Close To The Fire

by Suzanne Ferrell

Outside the courtroom, Libby paced past the long benches lining the hallway, watching for Emma Preston to arrive with Melissa. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes until Judge Rawlins walked in and the case was to start. If they weren’t here on time, he’d dismiss the charges just out of aggravation. Like she’d told Melissa, he was very fair and hated abuse of any kind, but he also hated his time being wasted, especially for a third time.

  “Any sign?” A deep voice asked from behind her. She turned to see Kent Howard striding down the hall, his briefcase in hand. The county prosecutor always walked with a purpose, like he never questioned where he was going or what he was going to do. No questions. No hesitation. No regrets.

  What must it be like to make decisions, have them always work out and never have any regrets?

  Libby plastered her most positive smile on her face. “Not yet. Emma called and said they were on their way about fifteen minutes ago, so they should be here any minute.”

  “Good. I would prefer to have her here, but as you and I talked last week, the county can go after him with the felony domestic violence charges, given the nature of her latest injuries, without her cooperation. You can take the stand as her domestic violence advocate and we’ll introduce the photos and hospital reports as evidence. Her testimony would be beneficial, but not crucial to getting him behind bars before he kills her. Although you know Judge Rawlins, he makes his own rules and could still dismiss the case if she’s another no-show.” He set his briefcase down on one of the long benches and checked his watch before fixing his intense, blue-eyed gaze on her once more. For some reason it always made her feel like she was under cross-examination. “Given the evidence of his escalation, if we don’t get involved, I could be trying him for murder next time.”

  Libby couldn’t agree more. “True. While getting him permanently away from her is the goal today, it would be in Melissa’s best long-term mental health to participate in prosecuting her abusive husband. She needs to stand up for herself, not depend on someone else to always handle matters.”

  “Ah, here they are now,” Kent said, looking over her shoulder.

  High heels sounded down the hall. Libby turned to see Emma and Melissa hurrying towards them.

  Melissa wasn’t overly tall, about five feet, four inches. She had dark-brown hair that hung around her shoulders, large, dark-brown eyes in her pale face. In the month since she’d been admitted to the hospital, her facial injuries had healed to the point the swelling and bruises had disappeared. Doc Clint said her vision had cleared despite the injury to her orbital socket and she’d have to have dental implants for the teeth her husband had knocked out. She was very thin—thinner than any woman should ever be—which gave her a frail appearance.

  The idea that Frank would use her as a punching bag shot anger through Libby once more.

  “Sorry we’re running late,” Emma said. “I meant to have her here a lot earlier, but there was a truck and car accident on the highway and we couldn’t get around them for a while.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Preston. You’re here in time for the hearing, and that’s all that really matters,” Kent said, then turned to Melissa. “Remember what we talked about last week?”

  She nodded, her long, dark hair bouncing around her shoulders. “Just tell exactly what happened as best as I can remember. And when Frank’s lawyer asks questions, I’m just supposed to say yes or no and not give any extra information.”

  “That’s right,” Kent gave her a reassuring smile and patted her on the shoulder. “Doctor Preston, Mrs. Preston and Miss Wilson, here, will testify, too, to the extent of your injuries.”

  “And you’re sure Frank will go to jail?” Melissa asked, twisting her fingers together. “He’s going to be so mad that he had to come to court.”

  Libby slipped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed her in tight. “You’re safe here, Melissa. Frank isn’t going to do anything to you. Not here, in a room full of witnesses. Bullies never do. Besides, I asked Sheriff Justice to have an extra deputy in the room.”

  Melissa inhaled, looked at the three people surrounding her then seemed to come to a decision. “Okay. It’s time he paid for hurting me.”

  “Good girl,” Kent said, picking up his briefcase.

  The door behind them opened and the bailiff stepped into the hallway and motioned to Kent. “Counselor, court is about ready to start.”

