by Don Aker
Judge Thomas closed the file and leaned back in her chair. At that angle, her eyes barely topped the judge’s bench, and Reef grinned as he imagined her feet dangling above the floor.
His grin did not go unnoticed. The judge frowned. “Counsel, would you and your client please stand?”
Elliott stood so quickly that Reef wondered if there were a spring-loaded ejection device in the lawyer’s seat. Reef ambled to his feet.
“Chad Arthur Kennedy, under Section 430 of the Criminal Code, you are guilty of two counts of mischief resulting in the vandalism of a privately owned truck and an accident that damaged six vehicles and injured three people, one of them seriously.”
A murmur rippled across the courtroom, and Reef could hear a few people mutter their disgust as if all this were a big surprise. Assholes. Hadn’t he pleaded guilty almost three weeks ago? What a show.
The judge waited for silence, which fell almost immediately. “Do you have anything you wish to say?”
Reef had plenty to say, but Elliott, who’d chosen notto have him testify for that very reason, had made him promise he would keep quiet, even made him practice the five words a few times: “No, Your Honor, I don’t.”
“Well then,” she continued, “I am prepared at this time to sentence you.”
Another ripple, this one lasting longer than the first. Thomas glared at the spectators and silence returned to the courtroom. “This case has attracted the attention of the general public as well as many members of the media. All of us here have seen many editorials in the paper and on television regarding the need to get tough on youth crime, to make examples of the perpetrators of these heinous acts that will deter others from performing similarly in the future …”
Reef watched as her lips moved, but he no longer heard what she was saying. Words, words, words. Meaningless, like the “KEEP OUT” signs on The Pit. His whole life had been a “KEEP OUT” sign. He’d listened to it described in detail over the last few days as though listening to people talk about someone else, someone not even in the room.
Elliott had called three people to speak in his defense. The first was Royce Gould, a social worker, who gave a detailed account of the poverty of Reef’s early childhood, the emotional abuse he’d endured from an alcoholic grandparent, the short-lived experiences in numerous foster homes since he was nine. Next was Karl Barker, who offered—in Karl’s eyes, anyway—valuable insight into life spent with troubled teens. Thelast person was a surprise: Elvira Gregory, his eighth-grade English teacher, who commented on Reef’s vast potential as a student—potential that, upon cross-examination, the Crown attorney had shown to be unfulfilled.
“… but the courts are not institutions to be manipulated by public opinion. If the public is dissatisfied with a law, it is the duty of each citizen to become actively involved in the repeal or amendment of that law. The forum for discussions such as these is Parliament or the provincial legislature, not the courtroom.”
Reef had no idea what she was talking about, but he could sense movement behind him. The reporters at the back.
The judge paused again, was rewarded with silence, then continued. “Despite the fact that the public is demanding stiffer punishments, I firmly believe that punishment is not the way to dissuade individuals like yourself from committing crimes such as this one. Numerous studies have shown that incarceration of young people only leads to further instances of criminal behavior. A case in point is your own prior stay at the Riverview Correctional Institute.” A moment passed and, when she spoke again, she addressed the spectators. “More important than fear of punishment is the need for compassion, the need for better choices, the need for young people who commit crimes to recognize that they are and will continue to be membersof a society, and that the actions of everyone in that society impact in some way on every other member.”
More movement at the back. Reef could hear pens scratching furiously on notepads. Where was this going?
“The Youth Criminal Justice Act recognizes that there is no quick fix to youth crime. It supports constructive, long-term solutions intended to foster values of respect and accountability. At the heart of the Act is the principle that criminal behaviour will result in meaningful consequences.”
