“Ms. Bernhart, it is my understanding that you kidnapped your brother from the hospital because you felt that his care was inadequate and you had exhausted all legal recourses available to you. Is that correct?”
I nod, my mouth too dry to speak.
“Is that a yes, Ms. Bernhart?”
I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say. “Sir. Your Honor.” I wince at my stumbling.
“Both of you, it is my understanding that you jumped bail not to avoid prosecution, but in order to research Hyper-Aggression Disorder and find those responsible. Is that correct?”
I look at Mila, who says, “Yes, Your Honor. I knew that I could do it faster than anyone else working on the problem and that I could not do it from a jail cell.”
“Ms. Bremer, that decision was not yours to make,” the judge says tartly. “By making this decision on your own, you placed your own wisdom superior to the wisest heads involved in our government and judiciary. Do you think you know better than all of us?”
I wince again. This is Mila we’re talking about. Humility is not her strong suit.
“It was my idea, Your Honor,” I interject. “It’s my fault.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bernhart, but I’d like to hear from Ms. Bremer,” the judge says.
My cheeks heat up.
Mila says, “I understand that I should have made an effort to pursue a remedy within the law.” It sounds rehearsed, but the judge seems to accept it.
“That is correct. Next time, try having a little faith in the system. You might be surprised.” The judge turns to me. “Ms. Bernhart, do you have anything else to say on your behalf before I accept your guilty plea and decide your sentencing?”
I let out a long breath. I rehearsed all sorts of arguments while I waited in my jail cell over the past weeks, but eventually, every argument fell apart on me. “No, Your Honor. Just that I really was trying to help Jamie and all the other victims of HAD.”
He nods and directs the same question to Mila. She simply says, “No, thank you, Your Honor.”
“Very well.” Judge Keith turns back to Mr. Harren. “I understand you have certain recommendations?”
My heart hammers even harder as Mr. Harren shuffles his feet. He seems much less dramatic in today’s proceedings than the last time we met. The wind seems to have been taken out of his sails, but I’m not sure what that means yet.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mr. Harren says. “Given the instrumental role that Ms. Bernhart and Ms. Bremer played in exposing the conspiracy behind Eve and bringing about a rapid cure for the disorder, and given that their goals were clearly noble ones, we feel it would be unreasonable to require them to serve time beyond that which they have already served.
“On the other hand, we recognize that they committed serious crimes when they took matters into their own hands, and we want to be sure that we get their attention and make it clear to everyone involved and everyone watching that this kind of lone-wolf activity is not appropriate. We feel that a conviction, time served, and a lengthy probationary period should be adequate to ensure that.”
My heart skips several beats. They’re not sending us to prison?
The judge turns to Mr. Pataky. “Are you in agreement with these recommendations, Mr. Pataky?”
“I am, Your Honor. I reiterate what I said in our last meeting. These are ordinary, upstanding citizens. They were caught up in dramatic, once-in-a-lifetime events. I don’t expect that any of us will ever see them in court again, unless it’s to testify against Peake International.”
The judge sighs. “Very well. Then I sentence the both of you to time served and to five years’ probation. You are required to maintain gainful employment for the duration of your probation, and if you commit any crime during that time, your probation will end and I will see you in this court again. Do either of you wish to revoke your guilty plea and go to trial?”
“No, Your Honor,” I say, hardly able to believe it. “Thank you, Your Honor.” Mila echoes my words.
“Then this court hereby accepts your guilty pleas. The sentences stated are to be entered into the record. Dismissed.”
A huge grin takes over my face. I believe I get a lot of credit for waiting until we are out of the courtroom to kiss Mila.
Mr. Pataky seems to be in a hurry to move us out of the courthouse, and I’m okay with that, even while I struggle with the crutches. I’m so busy thanking him that I don’t even register the crowd outside until I’m on the courthouse steps and the roar of applause and cheering gets my attention. I look around—and then I see the signs.
“Welcome Back!”
“Mila and Phoebe Rock”
“We Love You”
They’re shouting our names.
Well, I’ll be damned. We’re coming home heroes after all. With my eyes wide and one hand over my open mouth, I survey the cheering faces. I recognize some of these folks. There’s Sara from Grady Hospital, and Abhay and Derrick, and Deonte. And others from my Collective—Ian, Shannon, Wayne… I hobble on my crutches from person to person, hugging them and mumbling incoherent words of happiness.
And then I see a particular face, framed with shaggy blond hair, in the front line of the crowd, and my heart just about stops.
It’s Jamie. He’s thinner than I’d like to see and he’s in a wheelchair, but he’s sitting up, fully alert, shouting my name, and holding up a sign that says, “That’s My Sister.”
