Dark Chapter

by Winnie M. Li

  He nods, and McLuhan looks between him and Da.

  “So you be prepared for that. Know your version of the events inside and out.”

  He smiles, small and secret.

  *

  She goes straight back to the hotel and gets into bed. Barbara, called as a witness for the trial, has arrived from DC, and wants to take her for dinner in a few hours. Jen and Erika have gone down to the hotel bar, to make phone calls, drink cocktails, try to forget the stress of the courtroom.

  But for her, that is impossible. The thought of all that public chatter and clinking in the bar. No, she needs to be inside, under covers, away from people.

  She draws the curtains shut, lights some scented candles, flicks on the TV, surfs aimlessly through channels, and flicks it off. Lies back on the bed. Her mind is empty, devoid of thoughts.

  She is tempted to run a hot bath, but looks at the messages on her phone first.

  Her sister, Serena:

  How did it go on the first day? Thinking of you. Let me know if you want to talk. xxx

  And Stefan:

  Did they jail the bastard yet? Wish I were there to smash his face in, but please do it instead through your eloquent testimony. Lots of love, call if you need anything.

  And Caroline, whom she hasn’t seen in months:

  Thinking of you on this difficult first day. Hope it went well x

  She’ll reply to these texts in a bit, she doesn’t have the energy just now.

  Baskets and bouquets of flowers line the floor and shelves of the room. She’s seen most of these last night, but a few more arrived this morning when they were at court.

  An elegant bouquet of purple tulips and white lilies from Melissa. She prises open the tiny envelope and card. Dear Vivian, I am in awe of how strong you are. Just know I am with you in spirit and wishing you the very best. Hope to see you soon.

  She opens other cards.

  Vivian, I can’t imagine what you are going through, but I am with you every step of the way. Lots of strength and support and love.

  Hey Viv, if anyone beats up on my girl, they’re going to get it from me. Sorry I can’t be there, hope the courts do it for us xx

  Each of these messages, in their own way, is a revelation. She always knew she had these friends, but to have it spelled out so clearly, in objects and words, is more than she can bear, in her weakened state.

  For what seems to be the fifteenth time that day, she breaks down. Didn’t think it was possible to shed any more tears, but here they come, familiar, like spring melt finding its way down well-worn stream beds. These tears start silent, but here, in the privacy of the hotel room, surrounded by flowers and tasteful wallpaper and soft cushions, she has all the freedom in the world to sob as loud and as hard as she wants.

  And so she does. Great, heaving shudders that well up from her body. She sits on the carpet, against the side of the bed, and curls over, letting the tears flow.

  The baskets of flowers, the silent television, the closed curtains all bear silent witness. In twenty-four hours, she thinks, it’ll all be over. I’ll be done giving evidence.

  But even then, she knows, it won’t really be over. That will only happen days or weeks from now, when she’ll have to confront the worst moment of all: the verdict.

  *

  In jail, that night, he don’t talk much.

  After rattling on back in the armoured car, handcuffed, his knees crushed up inside, he’s just glad to be back where no one’s staring at him no more. He’s just one of the other lads.

  He lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Thinking what he would do to that woman if he could get his hands on her now. Squeeze that throat and slam her head straight into the concrete wall, over and over, all bloody, ‘til she stops all her crying. That would show her.

  But he can’t reach her now. She’s all dressed up in her fancy clothes, and tomorrow he’ll have to watch her crying all over again to the jury, as he’s stuck in that glass box. Might as well be in another world.

  *

  “Good morning, Ms Tan,” Judge Haslam says to her. He seems brighter today, on Day Two and she’s glad of this, almost wants to smile herself. And then, she realizes how inappropriate it would be for her to smile, on this day, the morning of her cross-examination.

  She nods, a courteous look at the judge.

  “I hope you’ve rested well over the evening, and thank you very much for being back with us on this second day.”

