Exposure (2 page)

Honestly, I was just tired. Tired, and incredibly on edge.

I had to watch every single word.

“Do you need a break, Miss Brennan?” Crossing his arms, Parrish nodded toward the district attorney’s table. “Perhaps a chance to get your story straight with counsel?”

“Objection!” Nell Harris shot to her feet, suit jacket flapping, her ice-blue eyes radiating anger. “Mr. Parrish is impugning the witness before the jury! His false, incendiary comment must be stricken from—”

Judge Felix DeMerit raised a placating hand. “Sustained, Ms. Harris.”

Afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows behind his lofty bench, reflecting from his liver-spotted scalp.

“Watch yourself, Counsel.” DeMerit glared at Parrish over the rims of his old-fangled reading glasses. “Miss Brennan is a minor, and not the party on trial here. Make your case, but she
shall
be accorded proper treatment. Am I understood?”

“Of course, Your Honor.” Stroking his scraggly beard, Parrish aimed for contrite. Aimed, and failed. “My sincerest apologies to both Miss Brennan and the Court.”

Whispers swirled inside the cavernous room, Charleston’s largest chamber of justice. Though camera crews had been barred from the chamber—due to the presence of minors as witnesses—dozens of other media members packed the gallery. The remaining seats were filled by government officials, police functionaries, members of the Bar, and the city’s elite. Armed bailiffs lined the aisles and walls, and double-manned every door.

Charleston hadn’t seen a trial like this in years, nor dealt with a crime remotely as sensational. Everyone with enough pull to wrangle access had squeezed onto one of the long wooden benches.

To watch
me.

The fourteen-year-old schoolgirl who’d outsmarted a psychopath.

It was Monday, the first day of the year’s fourth month.

A local blogger had already dubbed me “April Fool.”

Blargh.

“The jury shall disregard the last comment made by Mr. Parrish.” Judge DeMerit swiveled to face me. “
Do
you need a short break, Miss Brennan? This isn’t an endurance contest, it’s a court of law.”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t. Not even close. But I wanted this nightmare over ASAP.

Despite the courtroom’s subarctic temperature, my sweat glands were starting to churn full tilt. I was thankful my Bolton Prep blazer was a deep navy blue.

Pit stains do not increase credibility.

I fiddled with my ponytail before remembering Harris’s advice:
Don’t fidget. Sit up straight. Address your answers directly to the jury. Try not to lose your cool.

So far, I was struggling on all counts.

I hoped my face wasn’t paler than my usual Irish white. And that freckles didn’t really multiply when you lied, as my mother had warned when I was little.

If true, I’d soon be covered head to foot.

A quick glance at the jury. All twelve were eyeballing me.

Was that pity in their eyes? Skepticism? Boredom?

I couldn’t tell. Wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Just get through this. Ben did. So can I.

My gaze flicked to the gallery, though I knew Ben wasn’t there. Couldn’t be. By rule, one witness can’t be present for the testimony of another. To avoid collusion, I think, though it’s a stupid rule—if people want to lie, they’re going to lie. Period.

Because Ben and I were definitely lying. Some.

There was no way around it.

We
couldn’t
tell the whole truth. Not without exposing what we were. Revealing the hidden powers we possessed. Announcing our warped DNA to the public.

Putting our lives at risk.

Not gonna happen.

Inadvertently, my eyes drifted to the one spot I’d avoided since taking the stand.

Another set was staring back.

No welcome there.

Only anger. Oh yes, plenty of that.

The Gamemaster beamed pure hatred from his seat at defense counsel’s table. He wore a cheap gray suit and a pair of “innocent man” glasses. But the fake plastic lenses failed to mask his palpable rage. I nearly gasped at its intensity.

Had he been glaring at me the whole time? Couldn’t
everyone
see he was crazy?

I tore my eyes away, searched for a more comfortable landing spot.

There.
Kit.

My father manned the first seat of the front row, his mop of curly brown hair disheveled by constant worrying with his fingers. Kit looked equal parts incensed, fretful, and supportive. Catching my eye, he gave me a firm nod and flashed a thumbs-up.

I exhaled slowly. At least one person was in my corner.

I knew this day was killing him—Kit had made it
abundantly
clear that he didn’t like my being called as a witness. He didn’t want me in the same room as that monster.