I burst into tears as I hurry to him. I lean over to hug him, and we both squeeze each other like crazy while people around us erupt in shouts and air horns and God knows what other noisemakers. I’m too busy crying to speak. Someone hands me tissues, and I wipe my face.
“How do you like your party?” Jamie asks with a mischievous grin.
“You did all this?” I ask. “How did you even know we were getting out today?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Mr. Pataky said the odds were good.”
I punch him on the shoulder. “I should have known you would do something big and loud and obnoxious.” It’s not a complaint, and he knows it. He laughs at me.
“Just wait for the Hummer limo pickup,” he says. “And the ceremony with the mayor of Atlanta giving you the key to the city. And the fireworks display that’ll write your names in the sky.”
I’m open-mouthed and red-faced with embarrassment—and happiness. I fall back on punching him again. He laughs and punches me in return.
Ah, yes. I have my brother back.
Epilogue
In what seems like no time at all, we’re back home with Tobi and cat-Phoebe, settling back into a normal life.
I suspect that, with felony convictions on our records, it will take us a long time to get work again. After a discussion with Mila that is long and very frustrating but entirely logical (on her side), I finally agree to let her support me out of her savings.
As it turns out, however, the government is willing to overlook our felony convictions, considering the good we did. Mila ends up in network security with the Department of Homeland Security, and I end up at the CDC, researching the possibility of future outbreaks of “disease” caused by Navis. Both departments also give us the time off we need to testify at various trials.
More importantly, by the time it has all settled out—by the time everything has died down—Mila and I have settled into the coziest, happiest relationship I’ve ever known.
Mila’s lack of a Navi makes me continually aware of whether I’m fully present with her or not, and just by being present, the quality of our time together is much better than I’ve ever experienced before.
When we’re together with my Navi off, we curl up on the sofa, listening to cat-Phoebe purr, looking out of the window at the vivid colors of the flowers and sky and trees and cars and people, and just absorbing it all—just feeling that we’re together and safe and alive, just putting all of our attention into those beautiful moments.
I’ve discovered that feeling another person’s warm body against your ow
n is a form of bliss that nothing can replace, but only if it’s mindful—only if you’re fully aware and present and putting every bit of yourself into it. And now I can do that.
THE END
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Acknowledgments
This novel required a lot of research on numerous topics, and I am indebted to the lovely people who shared their time and knowledge with me:
A big “thank you” to Dr. Dennis Fehr for his insight into Plain people society. Thank you, Dr. Jeffrey D. Schlitt and Chris Lewis, for your legal insight. Thank you so much, Dr. Reeta Achari and Dr. Gerri Hanten, for information about the functioning of the brain. Thank you, Abhishek Mathur, for electronics knowledge. Thank you, Dan Crocker, for law-enforcement information.
Thank you, Shannon Winton, Alyssa Everett, and Dr. Dominick D’Aunno, for your knowledge about psychiatric wards and how hospitals work. For giving me advice about technical details and hacking, thank you to Ryan “Iggy” Harrison and to several redditors: @iagox86, several anonymous folks, and one redditor whom I have named a character after, as promised.
Also, thank you to those who helped me with the writing process:
Thanks go to my critique group, Team Gargoyles—Shannon Winton, Alyssa Everett, Chris Lewis, Wayne Basta, and Ian Everett—for reading at least four versions of the first chapter, not to mention reading the rest of it.
Thank you to all my beta readers—Katie Kim, George Wright Padgett, Antha Adkins (whose critique was remarkably thorough!), my mother, Janet, and my mother-in-law, Lisa.
Thank you to Josh Mitchell for being my editor (if you see anything wrong, it’s because I secretly reverted your changes—mwahaha!) and for supplying the jokes about HAD.
Thank you to my publisher, Jason Aydelotte of Grey Gecko Press, for publishing me a second time and for putting up with me in the meantime!
And finally, thank you, most of all, to my readers! If you like my work, please review this book online and post the review on social media—it’s the single most helpful thing you can do—and please sign up for my email fan club at www.hchritz.com to get exclusive content and special offers directly from me.
About the Author
H.C.H. Ritz has a degree in theatre from the University of Houston and directs community theatre in her spare time. Originally from rural Mississippi, she has lived in Houston, Texas long enough to have turned into a city person. She is married to a wonderful human being and has a young son and a tortoiseshell kitty named Roxy Underfoot.
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Text & Illustrations ©2015 by H. C. H. Ritz
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ritz, H. C. H.
Absence of mind / H. C. H. Ritz
Library of Congress Control Number:
ISBN 978-1-9388217-8-3
First Edition
Kindle Edition
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Epilogue
Support Indie Authors and Small Press
Acknowledgments
About the Author
More From H. C. H. Ritz
Recommended Reading
Grey Gecko Press
Absence of Mind Page 30