around his neck. He could benefit from a haircut. My father tried to hire a private lawyer but no one would touch my case under a fifty thousand dollar retainer which was out of our league.

I almost don't recognize Doc who has cleaned up nicely and is wearing a fashionable pair of slacks and a button up shirt with a peppy tie but no jacket. He has found a seat in the last row close to the door and is indulged in his report, not showing any reaction to my arrival. I slouch in my chair until a scolding gaze from my father lets me remember that my attitude could be improved and I straighten up in obedience. No need to piss off anyone else even more than I already have.

The judge swoops in after an "all rise" and begins the proceedings. Her name is Laura Mitchellson and according to Mr. Porter, a lucky draw. So far, she has not impressed me - she never even considered bail and has been eating out of Marcus's hand. So far, every single motion my lawyer filed has been denied while his passed with little effort.

Doc's name is called and he steps forward to the stand, raising his right hand to be sworn in. He takes a seat in the witness box and for the first time, gives me a short look over before focusing on Marcus.

"Your honor," Marcus begins. "I am sure we all agree that Dr. Sullivan is being called here as an expert witness and I don't want to waste the court's time to review his qualifications if the defense does not object."

Mr. Porter shakes his head. "We do not, your honor."

Marcus gives him a smug smile before addressing Doc. "Dr. Sullivan, you had the opportunity to interview Ms. Cooper and have also submitted a report which I would like to review. Could you please summarize for the court your overall impressions of the defendant?"

Doc glances at me, his face even. "Ms. Cooper presented herself as a well composed young woman without any immediate signs of mental illness. Her speech was coherent, she was alert and there was no sign of her being under the influence of any medication. I reviewed her medical file and she has not been treated for any mental disorder including depression or trauma."

"How was Ms. Cooper's attitude towards you?" Marcus has a wicked smile around his lips, he knows from the report that I wasn't on my best behavior and will use this to my disadvantage.

"Overall, she was quite hostile and uncooperative. At some point, she refused to continue with the interview." Doc's words are spoken without the slightest nuance of disapproval but still manage to make me feel like a total jerk. I should have been nicer to him, after all, he was only doing his job.

"Did that surprise you?" Marcus probes.

"I don't see the relevance of your question, Mr. Forrester," Doc replies sharply to my astonishment. "I am not here to talk about my personal feelings and would prefer to stick to the facts."

There is a pressing silence after his flare-up and Marcus sucks in a deep breath. His face has turned to stone.

"My apologies, Doctor. I was just trying to get a feel for the defendant's attitude."

Doc chooses not to comment and takes a sip from the glass of water in front of him instead. Marcus ruffles through some papers on the desk before continuing.

"Could you please outline to the court your psychological diagnosis of the defendant?"

"Certainly." Doc gazes at me. "I noticed that Ms. Cooper suffers from severe abandonment issues resulting from the early death of her mother such as little self-worth and the fear that other people will desert her. That is one of the main reasons why she stayed with Mr. Parks despite credible evidence that he abused her over the course of their relationship. She clung onto him to avoid the feeling of loneliness."

He pauses to take a few mouthfuls of water and I start to pop out invisible dirt from underneath my fingernails with the tip of my thumb after realizing that all the lawyers from the State's Attorney's Office are staring at me.

Doc fortunately continues, drawing their attention back to him.

"In addition, Ms. Cooper is suffering from severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She attempts to evade her memories, has lost interest in life in general and feels a certain detachment from others. The jail records indicate that she has trouble sleeping and is commonly irritable which results in outbursts of anger or distress. All these are classic signs of PTSD."

Marcus shoots me a venomous look. "She sounds like a real charmer."

Doc gazes at Mr. Porter but he is busy drawing circles onto his notepad and doesn't jump in.

After what seems a long time of silence, Doc finally growls: "Is there a question here, Mr. Forrester?"

"Yes," Marcus grins. "Did any of Ms. Cooper's little quirks..." I cringe at the expression and his eyes light up with spite when he notices he is getting to me.

"Did any of those prevent her from distinguishing between right and wrong?"

"No, but...," Doc starts.

Marcus interrupts him. "A simple yes or no will do, Dr. Sullivan."

Doc squints at him but doesn't continue his sentence over his protest.

"Now, what is the defendant's maturity level?" Marcus inquires.

"Well." Doc rubs his chin. "She displayed a certain immaturity. Her stubbornness and apparent refusal to accept the seriousness of the situation led me to believe that she has not reached the level of a regular seventeen year old. I would consider her behavior more in line of being fifteen or sixteen."

Marcus puckers his lips. "As you know, the threshold in Illinois to charge minors as adults for serious crimes is fourteen. In your expert opinion, does Ms. Cooper meet that threshold?"

"She does," Doc confirms.

Marcus gives him one of his wide smiles. "Thank you, Doctor. I have no further questions."

Mr. Porter stands up and hopefully will be of some use. "Dr. Sullivan, in your opinion, was there anything that would meet the Illinois standard of insanity?"

