“I want to address the Board,” Cassie said. “As the victim, I have that right.”
Ms. Grayson nodded, looking at the notice of hearing. “I can arrange that. What should I do with the notebook?”
Cassie pulled out a thick manila envelope. Across the front, she had written a name, address, and telephone number.
“I want you to give the notebook and this envelope to that man. There are instructions inside. I want to hire him to come with us to the Parole Board.”
“The Parole Board will hear from you,” Grayson said. “They won’t take testimony from him or even allow me to speak.”
Cassie shrugged. “Let’s give it a shot. All it will cost me is money and I’ve got a lot of that, right?”
Ms. Grayson nodded and picked up the phone to call the number Cassie had given her.
Cassie’s mother never told Cassie about the Parole Board hearing or mentioned that she had asked to speak there. Ms. Grayson made a few phone calls and found out her mother had made a written request to appear months before. Grayson sent in her own request for Cassie at the last possible moment.
Benton was serving his time at the California State Prison in Lancaster, about an hour and half north of downtown L.A. On the day of the hearing, Delores left the apartment, acting as if she were heading to the office. On the way to school, Cassie met up with Ms. Grayson and the man she told her to hire.
They rode in silence. Cassie had nothing more to say. She was no longer nervous or anxious about speaking to the Parole Board. A little girl might have been. But after all she had been through, Cassie wasn’t a little girl anymore.
They arrived at the prison early for the hearing. Cassie recognized her mother’s car in the parking lot and hoped she’d already be inside. Luck was not with Cassie. Her mother was still in line, but left it when she saw Cassie walking up to the prison entrance.
“How did you get here?” she demanded to know. Delores then saw Ms. Grayson walking a few yards back. “Oh, I see. She brought you.”
“I have a right to be here, Mom. I’m the victim, remember?”
“All of us are victims,” her mother started.
“Even Cliff? Is Cliff a victim, too?” Cassie asked.
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Delores said. “I’ll see you both inside.”
Delores pushed her way back into her former place in line, daring the others or the guards to stop her. No one tried.
After a half hour in the sun, Cassie, Grayson, and the man were processed and searched with metal detecting wands. Cassie was allowed to bring in a folder with her remarks once the guards realized she was there to give a victim’s statement. Ms. Grayson, as a member of the California Bar, was allowed to bring her briefcase inside.
The hearing came to order and the case of Clifford Benton versus the People of California was called. Cassie had not seen Benton since his sentencing. Four years in prison had aged him. Or maybe it was four years removed from Botox injections, spray tans, hair coloring, and derma-peels. Either way, he looked bad. He was in an orange jumpsuit and scanned the room, smiling when he saw Delores, but stopped when he saw Cassie. He took his seat next to his lawyer.
Like an experienced trial lawyer, Benton dodged and weaved some of the questions put to him. He was sorry it happened, but managed not to admit his guilt, even though he had pled guilty. Given his background, education, good behavior, and ties to the community, he scored highly on the question of whether he should be released. The Parole Board invited the victims to come forward to speak, calling Delores first.
“My name is Delores Pruitt and I am the mother of Cassandra Pruitt,” she began.
“The victim?” the Chairwoman asked.
“My daughter did make the complaint to the police,” Delores answered.
“She’s the one the prisoner raped when she was only eleven?” the Chairwoman asked.
“Allegedly, yes.”
One of the other members of the Board turned on his microphone and said, “Allegedly? He pled guilty, didn’t he?”
“He took a plea,” Delores argued. “I know Clifford Benton. He’s a good man. He may have done a bad thing. But that doesn’t mean that deep inside he’s not a good person.”
The Parole Board just stared at Delores.
“And one more thing,” Delores added. “I don’t want my daughter to make a statement. This is too upsetting for her. I forbid it. I’m her mother. I forbid it.”
The chairwoman shuffled some papers in front of her. “This request was made by your daughter’s guardian. And it seems she’d been emancipated from you when …” The chairwoman put on her reading glasses. “When she turned fourteen. Seems you have don’t have any say in the matter.”
