Hot Water

"Initiative is doing the right thing without being told." Victor Hugo

The sound of her heart best slammed against her head, echoing around the seemingly endless chasms of her soul. Everything around her was silent, the steady ringing in her ear dying down to a low buzz. Her hand jumped to her necklace, twisting the silver pendant around her finger. The harsh white light of the courtroom glinted on the horse pendant, a sharp glare catching the prosecutor's eye. The tall man blinked, and the glare was gone. Her other hand was balled in the soft fabric of her blue dress, wrinkling what her mother had carefully ironed hours before. Wavy, dirty blonde hair fell down her neck, ending in graceful swirls where it brushed along her shoulders. Her wide brown eyes were fixed ahead of her, her mouth dully responding to the questions being thrown at her.

"Ms. Dorsen, where were you on the night in question; February 2, 2004?" The man's voice droned over her.

She had barley digested the words before the answer was torn from her lips. "I-I was walking home." Her voice was too quiet for the jury to hear; for anyone to hear

"I'm sorry but can you speak up?" This time his question made it through her head.

The buzzing stopped, and for a moment, she had a sense of clarity. She looked up and met the eyes of the defendant. They were wide and blue, gazing into her soul, begging her to set him free. One lie. She thought to herself. I could say I got something wrong. Or-or that I'm not sure if it's him. He's so young! She took in his face, young and round, still the face of a child. He had black hair that fell into his eyes, slick with sweat. The voice of the judge came from her right, loud and booming throughout the courtroom.

"Ms. Dorsen please answers the question." The judge leaned forward, peering at the girl around the microphone.

She swallowed, forcing the answer out of her mouth. "I was walking home from the convenience store just off of F-Flora Vista." She leaned forward to speak into the black microphone that was presented before her.

"Could you please tell the jury what, exactly, you saw, during this walk?" The man leaned forward over the oak wood railing, examining her through cold green eyes.

She shivered slightly, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her voice was steady and steely when she replied. "I walked to the convenience store to get a bottle of milk for my mother," her mind flashed as she recalled the white-light store, the tiles washed with a dull baby blue. She forced herself back to reality and found that she was still speaking, the words spilling from her like blood from an open wound. "I left the store around ten o'clock and was heading back home. I was walking past an alley when I heard a noise. I couldn't tell what it was at first but it had seemed l-like someone was crying. I turned back around and saw this kid beating on lady. I-I ran forward to try to help her and that's when he turned around and attacked m-." The prosecutor cut her off, holding up a hand to silence her.

"What did you notice about this young man? When he turned around were you able to see his face?? What did he look like??" He walked around the courtroom, his voice aimed towards the jury.

The jury consisted of exactly 12 people, eight men and four women. Nothing about them stood out, their appearances bland, nothing special aside for an exceedingly-exotic looking women sitting in the middle of the first row. She had lush black hair, streaks of blue running through it. Her cheek bones were high and prominent, her dark, tanned skin stretched out across her face. Green eyes were fixated on the young witness, examining the girl with a cutting eye. Privately, she thought that the girl was far too young to be testifying in a murder trial. She smoothed her constricting navy blue dress with a gentle hand, turning her attention back to the prosecutor's questions.

"He was..." She paused for a moment to re-collect her thoughts. "He was tall and thin; very thin." She touched her hair absentminded as she continued to speak. "His hair, i-it was dark in color. When he turned...I saw his face." Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she shifted her eyes to the jury, focusing her next statement on them. "He had these...dark eyes. His hair was long, a-and messy and fell all over his face. We just...stood there for a moment, looking at each other. I dropped the milk and I- I ran forward. I could see the girl lying on the ground; she wasn't moving...I couldn't just leave her there!" She stumbled over her own words in an effort to tell her story before the lawyer cut her off again. Closing her eyes, she finished more calmly, pushing emphasis onto each word. "I got closer, and I noticed that his nose was bleeding heavily, a-and it was crooked, like it had been broken or something. I yelled at him to go away...hoping he would get scared and run away...but instead..." She trailed off and bowed her head.

"Instead what, Ms. Dorsen?"

"He attacked me." She said quietly.

"How, Ms. Dorsen? What did he do to you? Please show the court what kind of monster this boy is!" He gestured to the young man sitting at the defendant's table.

"Objection, your honor!" The defendant's lawyer shot to her feet, her hands slamming down on the wood table firmly, but half-heartedly.

"On what grounds, Mrs. Heath?" The judge fixed his clear-blue eyes on the thin women.

The witness raised her small head, eyeing the lawyer with a mild interest. She had seen the women many times before. Mrs. Heath wore a tightly tailored suit, the stark gray sticking out against the tan of her skin. Her hair was woven into an elegant bun atop her head, her sharp cheek bones standing out in the white light of the courtroom. Her eyes were a deep, startling gray, stern and hard.

"Defamation of character."

The judge shook his head once. "Motion denied, Mr. Lawrence, please carry on but keep away from the insults. This is a courtroom not a playground."

The prosecutor, Mr. Lawrence, turning back to his witness. "Ms. Dorsen, if you will." He gestured with an open palm to the awaiting jury.