The judge took off her glasses and folded them carefully, placing them on the file in front of her before continuing. She turned again to Reef. “Mr. Kennedy,” she said, “you have pleaded guilty to criminal acts and, in doing so, have saved the court considerable time and expense. However, you have not shown remorse for your actions.” She shook her head sadly. “In fact, from what I’ve seen in this courtroom, you have demonstrated no concern whatsoever for what you have done.” She paused. “I believe that you need to experience the results of such actions firsthand so you will understand their ramifications and, hopefully, learn to make better choices in the future. I am assigning you to the North Hills Group Home, where you will live for the next twelve months under the supervision of Mr. Frank Colville. When school begins again in the fall, you will attend classes at Bonavista High School, where you will work to your potential.”
She picked up her glasses and brandished them at Reef; “And you will work, young man. Teachers face enough problems in their classrooms without having to deal with people who are sentenced to school. Ms. Rita Hamilton, principal of Bonavista, has agreed to report directly to me every two weeks on your performance, and I’ll be expecting to hear positive news. If I don’t, you’ll find yourself standing in front of me again.”
There was now a buzz in the courtroom, and the judge bristled. “If I have to clear this courtroom to be heard, I’ll do it!” she snapped.
The room fell silent again.
“During the school year, you’ll attend classes and take part in at least two extracurricular activities. Judging from the distance you threw that rock, I’d suggest you try track-and-field events like shot put and javelin.” There was sudden laughter from the back of the room, and the judge shot a stern look at the people who had produced it. Returning her attention to Reef, she resumed, “Beginning this summer and continuing through the school year, you will volunteer your help at one of the city’s rehabilitation centers on two weekday afternoons or evenings and every other Saturday. You’ll learn intimately what suffering is all about, young man. Many of the people in those facilities suffer from crippling illnesses. Others are victims of trauma caused by a variety of accidents, including motor vehicle mishaps resulting from careless actions such asyour own.” She leaned forward. “When Mr. Colville feels you are ready, you will conduct a series of presentations to high school classes and youth groups telling about your experiences and the insight you’ve gained as a result of them. And believe me, young man, you will gain insight. You will feel remorse. I’m going to make certain of that.”
Reef blinked at her. Extracurricular activities? Volunteering at rehabs? Youth groups? Was the woman crazy?
“I can see from your reaction, Mr. Kennedy, that you’re not thrilled with my ruling.” She glanced around the room. “Many others will no doubt share that reaction, but for very different reasons. There’s nothing I can do about that. However, what I can do is try my best to ensure that you become a productive citizen. I’ll be watching you, Chad, and it’s my hope that, when you complete your sentence, you will have a new appreciation for the people with whom you share this planet.”
“She’s outta her goddamn mind!” Reef muttered as the courtroom emptied.
“Shut up,” Elliott hissed. He’d told Reef to remain seated, and the two were now alone except for the handful of people the court security officer was still ushering out. That, however, wouldn’t last long. They still had to run the gauntlet of reporters on the steps outside. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”
That line again. “Fuck off,” Reef snarled as he got to his feet.
Elliott glanced around as he stood up, saw no one within earshot, and spoke through clenched teeth. “Now you listen to me, asshole. I have client
s who give a shit, so the last thing I need is to waste more time with the likes of you. But I want you to understand one thing. Judge Thomas could have crucified you. Instead, she gave you a second chance. Don’t screw it up.”
“Chance to do what? Improve my public speaking? Give me a break!” Reef turned away savagely, kicked a nearby chair so it flipped over backwards and crashed to the floor.
Elliott’s voice was low, but that didn’t mask the venom in his response. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve just been given a break. You get to walk out of here and make a difference in your life. That is, if you have the guts to do it.”
Reef whirled to face him. “What do you know about guts? I could kick your ass from here to Sunday.” It was out of Reef’s mouth before he realized where that line had come from. His grandfather.
The lawyer shook his head. “That’s the problem with you, Reef,” he said as he reached down and pulled the chair upright. “Courage and kicking ass aren’t the same thing. Maybe that’s something you’ll learn in the next twelve months. If not,” he sighed, “I expect I’ll see you here again.” He opened hisbriefcase, slid his files inside, and took a deep breath. “Now comes the hard part.”
