Table Turned, Chapter One

Chapter One

Rachel Lorn held her breath and forged into the dismal assembly of defendants and witnesses already clamoring in the aisle. There were no distinct winners in criminal court. Both sides left resentful for having been there in the first place. She usually distanced herself from the negativity, allowing the others to clear the room before she stood to leave. Today, with the unexpected weight of her demotion from witness to loser, she shared their urgency and funneled through the exit with them.

She had devoted the entire Saturday after her August visit to figuring out how the concrete walls and terrazzo floors of the courthouse held the musty odors that choked her, only to realize odors weren’t the problem. Years of collective anger, disappointment, and fear loomed, unabsorbed by the cold structure, stifling the air. While waiting for the judge to show up for a September appearance, she examined her own resentment. In addition to the obvious anger she felt toward the man who had assaulted her, being labeled as a witness to a crime against the state added insult to her misery. Matthew Dickert smashed her face, not a map of Kentucky. She resented both.

As she walked out on this bleak October afternoon, marking her last contribution to the atmosphere, she wished she had followed-up on the court’s suggestion that she contact a court advocate. Who would have guessed the unshakable Rachel Lorn would have second thoughts about walking out of a room alone?

“Wait up, Rachel.” Alex Bogstram’s voice thundered over the impatient hum of the crowd.

Her heart stopped but the rest of her kept moving. She had nothing left to say to the incompetent prosecutor. Nothing that wouldn’t land her in jail anyway. Waiting for him would only keep her from fresh air that much longer.

Alex excused his way through the crowd and caught up with her in the lobby outside the courtroom. “At least let me walk you to your car.”

“Don’t bother,” she huffed. “Why worry about my trip to the car? Thanks to you and the Honorable John W. Jerk, I’ll never be safe again.” She flipped her head and pulled away. The bun on the back of her head worked loose and two feet of auburn ponytail smacked his face before settling on her back.

“Your restraining order is still in effect,” he advised, trotting to keep up with her. “What happened in there doesn’t change that.”

“Spare me the good news.” She gained a few steps on him, dodged a clerk who struggled to balance the stack of files she was carrying, and left Alex to catch the folders and apologize.

He caught up to Rachel again, just before she reached the outer door. “Please, let me buy your lunch. I want to talk about what happened.”

She whipped around to face him, knowing her black eyes turned his stomach. He had avoided eye contact at their first meeting and more recently asked how long black eyes could last. She stared at him, hoping he remembered her response as clearly as she did. {/iI’m not sure, but I promise it isn’t nearly as long as the fear}.
“Don’t insult me,” she said when she felt sure he remembered. “There isn’t a piece of paper anywhere strong enough to stop Matthew Dickert if he wants me dead, and you sure as hell won’t stop him.”

Discomfort registered on the prosecutor’s face in lieu of a response. She took satisfaction in that and escaped when a bailiff distracted Alex with a question, allowing her to slip out the door when he turned to respond.

As the longed for air filled her lungs, the door opened and lightly bumped her shoulder. “Excuse me. You’re blocking the exit,” a guard advised.

Rachel forced a smile and stepped aside to repin her ponytail into a tight bun. A quick look through the glass to make sure the prosecutor wasn’t following reminded her that the guards were also on the inside. Out here, she was alone and more vulnerable with each step she took. The building she had been so anxious to leave moments before became her last refuge.

Slowly, she started down the stains, stopping midway for a cigarette. Tears burned her eyes as she searched for a lighter and her hand hit the restraining order and pages of documented threats in her purse. She grieved the wasted hours poured into legal preparation and court appearances, all for nothing. Her perseverance had only served to fuel Matthew Dickert’s anger. Today, Judge John W. Burke, the jerk, granted the bigger jerk a plea bargain, a probated sentence, and free reign to act on his anger.

She drew in another breath. Enough, already. Grief could wait until she was safely at home. For now, she would follow her attacker’s lead and harness her anger into purpose. She had the advantage, given the generous deposits the judge, the prosecutor, and the system had made in her anger bank that morning.

After turning the wheel on the lighter with a heavy, determined thumb, she began her six-block trek to the car, armed with a lit cigarette, a stick pen, and long legs that had won regional recognition in high school track. She didn’t need the prosecutor, or the friends who tired of her legal battle after the first few court appearances. How could she blame them? She resented wasting vacation time on delays and reschedules as much as anyone.

The first block was uneventful. She thought about how her mother would react to her walking the street with a lit cigarette, and her resentment toward Alex Bogstram. It wasn’t fair to either of them that he was the third prosecutor assigned to her case and she didn’t feel like reliving every detail for his sake. Maybe he didn’t ask the right questions, and maybe the law just sucks and neither of them was responsible. However, as long as it felt good, she would continue to blame everyone.

At the corner, her chest fluttered while she waited for the light to change. Anyone could be in the group of people collecting behind her, including Matthew Dickert. Which way had he gone when he left the courthouse? Did he leave before or after her? Maybe he had to stay to sign papers or meet his probation officer? How soon and how closely would they watch him? Alex probably knew the answers, but she had blown him off.

