We'll even go so far as to begin in the middle of a sentence.
—gone yet? Good, good.
—Sir? Get that thing out of my courtroom. Thank you. All the way out. When I kick out the cameras, sir, I kick out the cameras; I don't mean to have them lurking about in the anteroom. I mean, out, out, out.
—But, Your Honor, we've paid generously for the broadcast rights to—all right, Your Honor. Yes, sir. Good-bye, sir. Thank you, sir.
…
—and now, Counselor, you will reveal to this court exactly why your next witness is arriving in so remarkable a fashion.
—He always travels this way, Your Honor.
—Objection! The defense is attempting to offer a corpse as a defense witness!
—You must admit, Counselor, that the prosecution does have a point.
—He's not exactly dead, Your Honor. He just travels this way.
—In a coffin.
—Yes, Your Honor.
—Well, I'll be damned. Strike that. I think you will all agree that I made the right call in getting rid of the press. We can all relax now and get to the bottom of this nonsense, without getting yet another lead story on the CBS Evening News. Miss Anderson, strike all that—all of it. This is not going to be a trial for the TV trial junkies. No. This is life and death… some would add even undeath. Don't expect me to run this courtroom like Judge Itoh. More like Judge Dredd. Strike that, too, Miss Anderson, strike, strike, strike, strike, strike. Now I'll stop pontificating and turn things over to you overpaid lawyers.
—The prosecution continues to object, Your Honor.
—Sustained.
—Your Honor, we cannot present this case without this witness's testimony.
—Then I will reconsider the objection when the witness deigns to get out of the coffin.
—He can't yet, Your Honor. But I believe he will be able to in about five minutes…
—Five minutes you may have. The court will recess for five minutes… no, let's say ten. Some of us still smoke.
—Well, Counselor?
—I don't understand it, Your Honor, but the witness doesn't appear to have stirred.
—Does the defense counsel propose to attempt to resuscitate the witness? We do have paramedics on call, do we not? Or will smelling salts do the trick?
—Your Honor, this has gone on far enough. Defense's sense of the theatrical is a little ill-timed, don't you think? I mean, they defend a few big-name actors, they think they're Perry Mason. Can I continue to state my objection?
—Your objection stands. Bring on your next witness, Counselor.
—We confess, Your Honor, we're sort of at a loss. In view of the apparent immobility of our star witness, we'd like to… ah… may I look at my notes?… Jeremy Kindred. Yes. He's on the list.
—Very well.
—State your name for the record.
—Jeremy William Kindred.
—How old are you, Jeremy?
—I'm… I don't know exactly. Fifteen, sixteen.
—Are you a vampire?
—Yes.
—Are you a member of the group variously known as the Brotherhood of Blood, the Cult, the Vampire Society?
—I was, sir.
—You were?
—I was for a while, sir, but it was just what you'd call peer pressure, and no sir, I didn't kill nobody, didn't drink nobody's blood.
—Just answer the question, young man.
—Uh, sure, Your Honor.
—Tell us about it… in your own words, if you'd like.
—Objection! This is all irrelevant. The witness wasn't even at the killing. He's just wasting the jury's time.
—I think it's important to my case, Your Honor, that we clearly illustrate the circumstances under which these kids could come to believe that these crimes were not only acceptable, but desirable.
—Listen. The cameras are off, Counselors. There's no more need for posturing. The jury is going to zone out completely unless you entertain them with a good story. So, kid, let's have it.
—Uh…
—You may proceed, Jeremy.
—Well, sir, I really joined it for the sex. I mean, there was a rumor that the Brotherhood had these orgies in the old Hanson house.
—That's an abandoned house?