  They hurried in behind him, taking their seats just behind the prosecution side of the room. Emma’s husband, Clint, already waited for them. Libby glanced around the courtroom. Gage and one of his deputies, Cleetus, sat in the next row back, as well as Sean Callahan, the newspaperman. On the defense’s side were two businessmen, both salesmen from the same company Frank worked for in Columbus, about an hour’s drive away. Libby guessed they were character witnesses. In front of them also sat Frank’s mother, sister and two brothers, all dressed as if going to church in their Sunday best.

  Along one wall sat the jury—six people: three men, three women.

  “Oh, dear,” Melissa whispered, drawing Libby’s attention. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she studied the people in the room. She knew what the other woman was thinking, her own mother had looked the same way once. She was embarrassed to have to tell these people what her husband had done to her and then admit to them why she’d stayed so long with him.

  Libby took her hand and squeezed it firmly. “You can do this.”

  The door to the left of the judge’s bench opened. In walked Frank Compton, dressed in a blue suit complete with red tie, fresh haircut and a confident smile on his very handsome face. His hands were cuffed in front of him and Daniel, dressed in his deputy uniform, escorted him to the defendant table before removing the cuffs. Frank shook his lawyer’s hand, smiled at his family, and settled into his seat. Then he leaned back and stared across the room at Melissa, who seemed to shrink beside Libby.

  Libby cast him a narrow-eyed look then moved to block his view and stop his intimidation tactic. The bastard gave her a smirk, then faced forward again.

  If she could get away with assaulting him in a courtroom, she’d love to walk over and punch him in the eye, just like he’d done to her friend on more than one occasion.

  Bet he’d cry like a baby.

  Her brother Bill always told her all you had to do to get a bully to stop was to step up and challenge them. He’d been the one to teach her to defend herself as a kid. She wished he was here now, he’d be proud of all the times she stood up to bullies. A little sorrow washed over her anger. Ten years and she still missed his solid support in anything she tried.

  The door on the opposite side of the bench opened.

  “All rise for the honorable Terrence J. Rawlins,” the bailiff called.

  The scraping of chairs against the floor sounded in the room as everyone stood. The silver-haired judge, complete with black robes entered, took his seat, and looked at the courtroom. “You may be seated.”

  Again, more chair scraping and a few murmurs as everyone resumed their spots. The judge flipped over a paper, then lifted a manila folder, opening it in front of him, then looked over his glasses at the bailiff.

  The bailiff cleared his throat before announcing, “The State versus Franklin Compton, felony domestic violence in the first degree.”

  * * * * *

  Deke closed the office door and stepped out into the crowded courthouse hallway, shaking his head to clear all the numbers bouncing around inside it.

  For years he’d believed Harold Russett’s anal-retentive tendencies bordered on obsessive compulsive, but ever since the man determined the safest way to dig Gage out of the shaft he’d been buried in last spring and helped save his life, he’d been more tolerant of the county engineer’s detailed meetings regarding the new road construction. Especially since Russett contacted him out of the blue about a traffic signal prioritization plan to help speed up the fire and EMS teams’ response time to emergencies. But man, could the guy rattle off figures and numbers fa
st—so fast it made him dizzy.

  He looked down at the folder of papers Russett had given him. It included maps of the current roads, those to be rebuilt after the meth lab explosion outside of town, and those gravel roads the county planned to pave and enlarge. One good thing to come out of that near catastrophe was the state’s desire to help Westen rebuild, not to mention the added funding also pushed the state’s embarrassment at not knowing the location of one of the largest meth kitchens in the state off the front pages of all the news sites.

  The potential for fraud and greed from such a generous influx of monies into a poor county was huge. Lucky for Westen, Russett did take his job seriously and would use the funds allocated by the state to improve the lives of all Westen’s residents.

  Movement ahead caught his attention. He caught a glimpse of a familiar blonde ponytail as people moved from the crowded hallway through open doors into a courtroom. Standing off to the side were Gage and his deputies, Cleetus and Daniel. He strolled up to them.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, peeking inside to confirm that the blonde was definitely Libby.