Breathing grew difficult as pedestrians crowded in behind her. If Matthew came at her then, she’d have to choose between running into traffic and jumping over the trashcan beside her. Would anyone help?

She reached in her purse to replace the cigarette that had burned down to the filter, and snuck a peek over her shoulder when she turned to block the wind from the lighter. Two women stood directly behind her, and Matthew was nowhere in sight. She stepped off the curb when the light changed, taking comfort in the female voices that followed, until a heavy hand grabbed her shoulder. Heart ripping through her chest and cigarette poised at face level, she turned. Alex stood behind the female protectors, who had separated when Rachel jumped.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she screamed, anger quickly replacing the flash of relief she felt when she saw it wasn’t Matthew. She dropped the cigarette and caught her purse before it slid off her shoulder. “You scared me, and came close to losing an eye.”

“Are you okay?” One woman asked while the other fished a phone from her purse.

“I’m fine,” Rachel said, stepping out of the crosswalk and up at the curb. “I’m embarrassed, but okay. Thank you.”

She waited for the women to walk on and the crowd to thin before addressing Alex. “Please, leave me alone. You aren’t helping my nerves any.” She stared at the ground to hide tears. The last few months of humiliation had been enough to last a lifetime. She didn’t want to stand on this corner and cry in public now.

If only things had turned out differently, Matthew Dickert would be in jail and she would have her life and personality back. She couldn’t think about that or Alex would really see her cry.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said. He kept his arms at his sides but she felt his eyes burning through her as surely as if he held her in a death grip. “I wasn’t thinking when I touched you.”

She inhaled deeply and nodded, something short of accepting his apology.

“I wanted to stop you before you got too far away,” he explained. “I was serious about walking you to your car. I knew you were scared.”

“I was never afraid of anything before Matthew Dickert,” she said defensively. “Until you live this way, you can’t imagine how frightening a tap on the shoulder can be,” she added, finally looking up.

“We’re blocking traffic.” He stepped aside to make room for the new crowd of pedestrians gathering at the corner. “How about lunch?” He nodded to indicate the restaurant behind her. “They’re famous for their oysters. I’m hungry and would rather not eat alone.”

Returning her focus to the ground, she shrugged. She wasn’t hungry, but she wasn’t in any shape to drive either. “I thought he’d be in jail and I could stop looking over my shoulder. I guess I need a new plan.”

“Then have lunch with me,” he urged.

She started toward the door of the restaurant. He walked beside her, keeping a safe distance. “Maybe I can help with the new plan,” he offered.

She didn’t respond until they had stepped inside the building and she stopped to let her eyes adjust to the darkness and scan the room for the enemy. “Thanks. I guess I can use some advice. I’m out of ideas.”

Even though she had been too nervous for breakfast that morning or dinner the night before, Rachel took the menu planning only to order iced tea with two packets of sugar. She’d calm her nerves, hear what he had to say, and get out of there quickly. After a few minutes in a corner booth with her back safely to the wall, her legs stopped shaking and her breathing returned to normal. Her appetite returned when she smelled the tray of food a server brought to the next table, so she added fried cod and onion rings to her iced tea order. Alex stuck with his original plan and asked for oysters and a beer.

When the server walked away with their order, Alex leaned across the table and spoke softly. “I don’t know how to handle this tactfully, so I’ll be blunt. If you want to use the ladies’ room or anything, I’ll walk you to the door. Just let me know what you need.”

Maybe he wasn’t so bad. She studied his face for sincerity. Her opinion of him almost warmed until he immediately downed his beer and looked anxiously for the waiter. Maybe alcoholic lunches contributed to his failure to put Matthew in jail. Whose life would this lunch destroy?

“Are you allowed to drink when you’re working?” she asked, shaking her head at the line of suits and ties at the bar. How many of them were prosecutors or judges who had run across the street to down a few between cases?

“Allowed? Probably. Would I? No.” He called the server over and asked for another beer. “You were my last business today. I’m officially on my weekend now.”

She rolled an empty sugar packet between her fingers while trying to decide if that information meant anything to her.

“Look, Rachel. I feel terrible about what happened.” He sighed and accepted the beer without taking a drink. “I was sure he’d get some time.”

“How’d it happen?” she asked, picking up another wrapper.

“We got screwed,” he said. “The plea shouldn’t have gone through without our approval, or at least some discussion.”

“You didn’t know?” She dropped the papers in the ashtray and looked up.

He shook his head. “I’ll dissect it later. For now, I feel cheated, too so I’m drowning my sorrows.” He took a drink and smiled. “Want to join me? I’ll spring for a taxi ride home.”

“I don’t drink,” she said, raising her tea glass.

“I don’t either,” he said, clinking his bottle against her glass. “Except at weddings and funerals. Never for you?”

“Okay. Weddings, New Years, a glass of wine with Thanksgiving dinner. Every once in a great while when I get together with certain cousins. This isn’t exactly a celebration today.”

“Not at all,” he agreed.

