Chapter 48 – Turned to Stone
Thursday afternoon June 12, 2008 – 12:50 PM
While Frank Newlan may have adjourned from the courtroom weighed down by the burden of having to carrying around a knapsack full of impenetrable riddles on his sagging shoulders, Tracy Stone spent much of her lunch break in arguably worse shape than he was; namely, with her head resting on a table in the Middlesex Superior Courthouse cafeteria, balling her pretty little eyes out.
Tracy had mentally prepared herself for this difficult day to the best of her witchy abilities, but never in her wildest dreams could she have reckoned that her tribulations would be this excruciatingly difficult. She had thoroughly convinced herself that she could handle whatever this long awaited day held in store for her. She had thoroughly convinced herself that she would thrive under the bright glow of the overwhelming spotlight. She had thoroughly convinced herself that she would not only survive the ordeal, but she would emerge a stronger person because of it. But now, here she was, on the verge of another collapsing nervous breakdown, and her shattered convictions of the heart made the debilitating hardship all the more shocking to her devastated ego.
An impartial observer might have commended Tracy Stone for her courage in the face of turmoil, for her bravery in coping with such a heavy millstone of personal baggage. But at the present time, the prevailing wind of thought that was running through her own mind was that she couldn’t win for losing; it seemed as if every fork in the road she had ever taken was the wrong one; everything path she had ever travelled down was doomed to lead in the direction of failure; everything mistake she had ever made in her life was destined to come back to haunt her tenfold.
Knowing the fragile state of Tracy’s emotions as only a sibling could, her sister Beth stood waiting just outside the courtroom doors at the commencement of the lunch break, on the ready to provide a dose of much needed moral support. Beth tried to get Tracy to eat something before returning into the courtroom to resume her testimony, but her nerves were so shot, she couldn’t hold down a bite of food. Beth tried to cheer Tracy up with jokes and jeers and jabs, directed at anyone and anything she could think of, but it was all to no avail. Tracy was inconsolable. Here she was hammering the final nail into the coffin of her ex-husband, and she didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad about it. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Or as she might put it; “I don’t know my ass from my elbow anymore.”
In short, Tracy Stone was an emotional train wreck. She was one step closer to sending the father of her children away to the slammer for the rest of his life, but now that the moment of truth had arrived, she wasn’t sure whether she could go through with it anymore. She was tempted to walk out of the courthouse, hop into her car, and drive off into the sunset, never looking back. But alas, much like Frank Newlan, she had to look back, because well, unfortunately in her case, she didn’t have much choice in the matter.
Meanwhile, over in the opposite corner of the cafeteria from where Tracy and Beth were seated, Cam Miller and his elderly parents, Stella and Ed, were picking at a light lunch and debating the merits of the case thus far.
“So you still think we’re gonna nail this son of a bitch? Because I gotta tell you, I have this sinking feeling that the bastard is gonna get away with it,” lamented Ed Miller. And even though, more often than not lately, Cam had been picking up on the same negative vibe of which his father was perceptively detecting, he tried his damndest not to let his doubts show in front of his frail parents.
“Come on dad, we gotta let the trial play out. I admit that things don’t seem all that strong right about now, but we haven’t even gotten to most of our key witnesses yet,” maintained Cam while at the same time his mother Stella whimpered out her own hopes and fears.
“I just want to get this over with as soon as possible and maybe then we can put some closure on this horrible nightmare…but God forbid that this Breslin character gets off, I swear, the agony of it all might just kill me on the spot.”
“Don’t forget Stella, we still have to come back in the fall, the good Lord willing, for the trial of the other SOB, Sammy the Fox,” reminded Ed, and once again his wife moaned back her response.
“Oh dear God, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Sometimes I just don’t care what happens to this scum and his cohort anymore. In the end, they’ll have to answer to their maker one way or another. Sometime I think I might be better off if I just stayed home for the rest of the trial. Regardless of what happens, it’s not going to bring Freddie back.”
