Page 38

THEN

SADIE

Back then…

“ W ith the insanity defense, we don’t have much of a hill to climb because, well—what you did was literally insane. So we just need to focus on getting a few spiritually woo-woo people on your jury.”

I clench my fists under the table.

The way my lawyer talks down to me should be studied under How to Perfectly Incite Rage . He’s not trying to help me; he’s painting by the numbers, treating this as an ‘L’ before we’ve even played the game.

“That’s the best thing you have going for you, honestly.” He smiles. “This was a completely random attack, and you have no ties to any of the victims, so?—”

“Jonathan Baylor raped me.”

“What?” His face goes ghost-pale.

“He raped me.” I enunciate every syllable, letting the words hang in the air like a loaded weapon.

“When exactly was this, Sadie?”

“My senior year of high school,” I say. “He got away with it. And he even tried to rape me again a couple of years ago.”

“Jesus Christ.” He slams his folder shut. “Why are you just now telling me this?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for months.” I glare at him. “I think it helps our defense.”

“No, Sadie.” He growls. “It doesn’t. It gives you a fucking motive—and we can’t have a motive if we’re going with a temporary insanity defense.”

“I’m begging you to drop the insanity defense.” I keep my voice even. “I’ve written you letters—ones you’ve clearly refused to read. Your interns claim you’ll return my calls, but I only ever see you when you come to the jail and talk over me like I’m a child.”

He grits his teeth.

“Now that I’ve said everything I’ve been meaning to say—” I lean back in my chair. “I’d like us to go the purely innocent route. I’m not insane.”

“Purely innocent?” he fumes. “Not insane?”

I say nothing. His questions are always rhetorical.

“I might’ve taken you up on that long ago, but I’d like to not ruin my career over a simple, open-and-shut ‘she fucking did it because she’s crazy’ case,” he says. “Now that you’re serving me some half-baked ‘Me Too’ pity act—crying rape just to justify murder?—”

Something in me snaps. But I keep my face still. If I let him see what that line does to me, he’ll win. Again.

“—with just one of your three victims, mind you, I’m going to have to pass on what you want.”

“You’re supposed to do what’s in your client’s best interest.” My chest rises and falls. “You have other things to present at the next hearing—and the rape should be one of them.”

“I am doing what’s best for my client.” He scoffs. “She’s just too fucking insane to see that.”

Two Weeks Later

Final Evidentiary Hearing

“Are you a psychopath, Sadie?”

“What was going through your mind when you killed those men?”

“Why are you wasting taxpayers’ money on a trial?”

“Why did you do it?”

The crowd shouts at me as I’m led from the jail into the courthouse. At this point, I’m immune to the noise. I know there’s a rear entrance the police could use to spare me the spectacle, but they don’t.

They want me to suffer.

Inside the courtroom, the loudest sound is the opening and shutting of laptops. I take in the room as a guard bends down and clamps a cold chain around my ankle, bolting it to the floor.

Like I might fly away.

Or turn into someone they’d actually believe.

Behind me, on the prosecution’s side, the benches are packed with the so-called victims’ families and friends.

On my side: a few members of the media. And my mother.

I don’t know why the hell she’s here.

But I can feel it—how she’s going to make this about herself. She’ll cry for the cameras. Cross her legs just right. Say she “had no idea her daughter was capable of such things.”

Then later, when the lights go off, she’ll remind me that it’s all my fault she lost her favorite stylist.

All my skills in acting and art? They came from her.

She’s the best actress I’ve ever known.

“All rise for the Honorable Judge Chevy.”

My thoughts snap into place. I rise—straining against the ankle shackle—along with everyone else.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” the judge says, putting on his reading glasses. “It’s my understanding that the defense is requesting more time to prepare for trial?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” my lawyer says.

“I don’t see anything new in your latest motion,” the judge replies. “So on what grounds should I grant you more time?”

My lawyer looks at me. Then back at the bench.

“My apologies, Your Honor,” he says. “There’s been a huge misunderstanding on our side. We’re ready to proceed with the trial.”

“I’m very happy to hear that.” Judge Chevy lifts his gavel. “The trial will proceed next week as scheduled. Best of luck to you, Miss Pretty.”

Like it’s a raffle.

Like the prize isn’t my life.

I came here hoping to be heard.

I should’ve known better.

This place was never built for girls like me.