A strange, foreboding feeling came over her. Her legs suddenly grew weak and shaky, as if about to buckle. She gripped the doorknob for support and told Maze, standing next to her erect and beaming with confidence for the first time all trial, to enter without her.
“I can’t allow this. Nothing is going to come between me and sweet victory,” she whispered. Straightening, she completely blocked the unexplainable time discrepancy from her mind. She grit her teeth. “Not this day.” She looked up at the ceiling and far beyond, mockingly saying, “Thanks, God, I owe ya one.”
“Are you okay, Ms. Hill?”
Lauren looked up at the kindly older gentleman offering assistance to her. “Fine. Just a headache, that’s all.” She gently brushed him aside and entered the courtroom.
Both counsel and client took their respective seats as the last few stragglers entered behind them. A flash caused Lauren’s eyes to widen. Is it God? She looked up and saw the bronze relief of The Great Seal of California glistening in the rays of the eternal sun. Relief! Pull yourself together, Lauren.
Lauren was mesmerized by the light dancing before her eyes. With great effort, she willed herself to look away. Glowing round spots filled her field of vision as she tried to focus on her notes. Spectral colors danced before her eyes, distorting her vision. Clearly, she had been staring too long at the brightness. She closed her eyes and waited until the multitude of colors blinked out on the dark background of the inside of her eyelids. This, too, shall pass. But please, no more visions. Not today.
Almost immediately after the last seat had been occupied, the room once again filled, the bailiff called everyone to order.
“All rise. Honorable Susan Howell presiding.” A dramatic hush swept over the courtroom as Judge Howell walked toward the bench.
“Be seated.”
Her vision clearing, Lauren chuckled to herself. Honorable, my ass, she thought. The woman’s a bonafide lush. Gone through enough Crown Royal to fill Lake Superior—twice. It’s a wonder the wrinkled prune has any liver left. It relaxed her to indulge in those nasty thoughts.
Lauren glanced at the jury. All twelve were still attentive, still diligent, even after four long days of often heated debate. They were adjusting their chairs and flipping open pads of paper in preparation for taking notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bradley staring at her with longing before finally turning back to shuffling through his prepared note cards. Lauren fought the urge to look back at him and was relieved when he turned away.
For the first time in five days, Maze sat tall and straight, eager to get the trial over with. He emanated strength and self-assurance. Lauren and Ryan looked at each other, surprised.
“Must be the pills,” Ryan said.
Both lawyers were content with the outward changes, although Ryan wondered when Maze’s meds were going to wear off. From there, he felt, it would only be a matter of time before he would revert to his old self. He was still disgusted with Maze’s fabricated stories.
Lauren, on the other hand, was confident after having spoken to Maze. Whatever the man had heard or saw on TV had somehow altered his way of thinking. That was fine with her. As long as he wasn’t disruptive or belligerent, she could care less what he thought he saw.
She turned to the prosecution table, now catching a glimpse of Bradley’s still wandering eye. He smiled at her, but she quickly turned her head. His smile was comforting to her, but she could not figure out what to do about her feelings or if she honestly needed to worry about them at all. Maybe they will take care of themselves, in time.
Judge Howell settled into her seat and faced the prosecution. “Mr. Bradley, are you prepared to start?”
Standing, he affirmed he was and approached the jury.
“May it please the court, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my name is Dillon Bradley, as I’m sure you are aware. This is my first formal opportunity to address you directly. On behalf of everyone on the prosecution team, those working diligently side-by-side with me, Mr. Jack Osterman, Miss Sarah Fields, and Mr. William Robinson, I would like to begin by thanking each and every one of you for the time and attention you’ve put into this case.”
Ryan leaned toward Lauren with a wry smile. “You gonna thank me like that, too?”
“Thompson, I wouldn’t thank you if the world was under nuclear attack and you had built me a bomb shelter complete with a Jacuzzi and swimming pool.”
Ryan lowered his head to the table to contain his laughter. Lauren was about to scold him for leaving Maze alone in the hallway earlier, but just then, in her right ear, she heard, “Why don’t you thank him?”