But Harris had been adamant—Ben and I were the keys to a conviction. Uncomfortable as testifying might be, I had no intention of letting the Gamemaster go free.

Side note. I wasn’t speaking to Ben. Hadn’t since the hurricane.

Not now. Focus.

I spotted Hi and Shelton, sitting beside Kit. Relaxed a fraction more.

Those two had been spared this ordeal—Harris thought two eyewitnesses were sufficient, and Ben and I were the obvious choices. Shelton had nearly passed out in relief, but I suspect Hi was disappointed. That boy loves a show.

They sat side by side, wearing matching Bolton uniforms—white button-up shirts, maroon ties, tan pants, and navy sport jackets adorned with griffin crests. Hi was wearing his blazer properly, rather than his usual inside out.

Even Hiram Stolowitski was taking this seriously.

Noticing my glance, Shelton nodded encouragement, his thick, black-framed glasses bouncing on his nose.

Hi winked. Raised and shook both fists. Then beat his flabby chest like a gorilla.

Okay, maybe not
too
seriously.

“I’ll try again.” Parrish adopted an expression of long-suffering patience, tossing a quick glance at the jury to measure the effect of his performance.

Dirtbag.

“You
claim
that five of you—” Parrish turned to squint at Hi and Shelton, before returning his gaze to me, “—were lured to and trapped inside a basement by my client. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“This group included Mr. Benjamin Blue?”

“It did.”

Parrish pivoted to face the jury. “That would be the
same
Ben Blue who has already admitted complicity in these crimes.”

I sat up straighter. “Ben only helped
before
The Game turned dangerous. He didn’t know what the Gamemaster really had planned. Once Ben did, he tried to stop—”

“So he claims,” Parrish interrupted. “How very convenient for him. And for his deal with the prosecution.”

“Objection!” Harris popped up once more, looking daggers at Parrish. “Withdrawn.” Parrish crossed to his table and picked up a thick file marked Exhibit B. “Miss Brennan, in a statement to police you asserted that a massive steel grate trapped your group inside a ventilation room.”

Not a question. I didn’t respond.

Parrish smirked at my small defiance. “Yet when police arrived three days later, they found the way clear, and the metal grate lying
broken and to the side.
The report described its condition—thick steel bars, twisted, with some pieces snapped clear in half.”

My perspiration waterfall resumed its flow.

Parrish adopted a quizzical expression. “Can you explain that?”

“Explain what?” Lame response, even to my partial ears.

“You
claim
that this grate was a sinister trap, designed and constructed by my client.” Parrish moved in closer, like a buzzard circling a carcass. “So how did it end up mangled on the basement floor?”

“We managed to escape.” I couldn’t look at the jury.

“You managed to escape?” Parrish’s brows rose theatrically. “This inescapable prison? How, pray tell?”

I swallowed. “We dislodged the grate from the wall.”

“You dislodged it?” His eyes widened with exaggerated wonder. “A five-hundred-pound metal barrier, composed of interlinking steel bars?”

“That’s right.” Curtly spoken. His habit of repeating my answers was beyond irritating. “There were four of us pounding on the thing. It was stressful. We must’ve had enough adrenaline pumping to pull it off.”

Parrish snorted. “That’s pretty darn impressive, to snap steel bars like matchsticks.”

I felt blood rush to my face. Hoped the jurors didn’t notice.

My explanation sounded sketchy, even to me. But I couldn’t reveal how we’d really done it. Couldn’t tell the jury we have freaking superpowers.

You see, fellow citizens, my friends and I were recently exposed to a canine supervirus, and have developed tremendous physical and super-sensory capabilities as a result. We ripped that grate from the wall by unlocking wolf-like powers hidden in our DNA.

I wasn’t sure which would happen first—the Gamemaster’s acquittal, or my committal.

The jury stirred. I saw doubt creep onto several faces.

Parrish moved in for the kill. “Isn’t it
more
likely that you found that big ol’ grate already lying on the ground? Where it’d been resting, broken, for years? That your friend Ben Blue took you straight to it, as part of his dangerous prank?”

“Of course not!”

Parrish’s voice sharpened, his drawl disappearing. “You were never trapped in that room, were you, Miss Brennan?”