“You can’t do this,” Delores said, her voice rising as she began to slap the podium with her hand. “I’m her mother. I forbid it!”
The chairwoman motioned to one of the security staffers, who pulled Delores from the room. Cassie came forward to the podium. She was only five feet from Benton, and for a moment, she started to panic.
“My forty-eight hours were over long ago,” Cassie said, gathering herself.
“What was that, Miss Pruitt?” the chairwoman asked.
Cassie shook her head and the chairwoman nodded for her to begin.
“As I understand it, you’re not here to re-try the case against Clifford Benton. You don’t need to. He pled guilty. What you must answer is two things. First, whether he’s lived up to all the conditions of sentence. And second, whether he’s likely to offend again.
“Has he abided by his sentence? No. He was forbidden to have contact with me. Yet, over a two-month period, he sent me twenty-two notes, smuggled out of Lancaster.”
Cassie nodded to Ms. Grayson, who rose and came forward handing each member of the board a slender black notebook. She also gave one to Benton’s attorney.
“I have Mr. Thomas Rudd with the Rudd Questioned Documents Lab who’s given an affidavit stating that Mr. Benton wrote each of those twenty-two messages to me in his own handwriting,” Cassie said.
Benton stood up, exasperated his lawyer had not objected for him. “I object. Hearsay. Prejudicial. Not probative.”
The chairwoman stopped Benton. “Sit down. This isn’t a court and those rules aren’t the rules here. We can consider this.” She looked at Cassie. “Go on.”
“I would ask you read the last letter in the notebook.”
The board members flipped to the back and started reading. Their eyes widened and their mouths opened. One of them looked up at Benton.
“Did you write this?” the man asked.
“I refuse to answer under my rights under the Fifth Amendment,” Benton said defiantly.
“I’ll take that as a yes”, the man said as he turned back to finish the last note.
The board was quiet as they waited for everyone to finish reading. When they did, they looked at Cassie.
“The second question you have to answer is will he commit more crimes if released early? He gives the answer. It’s a loud and clear yes. He said he’ll do it again. I sent the originals of these notes to the district attorney in Los Angeles. I hope they will ask the judge to remove the suspension and make Mr. Benton serve at least another twenty-one years to life. That’s it. That’s all I have to say.”
Cassie took her seat next to Ms. Grayson, who reached over and squeezed her hand. Cassie squeezed back.
The vote was unanimous. Parole was denied. The next parole hearing was blocked for at least three more years. And the board passed a recommendation to the district attorney that he ask that the suspension be lifted on Barton’s sentence.
Cassie walked out into the parking lot with a sense of relief until she saw her mother.
“What did you do, Cassie?” her mother demanded. “You got them to deny his parole?”
Cassie smiled. “I did much more than that. Much, much more. He’s going to be spending at least the next twenty-one years in prison.
He’s out of your life and he’s out of mine. Now, can you do us both a favor, Mom?”
“What’s that?”
“Grow up and get over it.”
- ### -
THE FIRE WITHIN
A Brennan Coven Short Story
By Elle J Rossi
“Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to Mystic Nights. A world of marvels. An escalation of the extraordinary.”
Bevva tugged on the steel collar buckled around her neck. With her other hand, she twisted her red corkscrew curls around her index finger. She yanked the curl down until the lock was completely straight before letting it go to spring back into place. Anger simmered in her gut. Anger at herself for being caught, and murderous rage at the man who’d captured her.
She peeked around the heavy curtain. The announcer, dressed from head to toe in black leather, including a top hat of all things, stood beneath the spray of a spotlight. “You’ve been promised performances and adventures beyond your wildest dreams.”
The announcer had it wrong. This place should have been called Mystic Nightmares.
Beads of sweat slid down her spine. She wore nothing more than a top the size of a Band-Aid and a tiny pair of shorts that covered about half her ass. Buckets of sweat must have been pouring off the leather man haloed by light in the center ring.
He flicked his wrist and cracked a whip. “That is indeed what you will get.”