  He reminds her ever so slightly of a staid morning talk show host, absurdly wigged, welcoming her back on stage. A witness stand instead of comfy sofas, but otherwise, the audience is still there, in rapt attention, waiting to be entertained.

  She wonders if she gave them a good enough show yesterday. Today will be harder.

  Today she is wearing a blue-grey knit sweater dress, falling to her calves, with knee-high black boots underneath. She realizes no one will see her shoes when she’s on the stand, so the torture of high heels is unnecessary. She feels more solid in these boots. They are militant, ready for battle. And on this second morning, so is she.

  The figure behind the glass remains just that, a blur. She still has not looked at it directly or assigned it a face. To do so would only distract her from the task at hand.

  The jury have an air of studied concentration about them. She hasn’t won them over yet. Or even if she has, that could all be undone this morning.

  And then, Quilligan QC. The boy’s defence barrister sits in front of McLuhan. He is an average-sized man, without the height of O’Leary, but with more girth. His balding head sprouts grey curls from under the white of the barrister’s wig. He has wire-rimmed glasses and for a moment, their gazes meet by accident.

  So this is the man. The one who has been appointed to tear her story apart.

  She wonders who would ever take on this job, who would willingly do this for a living. Surely no one with a conscience.

  Hold your ground. Don’t let your hatred for him show.

  Quilligan QC stands up, clears his throat, recenters his gaze towards her. It is cold and clinical, and she returns a look that she hopes is similarly devoid of emotion.

  “Now then, Ms Tan.” His voice is calm, almost condescending. A sly smile works across his face. “Let’s begin.”

  *

  Day Two in the courts, and, Jaysus, you could swear there’s more people watching than before. All goggling for a look at her, then swiveling back to look at him.

  Yeah, gape and goggle all you want.

  Today that woman’s gonna get her story ripped into shreds by your man Quilligan. No idea what he’ll be like. Fancy that – your fate being decided by an absolute stranger wearing a stupid wig.

  But either way, grab the popcorn, should be a good show.

  “Ms Tan,” Quilligan starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us a bit more about yourself, your background prior to the events of April 12th. More specifically, about your experience traveling on your own. Could you tell us how often you do this? Go traveling on your own?”

  “Quite a lot, I guess.”

  “How many trips a year do you take?”

  She thinks for a moment. “Business or leisure trips?”

  “Both, please.”

  “I’d say, in total, eight to ten trips a year?”

  “On your own?”

  “Many of them on my own. Some for work, some as a vacation. As a holiday.”

  “And how long have you been doing this? Traveling on your own?”

  “Since I was eighteen, I guess.”

  “And remind us of how old you are now?”

  “I’m thirty.”

  “So for twelve years, you’ve been traveling on your own. Eight to ten trips a year—”

  She cuts in. “Well, it wasn’t always eight to ten trips a year. That’s only happened more recently.”

  “Right, okay. But surely, you’re very experienced at traveling on your own, correct?”

  “I suppose.” />
  “Mm-hmm.” Quilligan looks at the jury. “And this business of hill-walking, of hiking as you say. This is also something you do a lot?”

  “Not at lot, but I’ve done a few hikes on my own.”

  Quilligan sure is taking his time. Better make that a large popcorn. This might be all day.

  *

  Why is he asking me about my hiking and traveling? What’s he getting at?

  She’s answering the questions cautiously, but behind her composed façade, her mind is racing through the possibilities.

  “Where have you done some of these walks on your own, Ms Tan?”

  “In Germany, in France, other parts of Ireland, in Wales.”

  Calm down. He’s only asking you about your travels…

  Yes, but he’s doing this somehow to undermine my story.

  She fixes Quilligan with a stare. Tries not to think ahead. Just answer the questions as they come.

  “And may I ask why do you enjoy walking on your own? Weren’t you ever scared that something might happen to you?”

  “Well, I am now, after what’s happened in Belfast. But until then, I’d always liked being outdoors on my own. There was something… refreshing about it.”

  “And is there something refreshing about traveling on your own?”