—Yes, sir, by the cemetery. I don't know why it ain't been tore down yet; it's kinda an eyesore. It's condemned, though. I always used to walk past it on my way to school. It's a big old place, creaky doors, peeling paint, scary statues of devils with leathery wings… and the big angel with the bronze sword… not shiny anymore, green mostly… not since the ringleaders of the Brotherhood was all put in jail. But that used to be the weirdest thing about that place. It was all crumbling and dirty except for that sword. That tall angel stood next to them wrought-iron gates and it held its sword high in the air and the sword was all polished… and you know, walking to school in winter, with the sun just rising, you could of swore that thing was on fire. The way it caught the sunlight. So the kids called it the Flaming Sword, like the preacher says about the Angel of Death. Anyways… there was this rumor that someone had wild parties there… you might call them raves, I guess… lotta E, lotta dope, lotta loose wenches, if you know what I mean. So when Cat Sperling kept looking at me from the other end of the hall, she was a senior and all, with tits like balloons, you could say I was interested. Everyone knew that Cat had something to do with them parties. And everyone wanted that bitch, shit, even the girls wanted her. But there's something weird about her that you need to know. It wasn't no big Hollywood special-effect kinda thing but… she carried the night around with her…
—Could you explain that a little more clearly, Jeremy? Take your time.
—Well, sir, it didn't matter if the sun was out, or if all the lights was on inside that school room. She always had like a shadow on her. Her skin was real pale, and it glimmered… well, like the moon was shining… but just on her, you understand, just on her. There was a silvery thing about her eyes, too… you know like when you're in the woods all alone at night and you catch the moonlight dancing amongst the leaves… you catch my drift, sir?
—You're saying she was attractive. She had a unique look. Some kind of makeup, perhaps.
—Yeah well, it was like on no infomercial about pearly essence face cream… a lotta girls use that shit… she was different. It was like she was the real thing, and the others were all just imitating her. Did I tell you about the black hair? It was long, all the way to her waist. And she wore black lipstick. It matched.
—A Goth, then.
—More than that. Like I said. Not a wanna-be. The real thing.
—Objection, Your Honor, I fail to see how this catalog of feminine charms has any relevance whatsoever to the defense's case!
—Stop posturing, Counselor. I've sent away the cameras; and the jury looks awake for the first time since this sorry spectacle began. I'm going to allow it. You may proceed, Mr. Kindred.
—Just tell the story in your own words, Jeremy.
—Well, I still think he's fishing, Your Honor.
—I've already overruled your objection.
—Jeremy?
—Yes sir. Cat Sperling, sir.
—Cat Sperling let you know, through some kind of sign language or eye contact, that she had something to discuss with you.
—Not exactly, sir.
—What did she let you know?
—She wanted to fuck me, sir.
—Watch your language, young man! Try to act in a manner consistent with the dignity and majesty of the law—what's left of it!
—I'm sorry, Your Honor; I don't know no other word for what she was trying to say.
—Very well, then. The court will take into account the deprived environment you clearly come from.
—I ain't no trailer trash, Your Honor!
—Quite so, young man, quite so. Why don't you finish telling your story to the court?
—Sure, Your Honor. Like I
said, I got the Look from her. There ain't no mistaking the Look, sir. From all the way across the hall, and I knew she wanted me. Well, so there's a place you go to when you give someone the Look… at least that's how it works at Edward Kramer High. The place is up on a hill, you know, the hill just north of the cemetery. There's a road that winds up, and a hiking trail as well. At Kramer, we don't need to pass notes; it's a tradition; you get the Look, and if you give the Look back, then you go meet on the hill. If you hold up one finger, it means tonight, two fingers means we'll set a time later. Well, Cat held up one finger; everyone saw it, even if they didn't say nothing; Kramer ain't a kiss-and-tell kind of a school.
—It's an ancient tradition, then.
—I'd say so, sir.
—One that your parents would know about. That even a few members of this jury may well have experienced, if they happened to have gone to your high school.
—Did Cat Sperling meet you on the hill that night?
—Yes, sir.
—Did she then proceed to initiate you into the Brotherhood of Blood?
—Oh, no, sir. You can't get in just like that.
—Tell the court what happened, Jeremy.
—Well, that night, I went up to the hill. I borrowed my mom's Malibu. I don't have a license, but you said I'd have immunity, right?
