Spirit Invictus Complete Series

by Mark Tiro

  “Well, I’ve had entire relationships like that in the past,” she said. This time it was his turn not to laugh. “But driving? Highway hypnosis?” Maya went on. But despite her question, the light bulb had already gone off for her. She was calm, and happy, now.

  “Highway hypnosis,” he repeated.

  “Thank you. I appreciate this,” Maya told him. “I’ll call my psych and see what he can come up with. By the way—you said ‘as long as nothing out of the ordinary happens’. What do you mean by that?”

  “Well that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? I’ve read the police reports you sent me, and I think that’s the question you probably need to talk about with your client.”

  Maya sat quietly. She knew, though, that she wouldn’t need to talk to David about it. She already had. The ‘something out of the ordinary’ had been his revelation.

  “Thank you for getting a hold of me. This sounds really promising. Take care, okay?”

  26

  “‘To commune with God’? Have you gone insane Maya?”

  Having not heard from Maya since their last conversation, and not expecting to hear from her again any time soon, Joel was surprised when Maya called him. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet. He was still in bed.

  “Go interview him again. No Joel, I cannot get the judge to give you any more money, but you know I’m good for it. I have more than made it up to you in the past, haven’t I?”

  Joel didn’t answer her last comment. Without coffee, and not alone in a bed that he hadn’t yet rolled out of, Joel couldn’t figure out whether she was referring to all the past court appointments she had gotten him, or to the sex.

  But first thing in the morning, even after having ended it, Joel felt the hard rush of his penis, thinking that she meant the latter. And a twinge of guilt too. Despite all his years of psychology training, he still never seemed to recognize just how acutely guilty he felt.

  But Joel made sure not to look over at the still-sleeping woman in his bed next to him. And that sleeping woman was also oblivious, both to Joel’s penis and also to Maya, its erstwhile cause who was still speaking on the other end of Joel’s phone. Joel hoped beyond words to keep it that way. He turned away, trying to push the thought away so the woman still-asleep in his bed wouldn’t catch him thinking it. Years of training made him aware of what was going on in his mind. But for all his intellectual gymnastics, he had never been able to make a dent in his lifelong self-loathing and general feeling that he was fucked-up. And he knew this too. It made him sad.

  “You know what I mean Joel,” she interrupted his daydream. “Go interview him again. For godsakes—the guy says he had a revelation of God. While driving down the road. I’ve never heard of it either, but I think that’s the defense we’re going with. Kind of like unconsciousness. Would you please start doing some research on it?”

  “White Line Fever? Seriously? Highway Hypnosis? Maya—”

  “It’s unconsciousness Joel. That’s the defense. That’s the defense because it’s true. Guy had a fucking revelation of the Almighty Fucking Being! While driving down the fucking road. Congratulations—you’re my new Highway Fucking Hypnosis expert.”

  “Oh Christ,” he answered.

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me,” she warned.

  “Listen, Joel… you give good… report.”

  “Wait—what?” he asked.

  “You heard me,” she said. “What? You thought we spent all that time together because you had a big dick? Because both of us know that’s not true—”

  “—stop, just please stop,” he pleaded.

  “Listen, Joel—you give good report. That is all. Your reports have always been helpful to my clients. I’m sure they appreciate that. Just be ready to testify in Court at the prelim.”

  “Appreciate? Do you appreciate me?”

  But she didn’t hear him. For the second time that week, she had hung up on him before he finished. After a few seconds listening to silence on the other end of the line, Joel clicked off his phone too. He reached for his iPad, pulled up Google and got up to make a much overdue cup of coffee. As he walked out of the room, he completely avoided looking towards the sleeping figure curled up on his bed.

  “Hurry up. I’m missing out on prime drinking time.” Michelle smiled as Maya kicked the stilettos she had worn to court back under her desk.

  “Hold on. Did you see where I put my flats?”

  “No. Just go in the ones you had on.” Michelle stopped talking just long enough to shoot Maya a mischievous grin. “Those were perfect. Ain’t no way you’re going home alone tonight girl—not in those! I know I wouldn’t…”

  Even though they had known each other for years now, Maya was never really sure if, behind closed doors, Michelle would actually act on all her bravado, or if it was just for show.

  Maya found the shoes she’d been looking for and quickly slipped into them.

  “Seriously though, how come you don’t at least wear them to happy hour?” Michelle asked. “God knows you have enough of them under your desk here.”

  “No. The pumps stay here. Only for work.”

  “For the court?” Michelle asked.

  “Not for the court. I hate wearing them. Ex-boyfriend in college years ago had a weird thing for them. Asshole that he was.” She added the last words almost as an afterthought. “No. It’s for the clients. Only the clients. You never know….” Maya tugged at her skirt ever so slightly—ostensibly to show Michelle the pumps, but in the process revealing a whole lot more leg than was necessary. “You never know,” Maya went on, pulling her leg back off the chair now, “what might tip the scale of justice with a juror in a trial.”

  As Maya said it, they both broke into a knowing laugh.

  Just then, Grace walked in. “You two still here? Did Michelle catch you up on her trial?”