  “Yes, I like learning about new places and cultures, meeting new people.”

  Quilligan picks up on this.

  “Ah, meeting new people. And… as a young woman traveling on your own… do you often meet men?”

  “I wouldn’t say I often meet men any more than I meet women.”

  “But you do meet men when you travel on your own, correct?”

  “It’s impossible not to. They make up 50% of the human race.”

  There’s a slight ripple across the courtroom, the crowd finding some humor in her comment.

  O’Leary and Simmons shoot her a cautioning look, and she gets it immediately.

  No one likes a sarcastic rape victim.

  Quilligan plays along, rephrasing his questions. “What I meant was, have you ever met men while you were traveling on your own, and had a romantic encounter with them?”

  She’s tempted to ask him to define ‘romantic encounter’, but she doesn’t want to appear too difficult.

  “It has happened occasionally, yes.”

  “So would you say you derive a certain thrill from romantic encounters with men you meet while traveling on your own?”

  She doesn’t like this question, or its implications. If she were entirely honest, she would say yes now. But she knows that would be damaging to her story. So she words her answer carefully.

  “That’s not why I go. I travel on my own to immerse myself in a place and a culture, not to meet men.”

  Quilligan breathes a patronizing sigh. “Ms Tan, that wasn’t the question. When you meet men, while traveling on your own, do you derive a certain thrill from it? Yes or no.”

  “Not really,” she lies. “I suppose there could be a thrill, but it happens quite rarely.”

  “But there is a thrill. There is a thrill,” Quilligan gloats, as if to press a minor victory.

  But I don’t have sex with these men right away, she wants to say.

  “So you would say that, theoretically, if you were out traveling on your own, and you met a man that you were physically attracted to, you would have no objection to engaging in a romantic encounter with him?”

  Her eyes widen upon hearing this, and she sees Simmons perk up as well.

  “Forgive me for saying this, but can you ask me theoretical questions like that? I don’t see what this has to do with the rape.”

  “Well, this has everything to do with your alleged rape, Ms Tan—”

  But the judge cuts him off. “Please only ask her the necessary, factual questions relevant to the incident at hand, Counsel.”

  Quilligan clears his throat and starts again. “So you admit to deriving a certain thrill from romantic encounters with men you meet while traveling on your own. And prior to meeting the defendant, you had in fact engaged in these kinds of romantic encounters, correct?”

  Time to make things clear. “In all my years of travelling on my own, I have never simply met a man and had sex within hours of meeting him. I’ve met men where there is a romantic energy, I’ve perhaps kissed them, but I’ve never sought to engage in actual sexual intercourse with them right away.” Even from her first backpacking trip in Germany, and in all her traveling since, that has always been the truth.

  “Ms Tan, I was merely looking for a yes or no answer.”

  She levels an unapologetic look at the barrister.

  “So to take us back to the day at hand. Here you are, ready to go on a hike. As you’ve described it, you’ve had a busy few days, lots of dinners and cocktail parties, and on Saturday morning, again, as you’ve described it, you’re looking for some way to escape it all. Correct?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And you’re looking to really let loose, be a bit reckless, and what better way than to go hiking in a park you’ve never been to before in your life? The thrill of the unknown, so to speak. So here you are, looking to let off a little steam, surrounded only by strangers, you’re saying hello to people you pass, you’re very open. Is that correct?”

  “I was saying hello to people I passed because it seemed like everyone else was being quite friendly—”

  “Yes or no, Ms Tan. You were being quite friendly to the people you met?”

  “Yes, I suppose. I said hello to them.”

  “And who should cross your path but this young man, who seemed very interested in getting to know you better. Correct?”

  “He did cross my path, if that’s your question.”

  “And according to you, he asked you for directions. And you were very willing to help him. Is that correct?”

  “I tried to help him best I could—”

  “Yes or no, Ms Tan.”

  “Well, no. I wasn’t very willing to help him, I just tried to help him because he asked me for directions. Like anyone else would.”