  “Compton domestic violence case,” Gage said, as the last of the crowd moved inside. “Judge gave a recess after Doc Clint showed the images of Melissa’s injuries.”

  Deke arched a brow. “That bad?”

  “Almost as nauseating as when I saw them in person. Now it’s Libby’s turn to talk.”

  “Libby has to testify?” The idea of her taking on a bully like Compton sent a chill over him.

  Gage nodded, walking towards the door after his deputies. “She was Melissa’s first contact.”

  Why the hell hadn’t the woman called 911? Why call Libby?

  Without thinking, he slipped inside the courtroom just before the doors closed and took a seat in the back row on the aisle. From that spot he could see the witness stand.

  The room stood for the judge then resumed their seats. He gave the prosecutor permission to resume his case and Kent Howard called Libby to the stand.

  Deke watched her stand and stride confidently to the witness box, drinking in every movement of her body—the bounce of the ponytail against her long, slender neck, the swing of her hands at her side and the gentle sway of her hips. There wasn’t one inch of her body he hadn’t known intimately.

  That was a long time ago. She wasn’t his anymore, and he shouldn’t be remembering any of their time together. The mental slap-to-the-head reminder didn’t stop him from watching her red-tinged lips as she held one hand on the Bible, the other in the air and swore to tell the truth, so help her God. He remembered what those lips tasted like beneath his. How they felt, not just kissing his mouth, but his body in various and intimate places.

  He gave himself a mental shake again and focused on the courtroom as she took her seat. The bailiff stood at relaxed attention to the far left, but between the judge’s bench and the defendant’s table. Libby sat between the judge and the jury. The right side of the room held many of his colleagues and friends in the town, while the left side of the courtroom was filled with strangers—friends and family of Compton, he’d presume. Two men directly behind Compton’s seat whispered and one nodded at Libby.

  A tingling skittered across his senses and he sat up straighter in his seat.

  “Please state your name and occupation for the court,” the county prosecutor asked Libby from his seat to begin his questioning.

  “Elizabeth Wilson. I’m the social worker for Westen County.” Her voice was strong and confident, but still softly feminine.

  “Can you please tell us your involvement with the events on the night in question?”

  Only the slight swallow before she replied showed any hint of her nervousness at giving a public testimony. She’d always been that—delicately courageous. Even tagging along when he and her brother Bill went up to different rock climbing venues. They’d been using rock climbing to strengthen their muscles and skills for training exercises in preparation to enter the fire academy. While he’d strapped on safety harnesses he’d double-checked and triple-checked that she still wanted to give it a try. She’d swallowed just like now, then nodded, determination in her sky-blue eyes. From that moment on, they’d been a threesome as they traversed all the rock climbing areas in northeast Ohio.

  “I received a call from Melissa Compton that she needed help,” Libby said clearly, her eyes on the prosecutor.

  “And what time was this?”

  “My phone recorded the time as ten twenty-seven p.m.”

  “And what kind of help did Mrs. Compton need?”

  “She asked me to come pick her up and she gave me an address.”

  “You mean her home address?”

  “No. She was outside a local convenience store. I drove to the address and found her standing next to the pay phone.”

  Deke watched Libby as she gave testimony. Her cheeks turned pink and her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as she spoke of to the condition she’d found Melissa Compton in, the injuries and how she’d had to help her into the car. Ever since he’d met her in high school—her brother was a sophomore while he and Libby were both freshmen—she’d always defended the underdog, taking on any bully, even someone twice her size. Of course, Bill, Gage and he had often been her backup.

  Bill.

  The deep ache started in his chest at the memory of his friend. His heart beat faster and the need to move hit him hard. His palms started to sweat.

  Damn. He needed to get out of here. Now. Before the nightmare took over again.