Indeed, the trial may have been taking its toll on Frank Newlan and his colleagues, but their trauma paled in comparison to what Stella and Ed Miller were going through. They were already frangible to begin with, but with each passing day they seemed to wither away just a little bit more. And despite Mrs. Miller’s comments to the contrary, the Miller’s were hampered by a solemn, yet exacting, desire to observe as much of the proceedings as they possibly could with their own two eyes, even if it meant that their health might consequently suffer as a direct result of their unflagging perseverance.
On the other hand however, in sharp contrast to his mother and father, by all outward appearances, Cam Miller was as solid as a rock in the courtroom. His parents had been barely able to make it through some of the more graphic testimony thus far (not to mention the awful photographs) without falling apart, but not old Cam; no, old Cam just sat there stone-faced in the gallery, day after day, even though his insides were churning like a choppy sea in the crest of a winter storm.
And although Cam Miller may have been a constant presence in the courtroom, it was clear that his parents on the other hand (their dedication and diligence notwithstanding) painstakingly needed to pick their spots when deciding upon which particular days to attend the trial. Thankfully DA Lyons had been nice enough to religiously inform them of when certain events might be taking place, and they concluded that they should unequivocally be present and accounted for on the morning of Tracy Stone’s testimony.
And speaking of the aforementioned Ms. Stone, as the Miller’s nibbled at their lunches Cam made the awkward mistake of acknowledging the fact that deep down inside he felt bad for Tracy, which in turn prompted a verbal upbraiding from his mother Stella.
“How can you feel sorry for her, Cam? If you haven’t noticed, she’s the reason your brother’s lying in the cemetery right now. He should have never gotten mixed up with her again. I knew she was bad news from day one,” lectured Stella as Ed nodded his head in agreement.
“Oh come on mom, she’s a victim in this as well. How could she have known that her husband would do something so stupid, so reckless…so cowardly? I swear to God I’d like to jump over that divider and wring his neck,” argued Cam who, in spite of his exterior coolness, was getting angrier by the minute; for it seemed that the more he brooded over the deplorable actions of the emotionless John Breslin, sitting there at the defense table as if he were watching some sort of poorly acted grammar school play, the more he was overcome by an irrepressible desire to choke him until his eyes popped out of his head.
“Don’t you dare even think such a thing…I didn’t raise my sons to resolve violence with more violence. It’s senseless…and my heart can’t take it anymore,” scolded Stella. But her only remaining son had other ideas dancing around in his brain.
“God, if she only knew the half of it, she’d totally freak out. Even I don’t know where some of these crazy thoughts that have been dancing around my head these days are coming from. I know it would kill her, but I swear to God, if I ever got the chance, I’d take the motherfucker out myself,” contemplated Cam as he absentmindedly peered over in the direction of where Tracy and Beth were seated.
Cam watched on helplessly as Tracy sobbed uncontrollably into her sister’s arms…and as the little voice inside his head -- the voice of which he silently spoke of -- steered him off towards parts unknown, for some reas
on, his mind flashed back to that bitterly cold winter morning on the second anniversary of his brother’s death when he bumped into Tracy as she mourned by Fred’s tombstone; he flashed back to the way she hungrily hugged him, the way she repeatedly kissed him. And with the flashbacks came the urge to look into Tracy’s hypnotic eyes once again.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do to ease Tracy’s pain,” announced a priestly Cam, out of the blue, while his speechless parents could only shake their heads in disbelief.
Yes, even in the face of his parents’ vehement disapproval, Cam apprehensively straggled over to Tracy’s table just the same and he politely asked, “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Oh please do. I’ll let you talk in private for a while,” replied Beth. And as she got up to leave, it was with a knowing understanding of the intimately awkward situation where two people sometimes desperately need to be alone.
“Oh no, you can stay,” protested Cam.