  She’s aware that defensive note has crept into her voice again.

  “Ms Tan, I suggest differently. I suggest that you were very willing to speak to this young man who crossed your path. In fact you were feeling a bit reckless, you wanted to let off some steam from the very busy few days you’d had. In fact, you welcomed the chance to meet this young man and see where it might go, correct?”

  “No, I just wanted to go on my hike.”

  “Ah, that might have been your initial plan for the day, but things changed. I suggest, Ms Tan, that you have a bit of a wild streak. Underneath that very polished, very professional, accomplished demeanor, you just want to let loose. You sometimes just want to find a nice young man and see where things go with him, with no obligations and no strings attached.”

  She hates him then. She gives Quilligan a spiteful stare, wishing he’d drop dead and stop speaking. In a sense, yes, she would like to explore the world, meet a nice young man, and see what happens.

  But Mr Quilligan, you’re forgetting the defendant was not a nice young man.

  Only, he never gives her a chance to say that to the jury.

  *

  A lot of fucking words they’ve been spewing up there. Quilligan bashing away, the woman trying to answer back. She’s feisty, this one. He remembers that now from the day. The way she looked at him direct and spoke in that low voice, no messing around.

  She’s like that now. Even though she’s wearing the nice dress, sitting there all smooth. The rest of the crowd are leaning in, listening. Everyone likes a good fight. They seem surprised that she wants to fight back like this. Not sure what they were expecting, from a shy little Chinky.

  Funny, but he don’t know if her speaking up like this is doing her any favours with the crowd. So that’s a good thing for him. Keep speaking up, and they won’t like you no more, bitch.

  Some things you don’t lear
n so well at your fancy schools.

  *

  Quilligan can go burn in hell. But she reminds herself showing anger is unseemly for a rape victim. She tries to stay calm. Her emotions are so volatile right now, she could go in any direction.

  “So you’ve been speaking to Mr Sweeney for ten, twenty minutes now, as you’ve been going on your walk. At any point, if you didn’t want to continue talking to him, you could have done something, correct?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to appear rude.”

  “Rude, Ms Tan? If you were really worried for your safety, you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who’s afraid of appearing rude.”

  She looks at him coldly. “At that time, I wasn’t worried for my safety, because he was just talking to me—”

  Quilligan cuts her off again. “I suggest, Ms Tan, that at no point did you actually want to stop interacting with this young man, because you were quite interested in seeing how things developed.”

  “No, that’s incorrect. I tried to make that phone call as an excuse.”

  “Tried, but failed. You called one friend, and you claim you didn’t have enough of a signal. But you could have tried again, or walked to try and get a signal, correct?”

  “I could have, but I wanted to continue on the hike—”

  “Yes or no, Ms Tan. You could have tried a bit harder to make that phone call, yes?”

  “Yes, I guess I could have, if I wanted to, but—”

  “In fact, if you really wanted, at that very moment after trying to make your phone call, Mr Sweeney wasn’t next to you, you were standing right next to the Glen Road, you could have just stopped your walk. If you were fearing for your safety, you could have walked down to where there were plenty of cars and gone back into town. No one was pressuring you to stay in that abandoned park, so why did you continue on the walk?”

  She’s asked herself that question every day for the past ten months. But to hear it put to her in court like this, from the sniveling mouth of the defence barrister, in argument against her innocence, is the cruelest twisting of the truth.

  She knows that to flash out in anger would appear negative, so she speaks slowly. “I continued on this walk because that’s what I had set out to do. I’d specifically packed my hiking shoes and my guidebook on this trip because I wanted to hike that walk which was described in the guidebook. And I wasn’t about to stop walking just because some annoying kid was trying to talk to me. It never occurred to me that a boy that young would be capable of such a crime.” She turns her eyes to the jury. “Yes, I could have stopped walking, and in hindsight, of course I wish I did. But unfortunately, I continued on my hike, and now I’m here, giving evidence against my rapist.”