Page 39

JURORS REMAINED silent through my retelling of the incident. I knew my actions would equate to life in prison; somehow it didn’t seem that scary anymore. As instructed, I gave my final account of exactly what had transpired the night I shot Cody Miller.

“It was raining so hard I could barely see fifty feet in front of me. It was late. So late it was early: around three in the morning. I had music blaring as loud as my speakers would go. I needed to stay awake long enough to make it to Talkeetna.

“I was already angry because I got turned around in some little town I’d never been to before. I was running low on gas, and I doubted any gas station would be open that late.

“I passed my exit at the cut-off before Susitna North and figured I’d catch the next one instead of backtracking. The rain hadn’t stopped for hours; it poured hard enough for the road signs to blur. I took the next exit so I could turn back and that’s when I saw her.

“There was something in the headlights—a dark figure—and I slammed on my brakes. At first, I thought it must be a dog, but it stood on two feet and was skinny. So skinny. I thought, ‘Why would a person be out in this storm?’

“It was cold, too cold for a lady in a torn dress to be walking down the middle of the road. She turned and squinted at the bright light. I inched toward her, and she didn’t even move out of the way.”

The memory of blood running down her face and the sadness in her eyes took my voice.

I cleared my throat and continued. “I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I recognized her through the bruises and blood.

We crossed paths in Dallas. Miss Kennedy had been the waitress in a restaurant me and my friends used to eat at.

She was nice to us. Unlike so many other people in the city.

“I got out of the truck, not caring about the storm; I just wanted to get to her. Blood ran down her face from a cut on her forehead. Mud covered her from the neck down. Her pretty dress was torn, she was drenched and shaking.

“When I realized someone had beat her, I almost puked. I remembered how she acted afraid of her husband when he came into the restaurant in Dallas. It must have been him. Our eyes met and I backed toward the truck. She followed me.

“I hopped back in the cab and leaned across the seat to push open the passenger door; it didn’t open from the outside.

She stood there for a minute, a mix of fright and relief crossed her face.

Not sure if she would survive another ten minutes in this storm, I told her to climb in.

She must have been exhausted enough to listen because in she climbed.

“The sight of her broke my heart. She was bruised and broke from head to toe. I could tell she hadn’t slept in days.

Dark circles surrounded her eyes, and she blinked so slow I thought she would fall asleep.

A red “M” on her neck looked like someone had branded her.

How sick do you have to be to stake your claim on a person as if she was something you owned, like a cow?

“I didn’t load her down with questions; that girl had been through enough. She didn’t have to explain why she was out in this storm in the middle of the night. I knew she had been trying to escape him. I simply looked in her eyes and asked where he was.

“The only words she spoke were when to turn.

I followed her directions and pulled in the driveway beside a run-down trailer.

There we were; no reason to turn back. No way she would survive a life with this guy.

I reached under my seat and grabbed the nine I had bought from some shady dude in the city.

“I knocked and knocked, and no one came so I kicked in the door. I don’t know what I thought would happen; I know he wouldn’t answer to a stranger, make a drink and discuss what he had done. The brand on her neck crossed my mind and something inside me broke.

“The house was dark; the storm probably knocked out the power. When the lightning flashed, I saw the state of the house—torn up from a party—and a man sitting in a chair directly across from me, eyes wide open. A twelve-gauge sat beside his chair.

“I stood frozen, the pistol aimed at his forehead, listening for any movement. My eyes adjusted to the darkness just enough to see an outline. The next flash of lightning lit up the room and I let the hammer drop before he could aim the twelve.

“I’ve never been a good shot with a handgun, but I was sure I must have hurt him bad; he didn’t shoot back.

With the next flash of light, I was able to confirm my suspicion.

The bullet landed dead in the center of his forehead.

I must have stood there forever looking at him; a surreal feeling overcame me, like I wasn’t in my own body.

“The shot was loud enough for neighbors to hear; I knew someone would call the cops. As I walked out the door, I picked up his pack of cigarettes. I didn’t try to run. I didn't try to hide my pistol; what was the use? I sat it on the hood of the truck and lit a smoke.

“The rain had stopped, so I just sat on the porch smoking one of his cigarettes and waited for the cops to come. When they got there, one cop pushed me up against the truck, and I saw her through the windshield. Shaking. Scared. I could tell she was in shock, she barely blinked. As they cuffed me, I offered a little smile and shrugged. She mouthed, “Thank you,” and they took me away.”

Silence hung in the courtroom. I paused to survey the jury; not one of the people sitting in the box had a dry eye.

I finished my testimony. “I get it, we’re thrown into the cruel world alone—on our own—but damn, the sight of a lady who’d been beaten like my mom was my entire life flipped that switch for me.

I couldn’t just keep driving. I couldn’t ignore her.

The rage that overtook me was something I’d only felt once before.

That time I was a scared fourteen-year-old kid. ”

Finished with my side of the story, I bowed my head and took a deep breath. When I faced the jury again, I spoke the final words in my defense. “Lord have mercy on me.”