She sighed and raised her arm, presenting the dark blue cast that protected her splintered bone. "He broke my arm," She paused and pulled up the sleeve of her dress, displaying the dark blue and purple bruises that remained still on her arm. "And he beat me." She said quietly.

The jury murmured quietly amongst themselves, a few in the second row whispering quietly to one another. She zoned out as Mr. Lawrence asked her to step down before he continued his case, realizing that her testimony was done. Her shoes echoed across the slick floor as she walked across, her narrow heels click-clicking around the room. Only once did she raise her head to look at the gallery, her eyes landing on the defendant's family. A boy a few years older than her met her stare, anger and hatred boiling over the brim of his glassy eyes. A shudder ran through her and she bowed her head again as she made her way back to her mother, resting her head on her shoulder. Her mother leaned down and kissed her head softly, patting her knee with fondness.

"You did well, Samantha." She dropped her arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight. "You did so well."

Samantha raised her eyes to her mother's, forcing a smile. The rest of trial was a blur; she could hardly remember her own cross-examination. Only once did Samantha look again towards the defendant's family, the hard, hateful gaze of the boy still fixed upon her, burning into her skin. Her mother had sent her home with her sister after her part was done, stressing the need of sleep. Now, Samantha lay on a dark tan couch, a black blanket curled around her shoulders. She stared blankly down at her phone, awaiting her mother's call for the final verdict. The TV was on, but she paid it no mind, the screen blaring throughout the room. A low coffee table stretched along beside her. She shifted her focus to a blue-gray glass, watching the images of the TV being distorted by the red-liquid of her cranberry juice. Her hand fiddled with her necklace again, her slender figures tracing their way around the silver horse pendant with a measured affection. She smiled slightly to herself as a memory flooded her senses.

Samantha smiled at the young women that sat in front of her, her hands twitching on the blue ribbon of her present, itching to open it. The blinds of a window had been thrown open, rays of sunlight filtering into the room. The women had long, curly blonde hair that fell gracefully down her shoulders, outlining her heart-shaped face. Hazel eyes met with hers, warm and comforting. Her skin was pale, a slightly sickly taint masked over the top. Her lips were a pale rose, sticking out against her face.

"Sammy, I know that the past few days—months really—have been really hard. But, I am getting better. There's a...center that will help me get off my addiction. It's up in Wyoming. I'm going to get away from L.A, from all of 'this'" She gestured around her. "Away from all the temptation. I'm going to start a new life. When everything gets stable, I want you to come visit me. Go ahead, open your present." She grinned.

Samantha rolled her eyes, brushing back a lock of her dirty, blond hair and unwrapping the gift. The spotted, black and white paper concealed a dark gray box. She wriggled the top free, gasping at what lay inside. A silver horse pendant strung on a sterling silvery chain glimmered at her in the light of the sun. She looked up at her sister, tears of surprise glimmering in her eyes.

"Louie..this...this is amazing!"

Louise laughed and tugged at a chain around her neck, pulling an exact copy of the horse necklace, letting if fall gently on her chest. "It a promise, Sam. I will get better. And I will be a better sister."

Her eyes widened as she heard the door knob jiggle, fear striking through her body as she was torn from her memory. She sunk further into the couch, grabbing the remote and muting the TV. Pulling her phone closer, she dialed 911 with shaking hands, her finger hovering over the call button. The door was pushed open and she shut her eyes tight against the world, her heart pounding against her skull. Harsh light shone against Samantha's eye lids and they shot open, wide and surprised. Sitting up, she turned around, resting one arm on the edge of the couch. Her parents stood in front of her, the night sky dark against their backs. They remained there, still and frozen. Her father's face was blank, his brown eyes fixed on her face. He walked forward and sat beside her, crushing her in a tight embrace. His black coat suffocated her nose as he pushed her head down, his body shaking underneath her. Samantha shook her head free, looking at her mother over his shoulder. Her mother dropped to her knees, her face hidden behind her hands and her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Mom?" Samantha tried to push her father away. "Dad? What happened? Does it have to do with the trial?"

Her father pulled away, his hands firm upon Samantha's shoulders. He cupped the side of her face with his right hand, stroking her cheek with a deft hand. His grizzled face was streaked with silent tears. "No, No Sam. The jury came back hours ago, Jameson Hawthorn was sentenced to life in jail."

Sam blinked, her deep eyes confused as she glanced to her mother. "Then what's going on?" A new chill settling on her shoulders.

Her mother got to her feet and walked slowly to her, her footsteps muffled by the carpet. "Its Louie, Sam."

Sam felt her eyes widen. "What? Is she okay? Was she in an accident? In the hospital? Rehab again? What is it?" Her speech was once again rushed and hurried.

Her mother knelt beside the couch, taking Sam's hands in her own. "No Samantha. They...the police called us in. They found her car just outside of Cody, Wyoming."

"Well...that's good isn't it? That means she made it." Sam forced a smile, looking between her parents with evident perplexity.

Her father spoke to her again, his voice breaking. "No, it's not good. It was abandoned—empty. They found her phone, her purse, her keys...everything. But...they didn't find her."

Tears pressed against Sam's eyes but she refused to acknowledge their presence. "What are you saying?" Her voice was tight.

"She's gone. Louise.... she's gone missing."