Doc shakes his head. "No. Ms. Cooper did know the difference between right and wrong and is not suffering from any mental illness."

"No voices in her head like a little devil who told her to kill Brent Parks?"

He makes it sound ridiculous, I wasn't a total nutcase.

"No, I found no evidence of that nature." Doc admits.

"And could she be somehow mentally retarded?"

"No, Mr. Porter," Doc moans with slight annoyance, causing Marcus to snicker. The two exchange a glance and it occurs to me that they at least agree that my lawyer is a total loser.

"Well, I have nothing further," Mr. Porter declares after an awkward moment of silence.

Doc leaves the witness stand and takes a seat in the audience.

All eyes are on Judge Mitchellson.

"Defense motion to transfer the case to juvenile court is hereby denied," she rules, swinging her gavel.

Before her words even settle in, Marcus is on his feet. "Your honor, at this time, the State wishes to amend its complaint to request the court to consider the death penalty. It is our position that Ms. Cooper acted with malice and that the death of Mr. Parks is the result of aggregated murder with special circumstances."

My mouth is dry all of a sudden and the world around me becomes fuzzy as something hard is pushing on my chest. The blood pulses hard in my ears and I am grasping for air, trying to control my trembling lips. It is really happening and the worst part is that Doc is right - I brought this on myself.

I hardly register the judge's next words, my flickering mind has lost its ability to comprehend what is happening around me. All I can think of is that a year from now, I will be dead. When I sent Doc away, I blew my last chance at freedom.

In a trance, I am led out of the courtroom and fall into the chair in the waiting area, burying my face into my hands. I don't want anyone seeing me bawl like a baby as a sob escapes the depth of my throat, yet I don't realize that there is oddly no one around who could have even noticed my distress.

xxxx

I am not sure how long I was slumped in my chair when a low voice catches my attention.

"Now, Ms. Cooper, don't play this pathetic act. We both know that you are nothing but a cold hearted bitch. What did Mr. Parks do to you that was that bad that he deserved to die? Did he cheat on you or found out that the little brat kicking in your stomach was actually Fallon's brood and you tried to cover it up?"

I stare at Marcus, stunned by his audacity. He is leaning casually in the doorway, observing me with mockery.

"You wouldn't understand," I defend myself coldly. "You are just like Brent, an abusive asshole through and through."

He laughs. "Did my wife tell you that?" He steps closer, his tongue running over his lips. "You know, that's the problem with women like you. You are conceited little sluts who know how to push a man's button so that he lashes out. Then you try to make him feel bad when in reality, that's exactly what you wanted. You desire a man who shows you that he is in control. You love being roughed up because you know that he can protect you if needs be."

He comes to a halt right in front of me and I instinctively wrap my arms around my trembling body. I am unable to breathe, my gaze fixed on the malice in his eyes like a hypnotized animal. No scream escapes my mouth though I want nothing more than alert the guards that he is harassing me. Where the hell is Roland when I need him?

He bends forward and his breath grazes my neck. I am frozen with fear, tears streaming down my face. I am still unable to make a sound or move.

"I saw you looking at me in court today and I could tell that you were fantasying about having a real man like me again in your life. Someone who can fuck the little bit of brains out that you have left."

He chuckles and nausea is crawling up my throat. I want to run or push him away but none of my muscles are under my command. My breath is heavy and my voice continues to betray me. The only sound I am able to force out is a low whimper.

His finger caresses my cheek as I bite down on my shivering lip and an iron taste floods my mouth.

"Don't worry," he mumbles with a sadistic undertone. "When you are on death row, I'll come visit you and give you what you need. You have that certain innocence to you I like, just like Patrice." His face hardens. "I swear I will make you pay for what you did to Brent Parks because he didn't deserve to be cut open by a little conniving whore like yourself."

He straightens and strolls back to the door. "The guards will be here soon to take you back. They are helping your dad who fainted."

I gasp, my heart plummeting into my stomach but my voice finally returns.

"Is he OK?" I whisper under tears. Cold chills wash through me - if something happened to him, it was my fault.

Marcus clicks his tongue with a devious smile on his lips.

"You know, all you do is bring misery on people," he fuels my guilty conscience. "But don't worry, your daddy will be fine. It was just the stress and not a heart attack like everyone thought in the beginning." He winks at me. "Since your lawyer didn't stick around, I volunteered to tell you. Have a pleasant afternoon."

With a small waive, he strolls out, leaving me in total shambles. Just as Brent, he managed to make me feel totally worthless and despicable in less than five minutes.

It seems like the end of the line for Rena. What do you think - has Marcus pretty much secured his conviction or will there be hope for Rena? Do you think she will come clean?

Only one chapter to go before the big trial and I hope you are ready. Let me have your comments and thoughts, any and all feedback is very much appreciated. If you liked this chapter, don't forget to vote with the little star button in the corner.