“Drowning sorrows might not be all bad,” she decided. “That was your original rationalization.” She watched for mockery or humor and got neither. “You really do feel bad about this, don’t you?”

“I really do,” he promised. “I don’t know what I could have done differently. Can you forgive me for not knowing?”

“ Why does it matter? It’s over now and you don’t even know me,” she reminded him. “I was an assignment. You can forget me now.”

“But I won’t,” he answered.

“You can’t do that,” she warned. “You’ll burn out quickly if you carry us around that way.”

“That’s the social worker talking. Tell me what the woman thinks.”

She looked around, willing the server to bring their orders and rescue her. Luck wasn’t on her side. “The woman appreciates your concern, and reluctantly admits the judge was more to blame. But she wants to blame everyone right now.”

He forced a smile. “I’ll accept that. Rachel, I’m new at this. I don’t know the rules about alcohol at lunch or fraternizing with former clients. Right or wrong, I’d like to be your friend now and help you live with the outcome of this mess. Is that possible?”

The food arrived. Alex ordered a third beer and a salad, both of which came before either of them spoke of anything other than the food on the table.

“I guess anything is possible,” she said after she had swallowed her first bite. He creased his brow. “It’s possible we could be friends,” she clarified.

“So I don’t have to worry about losing an eye?”

“Only if you touch me,” she warned.

“Deal.” He raised his hands in surrender.

The truce lasted throughout the meal. They even laughed when Rachel gave a cynical description of the desk job the counseling center had demoted her to until her wounds healed. “You’d think it might console abuse clients to know their counselor had actually experienced what she claims she can resolve, wouldn’t you? Or administration might understand that keeping my life normal would help me more than sitting at a desk with too much free time to think about my problems.”

Alex laughed. “I’m on your side. I would prefer my counselor have experience.”

“You’d see a counselor?” she asked. “I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.

“You think I have no problems? I saw a grief counselor once.”

“Sorry. Did you lose someone close?”

He shook his head. “Don’t laugh. My Great Dane. Hit by a car.”

She dropped her head and bit her cheeks.

“That’s very unprofessional,” he admonished before laughing.

“I apologize.” She laughed with him. “This isn’t professional, but you aren’t my client. We’re friends. Remember?”

He watched her wipe her mouth and place the napkin on the table. “Well, friend, where do you go from here? Thought any more about having a few drinks with me?”

“You’re serious? I have trouble figuring you out,” she said.

“Very serious. You need to relax and laugh after what you’ve been through today. I’m a funny drunk and one more beer ought to just about do the job.”

She scanned the room again and turned her nose up. “Here? Can’t imagine this place being any fun.”

“Wherever you like. Name a place, and tell me what you like to drink.”

“Bacardi and orange juice,” she said, pulling the sugar wrappers out of the ashtray and twisting them together. “A favorite with the cousins. I’m not sure I’ll relax in a public place though. How closely will they watch him?”

“Not very I’m afraid.” He sighed again. “Would you be more comfortable at home?”

She shrugged.

“I’m not backing out of taxi fare,” he assured her. “Just want you to be comfortable. This way, we cab take your car and you won’t be stranded later. I’ll taxi back to mine later, or home if you want to get rid of me before I’m safe to drive again.”

She reached under the table for her purse, shocked she was agreeing to his suggestion. “Let’s do it,” she said before she backed out.

He paid the check, walked out before her, and looked for Matthew Dickert on the street. They walked to the car, again with him keeping a safe distance. She stopped looking over her shoulder. It was impossible to hate Alex Bogstram when he tried so hard to please her.

“Were both of these garages full this morning?” he asked as they passed the second. “Or are you a fitness buff?”

“Garages are scary places when you’re being stalked,” she said, pointing out a black Honda on the street. “That’s mine.”

She apologized over the roof of the car as she unlocked her door and pressed the button to release his. “I didn’t expect company so my place is a mess.”

“Careful!” he warned before she sat down.

She jumped back and screamed when she saw the single yellow rose on her seat. Alex ran around the car and stood helplessly on the curb until she reached for his arm to steady her legs. Realizing for the first time that he stood head and shoulders over her five foot seven, she felt safer in his presence and was grateful he had chased her down to walk her to the car.

“Get it out. Please,” she asked.

“I assume you have reason to believe this is from Matthew,” he said, removing the flower and holding it out of her sight while she got in.

She nodded. “No doubt. I don’t know how that crazy man got in my car, but I’m sure it was him.”

Alex closed her door and walked around to get in the other side. “Let’s call the police,” he suggested. “You have a restraining order. He can’t do this.”

She snorted. “You have delusions where the legal system is concerned. Restraining orders are only good if the perpetrator’s present when the police arrive. They’ll laugh if I call about a rose in my car.”

“Not under the circumstances,” he argued.

“I promise. The order is a joke.”

“I’ll be your witness,” he offered. “What can it hurt? I’ll support you if they don’t take this seriously.” He pulled out a phone and raised his eyebrows in question. “Can I?”

“Suit yourself,” she said. “Apparently, you want to learn this lesson first hand.”