She couldn’t see the crowd, but she heard their reaction. Their cheers and whistles sounded odd to her, as if there was a sort of sophistication to the outburst. How in the name of the Goddess did she get herself into this situation?
“Don’t let them see you messing with your collar.”
Bevva turned toward the direction of the whisper. A pretty Fae sat in the corner, eyes cast downward. Sores covered the bottom of her pale feet. Heavy shackles adorned her tiny ankles. Like most Fae, she had blond hair, seemingly dusted with diamonds. While Bevva couldn’t see them, she knew the tips of her ears would be pointed. The Fae’s shimmery blue dress, frayed along the edges, fell to just below her knees.
She didn’t need the reminder but thanked the Fae with a fleeting smile. “I know.” Bevva let her arm drop. If she got caught trying to take the collar off, they’d only make it tighter. As it was, she could barely breathe beneath the thin strip of metal. Meant to look like an ornamental choker, she’d quickly found out the collar served a multitude of purposes. Stray too far from the cages and get shocked with enough voltage to drop you to your knees. Try to use magick during restricted hours and suffer headaches so bad you’d pray to the Goddess for decapitation. Plain and simple, this week had sucked.
“Get ready, witch.”
Bevva jerked away from the fingers that gripped her elbow, and came face to face with a monster. Oh, he looked normal enough. But monsters wore all kinds of masks to disguise their personality flaws. This one had slicked-back, thinning brown hair. Gaunt cheeks contradicted his distended belly, making him appear almost as if he suffered from malnutrition. But he ate just fine. She was the one who was starving. Dressed in navy blue coveralls, he could have passed for a repairman. But Kevin here didn’t repair anything. No, he broke them down with fists and whips.
Spine rigid, she said, “I’m not going out there.”
He leaned in and fetid breath wafted toward her. Bevva crinkled her nose but held her ground.
“You don’t have a choice in the matter. You’ll go out there and do what you’re told. You’ll give these people their money’s worth.”
“Or what?” she asked through clenched teeth, ignoring the Fae’s soft gasp.
“You think the cage you’ve been living in is bad? I’ll send you to the lower quarters. We’ll see how much your attitude changes then,” Kevin spat.
Bevva hadn’t made any friends here, but she’d heard whispers. They’d nicknamed the lower quarters the Dungeons of Hell, and she doubted they were exaggerating. She’d been to the Underworld. Once. When she was crushing on a hotter-than-hot demon. She’d made it about two steps into his realm before bailing on the whole thing. Just thinking of it had her skin crawling. The cages were beyond bad, to know she might have to sleep somewhere worse… She couldn’t hold back a shiver.
Kevin laughed low in his throat. “That’s what I thought. Tonight’s your premiere. Start practicing that pretty smile of yours. You’re on in five.” He pivoted on his heel and disappeared into the shadows.
Five minutes.
She could practically hear the clock ticking toward disaster. Now four minutes and change to figure out how to escape this freak show. Bevva swallowed a wisp of fear. Not going there.
Not much scared her. Why would it? She was a witch. A caster with mad amounts of magick coursing through her veins. Her specialty was fire, which is precisely what the freaks in charge planned to exploit. To humans. To do so was a huge honking no-no amongst the veiled. Something she wanted no part of.
Knowing she couldn’t call upon her magick at will, that someone else decided when, where, and how she could use it, had her normally rock-steady hands trembling. She balled them into fists and took deep breaths to slow her jack-hammering heart.
“It’s not so bad if you do what they say.”
Bevva shuffled over to the Fae, the chains of her shackles clanking against one another. Really, the damn things were overkill. As long as she had the collar around her neck, she wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not unless she wanted her brains liquefied.
“Not so bad?” She’d never been one to rein in her attitude. Now was no different.
The Fae lifted her head. She bore the telltale signs of fatigue. Blue eyes, slightly oversized for her face, were marred by dark shadows. She shrugged and the strap of her dress slipped off her bony shoulder. “I guess you just get used to it.”
“What’s your name?” Bevva asked.
“Grier.”