“Mr. Elliott! What’s your response to the judge’s ruling?” The throng of people around Reef and his lawyer was overwhelming and questions came quickly.
“Of course we’re pleased,” replied Elliott as he and Reef made their way down the courthouse steps. As instructed, Reef said nothing. He kept his hands inside his jacket pockets so the reporters wouldn’t see his fists. Clenching, loosening, clenching again. He scanned the area for Scar and Bigger and spied them waiting across the street. Scar waved to him.
“Surprised?” called the reporter whom Bigger had confronted.
“We think the judge was fair,” Elliott replied.
An angry sob rose from another knot of people on the steps below them and a woman’s voice shouted. “Fair? It was anything but fair!”
Reef’s glance slid across several faces and he saw, surrounded by television cameras, the man and woman he’d seen in the newspaper and in the courtroom every day. The man had one arm around the woman’s waist, supporting her as she spoke through tears.
“That ruling was a slap in the face!” she sobbed. “My daughter is lying in a hospital bed with injuries to more than half her body, and that animal.” shepointed at Reef, “was sentenced to be a volunteer! For Christ’s sake, can anyone call that fair?”
A number of spectators watching from the sidewalk shook their heads and muttered, and Reef could hear grumbled comments like “Lousy punk!” and “Goddamn psychopath!” One individual who obviously had come prepared held up a sign that said “I’M OFFENDED BY YOUNG OFFENDERS!” Reef pulled one hand out of his jacket to flash them all the finger, but Elliott gripped him by the shoulder and hurried him down the steps past the cameras, the crowd, the hysterical woman.
Chapter 8
The elevator eased to a stop and Matt McKillup announced, “Sixth floor, Hotel Rehab. Any guests for the sixth floor?” The ambulance attendant grinned broadly at Leeza as the doors slid open, but she didn’t respond.
Carly Reynolds, the nurse who had met them at the ground-floor entrance, moved back to allow Leeza’s stepfather to press the button on the elevator panel to keep the doors apart. Her mother stepped out first, making room for Matt and Carly to wheel the stretcher out into the hallway. It was obvious they were taking care to ease it gently over the gap between the elevator and the tile floor. Despite her recent morphine injection, Leeza was in considerable pain, and she appreciated their efforts to keep her from feeling any more discomfort than necessary.
Keeping his finger on the open button, Jack said, “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work.” He appeared to be speaking to Leeza, but it was her mother who turned to face him.
“Right now?” Diane asked.
He nodded. “I’ve missed a lot of time. Things are piling up. You understand.”
Gritting her teeth, Leeza found it hard to concentrate on what he was saying. But she didn’t really need to hear the words. She could read the look on her stepfather’s face, see him groping for whatever excuse would permit him to leave. Nor did she blame him. Now.
He reached out of the elevator and gently squeezed Leeza’s free hand. “I’ll see you soon, honey.” Then, to his wife, “I’ll take a taxi so you can keep the car.” He released the button and the doors slid shut.
Leeza watched her mother stare at the elevator for a moment, trying to rearrange the expression on her face into something other than disapproval. Leeza wanted to tell her it was okay.
Of course, it hadn’t been okay at first. She’d learned that Jack had been to the hospital only a handful of times while she was in the coma, and he hadn’t stayed long after she’d regained consciousness. In the short time he was there, she’d noticed how he avoided her eyes when he spoke to her, his gaze fixed on some point above her head. Not that Leeza commented on this. She was only concerned about one thing now: the next morphine injection that made the pain less immediate, more bearable.
She’d watched her stepfather that morning as they’d wheeled her stretcher down the hospital corridor toward the elevators and the waiting ambulance in preparation for the ride to the Halifax Rehabilitation Center. Watched him glance furtively through open doorways at patients in rooms along the hall. If someone’s eyes happened to meet his, he looked away quickly, his face drawn, his lips a straight line. It was then that she realized how hard this had been for him. First Ellen. And now her.