—This is a multiple-murder case, Jeremy. I don't think the court is too worried about your license.
—Okay, okay. Well, she was waiting there all right. She was every bit as enticing as the rumors said. It was windy and her hair was flying every which way… and catching the moonlight. She leaned against a tree with a joint in one hand… I can say that, can't I?… and her eyes were wild. I couldn't believe my luck. I mean, to tell you the truth, I'd never done it before. Unless you count, one time, in summer camp—
—That's all right, Jeremy. I don't think the court needs an exegesis of your sexual experiences.
—Okay. So she says to me, Jeremy Kindred, I've had my eye on you. You're a good-looking kid. And I says, Yeah, they say that. I'm tall for my age, almost six feet already. And she says, You got that unplucked look. Like a glistening round apple in a tree… a fresh smell, apple-scented shampoo maybe, a little-kid smell in a big-kid body… and I know how much you want me, seen how you stare at me—across the hallway or last week when we had that big assembly with the Yankee AIDS speaker. Here, take a drag of this, it'll relax you; I know your heart's pounding, boy. Really pull on it, hard, I mean hard. Come closer. You always wanted to touch them, didn't you? Here. Put your hand on them. Through the sweater for now, I ain't no whore… I know you like it, Jeremy Kindred. So well, I felt them titties, and they were fine. Firmer than I thought they'd be. Fairly straining against the wool they was. Got a rise out of me, lemme tell you. It was something to be alone on the hill with Cat Sperling. It sure turned my head. I didn't even think nothing of it when she asked for a drop of blood.
—So let me get this straight, Jeremy. This woman, this older woman—
—She won't but three years older than me, sir, if that!—
—Well, for the sake of argument, a slightly older and certainly much more sophisticated woman… lures you to a well-known trysting spot… gets you all hot and bothered… and suddenly asks to drink your blood?
—She didn't say drink, sir. You're jumping the gun on the story. She just said, Jeremy, you cute-as-a-button boy toy, let me have a drop of blood. The drinking didn't rightly occur to me, not at that moment… I don't know what was occurring to me, really, excepting I wanted to get inside her jeans something fierce. I knew she was a member of that Brotherhood thing, so blood had to figure in it somewhere… like swearing blood brotherhood with your best buddy in junior high or something. Well, she asked for a drop of blood, and by now we were in the backseat of the Malibu, I forgot to say that, didn't I?… and I was reaching into her jeans… it didn't feel down there like I thought it would… more leathery… and slick… like a beat-up old wallet. And she was all, I have a needle here, and I just need a little bit, just a thimbleful would do the trick right fine. And she reached into a back pocket and pulled out a hypodermic. The needle glinted in the moonlight that reflected off the rearview mirror and you know what, it made me mighty hard, more than I'd ever felt before in my life, 'cause I guess there was something dark about it, something forbidden… and this was how she did it… she yanked my pants down to my knees and kinda crouched down and pushed me up into her, and at the same time she jabbed that needle into my chest, like she was fixing to impale my heart. Well, I can't tell you how that made me feel, I mean, I just about burst right then and there, after being inside of her only a minute… and then I thought, well, I'm screwed for sure, because Cat Sperling ain't gonna want a green kid who can't last but a minute inside the famousest pussy in town.
—Your Honor, I simply have to object. I just don't see how this catalog of adolescent fumbling can possibly relate to the defense's case.
—If you'd bear with me for a second, Your Honor, I believe the witness is about to reach a crucial point of evidence in the defense's case… the blood.
—All right, Counselor. But if you don't reach some kind of relevance within the next two minutes—
—Jeremy, tell the court about what happened next.