  “I didn’t even know you were in trial,” Maya answered, turning to Michelle. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s done now.”

  “You win?”

  “No.”

  “Silver medal then, huh? Sorry to hear,” Maya answered with as much empathy as she could muster. Silver medal, of course, meant second place in a trial where there are only two possible places. “Is this the one you were telling me about a couple weeks ago?”

  “I didn’t say I lost it either,” Michelle flashed the same grin as before. “Did I ever tell you about the virtues of a well-hung jury?”

  “A hung jury!” Maya smiled. “That’s great!”

  Almost at the same time, Michelle and Grace both corrected her. “Not a hung jury—a well-hung jury!”

  Still laughing, the three of them headed out the door, and down towards the usual PD watering hole over in Little Tokyo.

  A few blocks and ten minutes later, with the first round of drinks ordered and paid for, Maya found the usual suspects from the office. Lounging in a corner of the bar that was tucked away just off the courtyard, Maya walked over. The conversation that evening (mostly the usual stuff) fluttered between the sublime (“Not only was it dismissed, but the judge made a finding he was factually innocent!”) and the ridiculous (“Well she sure showed them—she didn’t go to rehab. Maybe the reason, though, had something to do with the fact that she OD’d and died….”).

  Just then, Maya’s phone rang. Looking down, she saw the call was from her brother Sean. Weird, he always texts. This can’t be good.

  Maya decided to answer it. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t. Sure enough it was Sean. She could hear his baby crying in the background. And his wife too, although Maya couldn’t make out any words because her phone barely had a signal. This bar is so far—cell coverage is for shit here, she thought.

  What she did hear was enough though.

  “Sis?”

  “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

  The extra beat of silence on the other end before he said anything should have given her some warning. But it didn’t.

  “Sis, listen�
��Tom’s dead.”

  And just like that, Maya felt it, the same time she heard it. No thought, just the rush of satisfaction. Revenge almost. That’s it. I’m alive and he’s dead. Bastard. The thoughts bombarded her, one after another. A second later though, her relief was gone. It was replaced by some invisible hand. And that hand had reached up and grabbed her by the throat. She started to feel suffocated.

  The surge of guilt rose up in her. It overwhelmed her. Everything swirled. It swirled around and then closed in on her. Maya sat down, suddenly crushed. Memories came rushing back. Unable to collect her thoughts, she stared blankly into space. The cacophony of memories had turned everything to mush. Somewhere, lost deep in the recesses of the years gone by, Maya curled up and retreated into her mind. And in her mind, she found an out of the way little corner, rolled up into a fetal ball and tried to disappear.

  After some amount of time had passed (and she had no clue just how much time that actually was), Maya stood up. Without stopping to say any goodbyes, she slipped out the side exit and headed home.

  27

  There would be no happy ending, Maya decided. Not for Tom, she thought. Not this lifetime anyway. And by Sunday, Maya was certain—not for her either.

  Two days earlier, on Friday—the night she had found out Tom had died—she came home, drank a big tumbler of whiskey, and fell asleep on the couch.

  The day after that, Saturday, there were the phone calls with family. Details were still sketchy as Tom had been on one of his ‘missions’ halfway across the world. To Maya’s mom, that was all she needed to label her son a martyr and a saint. But when Maya talked to Sean that afternoon, the details turned out to be more...nuanced. There had been allegations of molestation of the boys of a couple of the other missionaries, and the church had sent Tom a ticket, ordering him to come back to the US. He never used the ticket. There had been no investigation by the local authorities, who had simply labeled the whole thing an accident. They had boxed him up and put his body into the cargo hold of the same flight the church had bought him the ticket for. The authorities had found the ticket on the floor with Tom, right next to where the gun had come to rest. Had anyone cared enough to inquire, the gunshot wound through the inside of Tom’s mouth would have resolved any lingering doubts as to the cause of the ‘accident’. But no one ever did.

  Bastard finally did it, Maya thought. Rather than bringing her any comfort, however, these thoughts just added to the haze and confusion that shrouded her mind.

  That evening, Maya briefly considered—and then rejected—the idea of going to Pilates. She had tried closing her eyes and forgiving her now dead brother. She had tried some of the yoga meditations she’d first learned in college. None of it brought her any relief. Her mind wouldn’t stop. Instead of finding inner peace, she found only an inner wall. And no matter how hard she beat her mind against that wall, she couldn’t get past it.

  And so Maya did the one thing she knew how to do. She picked up some of the case files she’d brought home and started to read. In the end, she only got out of bed twice that Saturday. Which was just fine with her.

  By Sunday, however, it became obvious she’d be in no shape to go into work the following day. And so Maya texted Donald, telling him about her brother, and asking him to stand in for her on Monday and continue David’s preliminary hearing, which was set the following week, eight court days away.

  She texted her boss as well, telling him she’d need a little time off. Maya had no plans that didn’t involve sitting in her bed, or, if she was feeling adventurous, possibly heading off as far away as the bathroom.