No, she didn’t blame her stepfather. How could she? The night before, she had tried to look at the pile of cards and notes she’d received, but the pain had made the task unbearable and she’d given up after reading only a few. She’d noted, however, that nearly all of them had arrived within a day or two of her accident, and only Jen and Robin had called her mother in the last two weeks to ask about Leeza and pass along good thoughts. Neither had asked when they could visit.
No, she couldn’t blame her stepfather for not wanting to be there. No one else did, either. Herself less than anyone.
“Well, then,” her mother said, and Leeza could hear her trying her best to mask the annoyance in her voice as she turned to the others. “Lead on.”
Rolling the stretcher down the hall, the ambulance attendant resumed the steady patter he’d begun the moment he’d arrived at the ACU. He’d talked about growing up in Conception Bay, Newfoundland; about the basketball team he played on in his spare time; about the best choices for pets, the rising cost of gasoline. how buying in bulk never seemed to save him any money. Leeza hadn’t been able to focus on his wordsand was thankful that her mother had responded with equally meaningless small talk. But now her mother was quiet.
As if sensing the sudden awkwardness, Matt McKillup began cracking jokes nonstop in his thick Newfoundland accent. By the time they’d reached Leeza’s room, the nurse was laughing out loud, and even her mother had begun to smile. Leeza, however, stared straight ahead. The rehab’s sixth floor was where she’d be living for at least the next three months, and she fought to keep a lemon-sized lump of homesickness from rising in her throat. How different this place was from their cozy two-story on Connaught Avenue. There, everything was color and light. An interior decorator, her mother had transformed their home from its original traditional blandness into a stylish combination of comfort and elegance that drew admiring comments from everyone who saw it. Now, as the attendant steered the stretcher through a doorway near the end of the hall, Leeza’s heart sank. She closed her eyes to the beige walls and listened to the sounds around her: voices low in conversation, a television host describing fantastic prizes to be won, a toilet flushing, footsteps at the other end of the hall, a guttural moaning that suggested someone in terrible pain. That last sound reminded her of the agony awaiting her when the nurse and ambulance attendant would move her from the stretcher to the bed. She clenched her teeth and opened her eyes.
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“Ride’s over,” Matt announced. He eased the stretcher to a stop beside one of the room’s two beds. Although both were empty, a hairbrush, several chocolate bar wrappers and other personal items on the table next to the bed by the window were evidence of another occupant. Leeza saw a name written in marker on a card at the head of the bed: Brett Turner. She was sharing a room with a guy?
The nurse must have noticed her startled expression. “It’s not what you think. Brett’s a woman. You’ll like her. She’s only a couple years older than you are.”
“I brought her in …” Matt looked to Carly for confirmation. “What’s it been? Six weeks ago? Seven?” The nurse nodded as the ambulance attendant moved around to the other side of the bed. “A real character, that one,” he said. He and Carly grasped opposite edges of the stretcher sheet and gently eased Leeza onto the bed, then slowly drew the sheet out from under her. Despite their efforts to move her smoothly, Leeza gasped as white-hot needles jabbed at her left side, and she tried to focus on Matt’s steady stream of words. “You’ll have to be on your toes, Leeza, sharin’ a room with the likes ‘a her.”
“I heard that.” Although the result was another stab of pain, Leeza couldn’t help turning slightly to see a tiny redhead grinning at them from a wheelchair in the doorway. “Carly, do they still let goofy Newfies in this place?”
Matt grinned. “Speak ‘a the devil.”
“Devil?” the redhead chided. “This from a guy with a stretcher for a back seat?”
Matt shook his head at Carly. “By now I should know better than to tangle with that one, eh?”
Smiling, the nurse made introductions. “Leeza, meet Brett Turner. Brett, this is Leeza Hemming.”