Lauren’s self-satisfied smile died as fear overtook her. She had heard that voice far too often as of late. The stern, logical words of the Living God filled her hearing. Lauren gripped the edge of the table and froze.
The now familiar likeness of God—the only form in which The Almighty had chosen to reveal Himself to her—was comfortably sitting in a chair next to her, hands loosely clasped around the knee of His crossed legs. He looked relaxed, casual. Gently bouncing His leg up and down, God didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He even thought to bring His Own chair, she noted.
This time, she wasn’t thinking those thoughts mockingly. It was more a nervous musing, as one would think when laughing inappropriately during a tragedy. Inside, she wasn’t laughing. She was frightened out of her wits. Either she was both legally and legitimately certifiable, or God was truly trying to unravel her. Neither option appealed to her.
Lauren scanned the room. From what was taking place around her, it was clear that no one else saw the divine manifestation. Everyone was engrossed in Bradley’s closing arguments. As much as she was hoping others could see what she saw and react accordingly, the vision was solely for her bewildered eyes only.
Lauren turned to face God. As she knew He would be, The Lord was impeccably dressed in a divinely dapper, metallic-looking three-piece suit. It shimmered with the slightest movement. She was certain the strange material did not exist anywhere on planet Earth. The way it flashed and danced in the brightly lit courtroom, it seemed to move fluidly upon him, as if the fabric wasn’t fabric at all. Maybe it wasn’t. As she stared, mesmerized by it, the suit seemed to be alive.
God smiled, a kindly, almost vacant smile, giving the impression He was not in the present, but instead pondering the direction He should take or musing over an event from the distant past. As gratifying as it was having one of the opposite sex gaze in her general direction without gawking at her assets, at the same time it was a bit unnerving. She wasn’t accustomed to it. God’s sparkling aquamarine eyes looked a million miles away. She could have sworn they were sky blue the last time she saw him.
It was refreshingly different, an intimidating kind of intriguing, but only at first. The longer she looked at God, the more she understood He saw her as being of no real consequence, an insignificant speck in the greater universe. He sighed as if impatiently waiting for an opponent to make the next move in a painstaking game of chess. Never had a man reacted to her with such disinterest. It was as if He were bored to death with her. Yes, that was most definitely the term—bored! He casually picked a small piece of lint off of His jacket.
Blessed. He said I should consider myself blessed. Although He had never spoken to her in anything other than a loving fashion, Lauren did not feel blessed at that moment. She was terrified.
Lauren shifted her gaze to the woman on the bench. Seeing the movement, the judge stared back. Nothing seemed amiss. Judge Howell was still Judge Howell. Of course she was. God was seated next to her. What did she expect? Lauren turned to Him, then back to the bench. The judge looked at her, puzzled.
Lauren felt as if there were nowhere to turn. She was being studied as if she were a patient in a psych ward. It didn’t help her fragile state. Back and forth, Lauren looked between God and Judge Howell. The longer she did, the more the walls closed in. Closer and closer they drew. No. No. This isn’t h
appening, she mouthed.
Judge Howell looked with concern at the increasingly anxious defense counsel. Why Ms. Hill was turning her head nervously back and forth between her and the prosecution’s table, she couldn’t say. There didn’t seem to be anything to cause such a reaction. After Lauren’s bizarre behavior the day before, Judge Howell seriously began to question Lauren’s sanity. Everyone has a breaking point, and it looked as if Ms. Hill had reached hers.
I knew I should have called an ambulance yesterday, she thought.
Truth be told, Judge Howell was secretly rooting for Hill in this instance, and not just because of Hill’s usual competence and the challenges facing a working woman. The prosecution’s case was built upon circumstantial evidence and speculative conjecture, and Judge Howell knew it. Juries, however, were fickle. Come on, Lauren, keep it together a few more hours. Your client needs you.