  When the defense objected to Libby stating that Frank Compton had inflicted the injuries to his wife as hearsay and the judge called both lawyers to his bench, Deke took the opportunity to head to the door. Just before he slipped out the double doors, he glanced at the witness box to see Libby watching him closely.

  More guilt washed over him and he turned from the blue gaze he felt boring into his soul.

  * * * * *

  At the end of Libby’s testimony and cross-examination by the defense, the judge dismissed the courtroom for lunch to reconvene in an hour and a half. She stood with the rest of the courtroom as he exited then turned and hugged Melissa, before Emma and Doc Clint whisked her out of the crowd. The plan was to take her back to their house—not too far from the courthouse, but far from any crowds that would gather at the small restaurants and the Peaches ‘N Cream Café in town.

  In the hallway, she stopped against one marble-tiled wall and considered her testimony. She’d been as factual and professional as she could. Told about the condition she’d found Melissa in, how she’d gotten her to Doc Clint’s clinic and stayed with her all the way to the hospital and her first night. Even the defense had little to question her on other than asking her why Melissa had called her. Her answer for the record was that she was Melissa’s court-appointed Domestic Violence Advocate and friend. The real reason was Melissa had been terrified.

  “I can’t go home.” Melissa’s voice was little more than a whisper in the phone. A car horn sounded in the background and the wind outside was making it sound like a static connection.

  “I’ll be right there.” She was already gripping her purse and keys, heading out the back door. Thank God she hadn’t gotten ready for bed yet. “Keep talking to me, okay?”

  “I don’t want anyone to see me. If they go to the house and wake him…”

  “I’ll be there before that happens.” Once inside the car she set the phone in its cradle on the dashboard and hit the hands-free button. “How did you get to the store?”

  “I walked. He has the only set of keys.”

  The bastard tried to make her a prisoner. “Did you bring any of your things?”

  “No. I just wanted to get away.” She inhaled and a moan sounded through the phone.

  “Are you okay?” Libby asked as she ran the corner red light and turned onto Main Street, headed to the new area of upscale homes where the Comptons lived.

  “It just hurts to breathe. I t
hink he broke a rib this time.”

  It took five more minutes for her to get to the convenience store. Five minutes of her mentally cursing the bastard to hell and five minutes of calmly keeping Melissa on the phone talking to her.

  Yes. Melissa had been terrified, bruised, battered, but not defeated.

  She testified to Melissa’s condition with confidence. She’d refused to let the defense rattle her or twist her words. In fact, the only time she’d stumbled while on the witness stand was when she saw Deacon in the courtroom and when he’s abruptly left. Their eyes connected for a moment, and the sadness in his tore at her heart. His guilt was eating him alive and she couldn’t help him, her own guilt keeping a wall between them.

  With a sigh, she texted Ashley that she was on her way to her office.

  Good. Todd is here. Starting to whine to me. Hurry.

  Libby sighed at Ash’s return text. Todd Banyon was probably the only person who could make her normally optimistic secretary grouse. Which meant that their meeting wasn’t going to be particularly enjoyable. She worked her way through the crowd outside the courtroom hurrying to lunch. Sort of like a salmon going upstream, she headed up the marble steps to her second floor office. Pausing outside the door, she took another deep breath and willed a smile on her face. If she was going to get Todd in and out of her office with any time to relax before going back to court, she needed to start the meeting with as positive an attitude as possible. Maybe it would improve his mood.

  Yeah, and maybe cows would start giving chocolate milk.

  “Hey, Todd. So glad you could meet me here for lunch,” she said a little too cheerily as she stepped into her office with a quick consolatory look at Ashley, before turning her smile on the thin, dark-haired man seated in the uncomfortable waiting area chair. Ashley refused to replace it, saying it kept the idle problem makers from wanting to stick around more than necessary. Only those with tenacity or cast iron butts wanted to sit in that thing overly long.

  “I don’t mind at all, Elizabeth,” he said, standing, a file clutched in his hand.