—Well, sir, she didn't seem to pay no mind to the fact that I come inside her. She was only interested in the blood. When she saw that stream of red gushing into that syringe, she started thrashing and heaving and carrying on something fierce. She was all moaning, too… and shrieking… like a passel of cats in a back alley. I never seen anything like it, sir, and I've watched a lot of pornos. And then she's all shuddering to a climax right there in the backseat of my Malibu. And the blood's dribbling from her lips… but it's not a scary thing… it's warming her, lighting up her face… her cheeks were pale before, but now they're all blushing just a bit. And then she says to me, I want you to join. Join what? I asks her, but I already know what she means. I said, I heard there's a lotta parties, and in them parties you all get down, if you know what I mean. Parties right in the cemetery's what I heard. She smiled. You're coming to the very next one, she says, and it's on Friday the Thirteenth… next weekend… but it'll probably last until Sunday morning… when some of us, the ones that aren't in too deep, who can still stand the vibes, why, we go to church. I'm thinking that it can't be that bad if they go to church afterwards. So I say, Sure, I'll come. And she says, Be sure and bring your best Mend Jody.
—Who did she mean by that?
—Jody Palmer, my best friend.
—The defendant?
—Yes sir, he sure is.
—I trust the prosecution is now satisfied as to the relevance of this witness?
—We continue to object, Your Honor. All this is fascinating in a prurient sort of way… I can see the reporter from CBS in the back there, desperately looking for an opening to demand the cameras back… but the fact remains that Jody Palmer killed several people, including his mother… and that he's being tried for murder.
—Your Honor, we must have some latitude here. The prosecution's perfectly aware that we're trying to establish that the defendant was under such crippling social and emotional pressure that he believed he no longer had a choice. You must allow the witness to—
—Your Honor! The coffin lid is shaking!
—Well, hold it down, Bailiff!
—I can't! There's something inside… struggling to get out!
—Jesus Christ, I forgot daylight savings time! Sunset's an hour later!
—Cut the profanity, Counselor.
—I'm sorry, Your Honor, but—
—I'm fining you a thousand dollars for contempt. Get your checkbook out this minute, Counselor. Bailiff! Control that coffin!
—Blast! The lid's off!
—Well, put it back on.
—It's fighting back! Someone's inside—and he—she—it's trying to sit up!
—Well, restrain him, Bailiff.
—I
t's a woman, Your Honor… a young woman.
—Cat!
—The witness will refrain from speaking unless it is in response to a question from counsel, or from myself.
—Oh. Yes, Your Honor. Yes, sir. I didn't mean to—
—Counsel for the defense… you've been referring to this witness in the masculine gender from the beginning. And now that your witness has deigned to emerge from her… ah… conveyance, she appears to be very, very feminine indeed. Exceptionally so, and flaunting it besides. Do you always instruct your witnesses to appear in court in flimsy negligees? Is this a courtroom or a Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue? For God's sake, madam, cover yourself! Bailiff… a cloak for the witness. I won't have the jury distracted by her endowments. In fact, I won't have the jury distracted at all; Counsel, I want an explanation.
—Your Honor, could we have a brief sidebar? This isn't the witness we had in mind for this portion of the testimony. There appears to have been a… misunderstanding.
—Oh, Jeremy… you sure are a sight! You look real small and scared and powerless up there in that witness box. But it's okay, baby. Cat's here now. Cat will hold your hand. It's gonna be all right. You didn't do nothing wrong… and it's not you that's on trial.
—But Cat… you're dead! I saw you die!
—Death ain't nothing, baby. Just another kind of doorway. And there's more than one way of going through that doorway… you can let them shove you through, and you can let them flush the key down the toilet bowl of eternity… or you can wrest that key out of their hand and take it with you… so they can't slam the door in your face… so you can rive forever on the edge of life and death… I did it, baby, just like I said I would… I did it, baby. Oh, yes, I crossed over, and I crossed back. Just like the Duke said. And you can do it, too. Don't be afraid, Jeremy. Oh, and Mr. Counsel… the Duke says he's sorry, but he can't be in court tonight. Something's come up. He sent me instead. I can give all the evidence you need.
—The Duke, as you call him, Miss… Sperling, is it?… is under subpoena.
—Subpoenas don't work too good on dead people, Mr. Judge. If the Duke wants to come to your court, he'll come; but your laws don't really apply to him. The undead have their own laws. There's nothing in the constitution about them.
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