From across the courtroom, the prosecutor’s voice rose as his cadence quickened. “Martin Maze is a murderer of the worst kind. Cold-blooded, ruthless. Ask yourselves, ‘Where is his wife?’”
Lauren heard little. She was fighting hard but felt herself slipping further and further. Unable to grasp the presence of God, she spiraled. She coughed loudly and then whispered into Ryan’s ear, telling him to hold the fort a moment. She pushed back her chair, which scraped across the floor, and stood.
Looking up at her, flabbergasted, Ryan held out his hands in confusion.
He was too late to stop her. Lauren coolly walked down the center aisle and through the doors in the back of the courtroom.
Watching her go, Maze seemed somewhat deflated. “Where’s she going?”
Although he needed reassuring himself, Ryan flashed his pearly whites and told Maze his lawyer would return shortly. Maze didn’t seem at all comforted by Ryan’s evasive answer, but what could he do? Maybe he could have fired her, maybe not. It hardly mattered anyway, since the vision of last night had reassured him everything would turn out in his favor.
Watching his adversary leave, Bradley continued as if this sort of thing happened all the time.
“Either Amanda Maze was a world-class swimmer, or she is in a watery grave. It has already been established she was not a world-class swimmer. I believe that is all you need to know about this case.”
Eyes forward, Lauren bolted down the corridor to the women’s restroom. She couldn’t look behind her, didn’t dare to. If she saw Him, Lauren was afraid the last remaining thread of her sanity would snap. She never believed it, never thought it was conceivable, but the adage that there was a fate worse than death was true. She wished she were dead. Scared out of her mind, she began hyperventilating. Why? Why is this happening to me? she wondered. On the verge of tears, she picked up her pace. At least the hounds hadn’t tried to follow her this time. She flung open the door to the ladies’ bathroom and dashed inside, slamming the door behind her.
Panting, Lauren went directly to the sinks. She placed her hands on the middle basin and turned on the cold water. Something was dreadfully wrong. She began to shake. This was no Los Angeles earthquake; the unwelcome trembling was coming from within. At first, she thought she might be having a seizure. It became difficult to remain upright. Her legs were giving out. Looking down at her trembling hands, she felt extremely weak. “Concentrate, Lauren!” she scolded herself.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Lauren was appalled at the reflection staring back at her. She didn’t look as disheveled and pathetic as she had the day before: her make-up was intact. However, she looked every bit as scared as she felt, as if she were on the verge of collapsing.
Lauren reached for a paper towel and ran it under the water. She closed her eyes and placed the cool, damp cloth over them. It had the desired effect. A few seconds later, she removed the soothing paper and focused on the reflective surface in front of her. “Mirrors are so cruel,” she said aloud. “They never lie.”
Then, there He was. One second, He was not there, the next, standing behind her in the chrome and glass was the unmistakable reflection of the Almighty.
Lauren quickly spun around, as much to confront her nemesis as to confirm His existence. She was definitely not seeing things. “God!”
He smiled but remained silent.
Fear left her, replaced immediately with controlled anger. “What are you doing in the ladies’ bathroom? You can’t come in here.”
“No?” He snickered.
“No! If you have to go, the men’s room is down the hall,” she pointed.
God laughed heartily.
It did sound ridiculous. In spite of everything, Lauren chuckled. But that small emotional display cracked her barriers. “No, no, no. This isn’t happening!” She turned off the faucet and closed her eyes. Soon, her own faucets started. “This is nuts. I’m fucking nuts.” She tried desperately to calm herself, but once the first tear dribbled down her cheek, there was no stopping them.
God approached and wiped away her tears. Even though His presence was the reason she was freaking out, His touch was comforting. Lauren’s tears dried immediately.
God knew what she needed to hear, even if it was totally off topic. “Lauren, your mother did not see or hear the Virgin Mary.”
Lauren calmed. Her breathing slowed to normal, a perfect twelve breaths per minute.
“But you are indeed hearing and seeing me. This, I can assure you,” He paused. “I am not a figment of your imagination. This is true reality—reality beyond that of what you think you know. Do not minimize this experience or opportunity.”