“No, really, I have to use the rest room anyway” insisted Beth…and as she departed from the table, the cafeteria wondrously fell into a magical shadow which engulfed Cam’s foolish heart. It was as if he and Tracy were suddenly alone in a candlelit restaurant, mesmerized by the fear in each other’s eyes.
Cam gazed deeply into Tracy’s pupils and serenely offered up his council.
“It’s OK Tracy…everything’s gonna be alright. You just have to get through a few more hours…and my family and I just have to get through a few more days…and soon we can all begin to put this nightmare behind us.”
“I know, but I’m scared Cam. I’m scared that I’m gonna say the wrong thing. I’m scared about what this all means for my future…and I’m petrified just thinking about being grilled by Gleason all afternoon. Oh God, I’m scared shitless. And what if he gets off?” sobbed Tracy. And yet all the while, despite the tears, an exotic womanly potion was spontaneously brewing up inside of her, ambrosially drifting about, on the ready to ensnare any and all weak masculine life-forces that crossed her path.
“You just have to be brave and tell the truth. You do that…and we’ll deal with whatever consequences come afterwards. Just tell the truth, that’s all I’m asking,” calmly asserted an unwitting Cam.
“But it feels like every person in the courtroom is looking into my soul, and I just don’t know if I can take it much longer. Even the jurors are a staring at me. Especially that guy at the end of the jury box…the one with the long stringy hair…he won’t take his eyes off me. It almost seems as if their judging me more than they’re judging Johnny. And then, every time I peek in his direction, he’s staring out into space. I swear I just want get out of my chair and shake him and scream, ‘look what you’ve done’,” Tracy angrily acquiesced. But along with her indignation, a radiant splendor shone through the dreamy elixir that was fermenting in her bosoms.
And upon taking in Tracy’s pungent confession, a feeling of oddly comforting arousal boosted Cam spirits, and he reiterated his uplifting confirmation.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of Tracy. Just be strong and continue to tell your story. Just be strong and everything is gonna be alright.”
“Oh Cam I’m so sorry. I can’t help but feel that Freddie’s death is entirely my fault….and I feel so bad for you poor parents. They must hate me for this,” tearfully confessed Tracy while at the same time her supple body sent a strangely luminous glowing wave of infrared rays crashing down on Cam’s brow.
“They don’t hate you. They just miss Freddie,” heedlessly contended Cam, although, of course, he knew otherwise.
“I miss him too. I miss him so much” wailed a flickering Tracy, and just as he had done in the cemetery, Cam repeatedly whispered his mantra in an almost narcotic tone; “everything’s gonna be alright.” And just as she had done in the cemetery, Tracy returned his assurances with a tender hug.
Tracy’s head lingered restfully against Cam’s shoulder ever so gently before she finally loosened her embrace. But as she disentangled from Cam’s body she took his hands in hers, hidden under the cafeteria table, and she softly caressed his ruggedly warm appendages while simultaneously whispering sweet nothings in his ear, seemingly in a foreign tongue.
And as the furtive tidings took their affect, once again Tracy and Cam made spellbinding eye-contact, just as they had done in that bitterly cold graveyard some five months previous. Once again Cam become numbly aware of the far-away look in Tracy’s eyes, except this time he didn’t sense that anything was amiss. This time it all felt perfectly natural. This time it all seemed perfectly clear. This time he accepted his karmic fortune without a struggle.
This time, when the sudden shiver of lust rushed through Cam’s body, he didn’t fight his fate. This time, when Cam felt the blood go surging through his veins, he didn’t resist his destiny.
Cam Miller couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was happening to him, and furthermore, he didn’t seem to care. However, those of us who have ever been shot down by Cupid’s bloody arrow know what’s going on here. Those of us who have ever suffered on the cross of love know that this scene could only mean one thing; it could only mean that Tracy Stone was about to turn one more man into a petrified mass of molten quarry, cast and hardened into the unmistakable shape…of a broken heart.
From the Eyes of a Juror Page 57