“I’m Bevva.” She cocked a hip, tilted her head. “Of the Brennan coven.” She let the words sink in, knew she’d hit her mark when Grier’s shoulders hunched even lower. Bevva had a feeling there was a hierarchy amongst the captives, and if so, she planned to be at the top. Her coven was known for power. Especially now that Bevva’s older and estranged sister had accepted the position of Luminary. Only the most powerful witches were fated to be the keepers of peace amongst the beings of the occult, a.k.a. the veiled. It stuck in her craw that it was Meera—not Bevva—who’d been born first and thus the most gifted of the three Brennan sisters. That was so far from fair, the magick ball had landed on another field entirely.
No, she might not like Meera much—not that she even knew her (semantics)—but she sure as hell would toss her name around if it helped.
“And, Grier,” Bevva continued, “I don’t plan on being here long enough to get used to anything.”
Grier’s large eyes widened, fixated on a point behind Bevva.
Bevva heard the swish of the whip as it sliced through the air. She dove to the side. The whip caught her shoulder, ripping into her flesh. White-hot pain brought her to her knees.
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
That voice. Bevva rolled over and glared at the enormous man. Long, black hair cast shadows across a face too beautiful for such a malevolent being. Hatred curled her lip. She’d promised to kill him when he’d ambushed her and locked her in a cave for two days without food or water—or the privacy to attend to bodily functions. The caravan had come to take her away before she’d gotten a chance to make good on her threat. She hadn’t seen him since.
Black eyes gleamed. “Something you want to say?” A muscle ticked in his jaw.
She’d seen him once before. In the realm of Mistropa. He’d been using a whip on someone else then. She could only assume he’d captured her in retribution. She nearly smiled now, remembering how she’d nailed him with one of her fireballs. She and Calliope…
Oh no. If this jerk knew where to find Bevva, surely he knew where to find the sister she actually liked. Why was
that fact just now crossing her mind? They’d been so stupid. Anyone could have followed them from Mistropa back to their home. It wasn’t as if they’d actually been quiet. That would have been hard to do while carrying the unconscious man they’d rescued. The one Calliope insisted they save.
If he touched a hair on Calliope’s head…
Bevva shoved off the ground and struggled to her feet. She was tall, but this man made her wish she had a pair of stilts. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. You will burn for what you’ve done.”
He smiled, showing two rows of bright white teeth. “We’ll see.” He tilted his head and nodded to someone in the corner.
Bevva’s body jerked as an electric shock seared her neck. Her legs gave and she collapsed. Convulsing on the floor, she tried to mentally connect with her younger sister. Most times she and Calliope were inseparable. Lately, Bevva had wanted to do her own thing. Which is exactly how she’d ended up here. If…
Not going there.
Try as she might, she couldn’t reach Calliope. She had to warn her.
Vision flickering, she whispered, “I promise… you… will… burn.”
Her attacker upped the voltage until her thoughts became jumbled and all she could focus on was one word.
Burn.
#
Bevva woke to a commotion outside the cage area. Her muscles screamed in protest when she tried to stand, knotting and cramping as if her legs were being squeezed in a vise grip. She pushed through the pain when all she wanted to do was lay in the corner and sleep. They would not defeat her. If she had to mouth off and get zapped every day just to keep from giving them what they wanted, she’d do it.
“Hold him down!”
“He’s a big sonofabitch. Rudy, get over here and help us.”
Someone shouted, “He bit me!”
Wrapping her hands around the rusted bars, she craned her neck to see what the racket was about.
She wasn’t the only one. Though some of the prisoners hadn’t roused, several were doing the same rubber-necking dance as Bevva. She couldn’t see a damn thing.
The cages butted up against each other and formed a large circle. The only way in or out of the circle was through the main tent. When she wasn’t sleeping, she spent her time counting bars and trying to get a read on the inhabitants. So far, she’d counted thirty beings, including herself, and the captives ran the gamut from Fae to shifter to vampire. The last had been the most surprising. If she had to guess, she’d say the collar she hated was also the vampire’s lifeline. How else could he sit in the sun day after day without turning to ash?
Betrayed: Powerful Stories of Kick-Ass Crime Survivors Page 25