Questions flooded her. “What opportunity?”
“To pour out your heart. You see, and yet you continue to marvel.”
“Oh, gawd!”
God took exception to His name being taken in vain and opened His mouth to speak.
“I know, I know,” she said, holding up a manicured hand. “Please, don’t say anything. Just an expression.” Then she added, “Oh, my gawd, what the hell am I saying. I’m certifiable, I’m 5150! I think I’m talking to God. I’m yelling at God. What God? Oh, gawd! Why is this happening!”
All the while, Lauren was pacing back and forth. When finished with her tirade, she checked the door. No one was coming in. It was just her and the Almighty, and He wasn’t at all happy.
“Do not trifle with Me, Lauren.”
The room shook as the full weight of his words crashed down upon her. He now had her undivided attention.
Continuing calmly, God said, “Ours is a business of love and compassion, not a trivial one of this or that, come and go, or here and there. Do you deny me? My existence? If so, you only deny yourself of the abundant fruit of rapturous joy. Crazy is everything outside this Holy Communion. Be not confused or scared, but at peace, Lauren. You are assuredly not insane.”
Lauren was overwhelmed with dark memories of her mother. Tears flowed freely again. “When I saw her, when I saw my mother, she would babble and call me.”
“Fear not. You are not your mother.”
“But I don’t understand you. I don’t want to be insane . . . but I don’t understand what’s happening.”
God waved a hand. Lauren’s tears dried, instantly. She couldn’t open to His thoughts and teachings in such an unproductive state.
“Be determined to trust Me. Then, in turn, you will be able to trust yourself. Abstain from all sin, but especially lust. Be ethical and honest. Do not try to deceive or give false hope to anyone. Know you have limitations. Do not puff yourself up with pride. And do not hurt the feelings of others.”
Lauren absorbed His words and looked down at her shoes. A wave of conviction washed over her. It was now all coming together. Lauren was about to say her last line of the play and the theater would fill with applause. But there was momentary silence. She was going to say something. Tell God she understood and apologize for her sinful ways.
The door Lauren was leaning against was suddenly pushed from the outside. God disappeared. Lauren moved aside, and a tall woman e
ntered. Seeing Lauren’s misery, the woman asked if she was okay.
Wiping her tears, Lauren unconvincingly said she was.
Not buying it, the woman dug through her large purse. “Here you go,” she said, handing Lauren a pack of tissues. “Take the whole pack.”
Before she could change her mind, Lauren did. Then, looking at her watch, she produced a smile. Once again, God had slowed time. Looking up, she said, “I owe you another one.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
For Lauren Hill, closing arguments were more than a mere summary of the evidence or the last chance to impress upon a weary jury the enormity of the prosecution’s burden of proof. She found only limited satisfaction in persuading them that enough reasonable doubt had been established to find the defendant not guilty. What she loved was the occasion to perform, to speak at great length without interruption on a grand stage. It was like being on Broadway, but without the hot spotlights and demanding audiences. A crowded courtroom afforded her the opportunity to strut her stuff, show off her extensive vocabulary and honed speaking ability, while verbally thrashing her opponent for lack of preparation and proof. Normally, she thrived on the intensity, the pressure of being in the limelight. It was gratifying. It was electrifying. It was titillating. All that had changed this time, however, and she was visibly rattled.
But no matter how nervous she might be, it was nearly showtime.
Judge Howell glared at Lauren as she quietly walked into the courtroom and took her seat. From the scowl on the judge’s face, Lauren knew the woman running the show was not pleased with her behavior.
Judge Howell had been lenient with Lauren because of her gender, because she saw the enormous strain she had been under, and because, up until yesterday, she had presented a phenomenal case for her client’s acquittal. However, everyone had a job to perform, and she expected it to be done to the letter. It was a system of laws, a system of order, and Lauren was disrupting that delicate balance. It no longer mattered to her what was going on inside that overworked head of hers. As much as she admired Lauren, she could not tolerate another interruption.
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