Enough defense. Play offense.

“Maybe the bolts were poorly seated,” I said firmly.

Parrish paused, assessing my words. The Gamemaster shifted in his seat.

I pushed ahead. “Police investigators found three-inch steel bolts scattered on the electrical room floor. Look in that report you’re holding—they matched a series of drill holes surrounding the ventilation room’s doorframe. Keep reading, and you’ll see where CPD confirmed that those holes were newly excavated, and that the runners flanking the doorway had recently been greased.”

Parrish held up an index finger. “That’s neither here nor—”

I cut him off. “CPD also confirmed that the quarter-inch screws securing the steel bars were purchased locally, only a month before the incident. Same with the grate’s track-locking mechanism. And please reread the statement of Max Fuller, a freelance welder in Myrtle Beach. He recalls building the wheel assembly just six months ago. The DA sent you that one, correct?”

Parrish’s face purpled. “Listen here, missy.
I’ll
ask the questions.”

“I thought you wanted a response?” I shot back. “Evidence proves the grate was recently constructed and attached to the basement wall. It slid down from the ceiling and locked us in. As its maker intended.”

Parrish struggled for words. He waved a hand weakly, attempting to regain control of the exchange. I declined to let him.

“Why did the grate fail?” I shrugged, then turned my most earnest face on the jury. “I honestly can’t say for sure, but my friends and I are only alive because it did. It was a gift from God. And for that reason, I don’t question my good fortune.”

Smiles. Nods. I noticed the Gamemaster seething in his chair.

“Who knows?” I met his glare directly. “Maybe the whole apparatus was poorly constructed.”

“Liar!” The Gamemaster slammed both fists on the defense table. “I built it perfectly!”

The courtroom froze in stunned silence.

“The Game was
flawless
!” Spittle flew from the Gamemaster’s mouth as he suddenly sprang up and vaulted over the table. “You
cheated
! You had
help
somehow!”

Screams. Breaking glass. The sound of chairs overturning.

The Gamemaster bounded toward the witness stand, madness in his eyes.

Two strides.

Something stirred deep within me.

No! Not here!

Then a crush of bodies swarmed the Gamemaster. He disappeared under a pile of tan bailiffs’ uniforms, still struggling to reach me.

The gallery erupted in chaos.

Judge DeMerit pounded his gavel, but no one paid any attention. Mayhem engulfed the courtroom as more guards entered the well and flung themselves atop the enraged defendant.

Slowly, the officers regained control. Multiple sets of handcuffs appeared and were applied. Bailiffs began peeling off the dog-pile like layers of an onion.

And there, at the bottom of the scrum, was Kit.

Oh, Dad.

He was panting like a marathoner, arms still wrapping the Gamemaster’s legs in a death grip. He’d clearly been first to react.

“This Court is in recess!” Judge DeMerit bellowed, still hammering away. “The witness is dismissed. Bailiffs, remove the jury and remand the defendant into custody.”

As some officers hustled the jurors from the room, more guards marched the now-silent Gamemaster through a rear door.

Harris sped to the stand and grabbed my hand, her short blond bob now as mussed as an abandoned bird’s nest. “Are you okay, Tory?”

I nodded, still too shaken to speak. Harris escorted me over to Kit, who was seated at the prosecution table, holding a napkin to his nose.

“Nice tackle.” Unsure what to do, I squeezed his shoulder.

“Missed my calling.” Kit rubbed the side of his face. “I’m a born linebacker.”

Shelton and Hi appeared at my side.

“Oh, man!” Shelton had both hands on his dome. He seemed winded, despite not having moved during the attack. “Things just got real in here.”

“I’ve said it before, Tory.” Hi shook his head in wonder. “You have a natural gift for pissing people off. And not just
kinda
mad. Like, lose-your-freaking-mind, rush-the-stand-in-open-court bonkers.”

My eyes rolled. “Thanks.”

Harris smoothed her suit with trembling hands. “We need to clear the courtroom.” Despite everything, I detected an undercurrent of excitement in her voice. “I’ll walk you out.”

I cast a final look back at the stand. Judge DeMerit stood frozen behind his bench, gavel in hand, a stunned expression on his face.