  Which is exactly where Maya found herself sitting the next day when she got Donald’s text. Apparently, the usual judge in the preliminary hearing court where David’s case was handled was on vacation, forcing Donald to make the pitch for Maya’s continuance in front of a different judge.

  Maya inadvertently screamed when she got Donald’s text letting her know that he had told the judge about her brother, and asked the judge to continue the case. But he had still refused to continue it.

  “WTF? What judge???” she texted back.

  “Judge Menting. I tried. Sorry.”

  “Who the fuck is that?” Maya pounded the text into her phone and fired it back to Donald.

  A few minutes later, Donald got back to her: “Don’t know, some new judge in the courtroom across the hall. But he’s covering other judge’s vacations. I cited the sections in the Penal Code book, but I don’t think he’s ever opened it.”

  “The judge has never opened the code book?” Maya shot back. “Is he waiting for the movie to come out?”

  A few minutes later, after he’d wiped up the coffee that he’d spilled on his phone when he’d gotten Maya’s text, Donald responded with a text of his own: “Should be okay. Judge Elanjian will be back for the prelim. Sorry again about your brother.”

  “Thanks for trying Donald. I guess I’ll be back next week then. Tell Judge Menting he can go to hell.”

  Donald, of course, told the judge no such thing.

  When she thought about it later, Maya realized that when she had received Donald’s texts, she had gone straight back into her habitual fighting mode. It was comfortable. She was good at it. She had never even laid eyes on this Judge Menting. For all she knew, she might actually have liked him. Maya felt like herself again for the first time since she’d found out about Tom. Realizing this, however, she was not at all sure if this was a good thing. Another part of her knew that what she thought of as ‘herself’ was slipping away, and had been for some time. She thought about this for a while, and decided it was okay.

  Maya became frustrated at herself. In her anger, she had temporarily—but completely—obliterated any thought of even trying to apply the forgiveness David had talked about.

  The next three days, Maya binged on Netflix. She felt relief, at least for a while, immersing herself in the problems of the fictional lawyer Saul, instead of the real problems swirling all around her.

  By that Friday, Maya still hadn’t gone back into work.

  Every day, she found herself talking to her brother Sean. And every night, she found herself talking to her dead brother Tom. Sometimes in dreams. Mostly in nightmares.

  Well, not exactly talking, she thought. More like playing out the past, over and over and over.

  Sometimes the past turned out the same, sometimes it didn’t. Either way, Maya remembered one thing every morning. No matter what happened in her dreams, she never once raised her head. No matter how the dream, or the horror played out, she never looked up towards Tom’s face. For some reason, the thought of looking him in the eye, even in her dreams, filled her with dread.

  Maya spent a lot of time in bed that week. During the daytime too. The irony didn’t escape her. Maya had no problem looking anyone in the eye during her waking life. In court, she’d shoot daggers with her eyes through a witness, if she had to. Or in the heat of battle sometimes, even if she didn’t. Maya had never had a problem talking directly with anyone outside of court either. This fear she had when she was dreaming, to raise her head up, to look Tom in the eyes—this was all new.

  And so by Friday, Maya decided to eat lunch out and then head over to jail to visit David. Thanks to Judge Menting, whoever the hell he is, she thought, this prelim’s on for next Thursday. Whatever was going on in her mind because of Tom, she figured she could deal with on her own time, after work and on weekends. Or maybe some other lifetime. Today, Maya was going to deal with David.

  He had a murder prelim coming up. She turned her thoughts to the now-looming prelim battle, and her eyes narrowed. This is how it looked. The strategy, the planning, the fight… And then the battle. For Maya, this was the easy part. Even years ago, the very first day she’d stood up in court, in front of a jury, she hadn’t felt the least bit nervous.

  If anything, the fight relaxed her. It’s what she did. She was good at it.

  28

  “I wanted to apologize
, David, that I couldn’t be in court,” Maya told her client after the deputy had led him into the interview room. “I asked a colleague to stand in, but that didn’t go so well. Anyway, it looks like the prelim’s going to be next Thursday, and I wanted to get here to talk with you one last time before I see you in court.”

  She paused just long enough to take a much-needed breath. She was about to launch into a legal blow-by-blow of what David could expect to happen at the prelim. Maya could rattle off this kind of legal analysis for her clients in her sleep. Doing it now was a familiar comfort for her. It was a refuge from the unending emotional churning that her brother’s death had unleashed in her.

  Before she could open her mouth, however, David caught her eye, and asked, quietly as usual, “How are you doing Maya?”

  No ‘Ms. Lee’, no formality now. No wall.

  “Been better. Thank you for asking though.”

  “You know Maya when it’s all cloudy outside? When it’s completely overcast and all just grey when you look up?”

  “Maybe you’re psychic David. That’s pretty much how things have been lately.”

  “I had a feeling about that. I’m sorry. But I also have a feeling you’ll get through this one,” he told her, smiling gently. “Listen, Maya, someone told me something once, a long time ago. It helped.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, imagine if you were born under that sky, and your whole life, that was how it always looked. Imagine if you had never seen anything other than a completely overcast, grey sky.”

  “Depressing,” she said.