Never Giving Up (Never #3) (33 page)

“As soon as my memory returned I remembered the shooting, but part of the shooter’s face was blocked from me.”

“And then, magically, while looking at a random line up of men, your memory returned and you conveniently remembered Mr. Ramie’s face, is that true?”

“There was nothing magical or convenient about it, I assure you.”

“Do you think it’s medically possible for someone’s memory to just return to them out of the blue?”

I was primed to answer the question with a resounding YES! Because that was exactly how it had happened, both times, but I was cut off by Mr. Donaldson’s loud and angry voice.

“Your Honor, I object! Mrs. Masters is not a medical professional and can’t possibly comment on the inner workings of the human brain.”

“Sustained.” The judge sounded a little upset with the defense too. “I think we all need a break. Court will recess for thirty minutes.” She banged her gavel and everyone seemed to scatter. Jason Ramie was cuffed again and led back to wherever he had emerged from.

I pushed out a long and deep breath, releasing a lot of anxiety the last twenty minutes had created within me. I walked over to the girls to grab my pump.

“That man is a dipshit,” Megan said, glaring at the defense lawyer, not bothering to keep her voice down. I was sure he heard her, but he made no motion to indicate it.

“Megan,” I scolded. “This is not some bar where you can fling insults and get pushed out by a bouncer. In this bar, the bouncer is a bailiff and you don’t get banned from the bar, you get taken to jail. So watch yourself.”

“He’s still a dipshit.” She said, only this time much quieter. I nodded slightly, agreeing with her.

An intern working for my lawyer took the three of us to a private room that apparently was used solely for nursing moms. There was a little cartoonish sign on the door of a mom holding her baby and it only made me sad that I didn’t have my baby with me. I was grateful for the space and the privacy though. I was also grateful for the break.

Once we were all situated and Kalli and Megan were discussing the defense team a little more openly now that we weren’t in the courtroom, I pulled out my phone to check my messages.

I have not given you enough credit for how strong and incredible you are. I love you madly, and Mattie is so lucky that you are her mother.

Also, they have taken Mattie to put in her PICC line. They say she should be back in about 45 minutes. How is everything going for you?

Hey, Babe. Mattie came back sleeping peacefully, PICC line successfully implanted. It’s actually pretty cool. And no more needle pokes so that’s awesome. I hope everything is going well in court. Please text me when you get a chance. We miss you.

Reading his texts I was immediately struck by a multitude of emotions all at once. First I was panicked that she’d had the procedure done while I was away. I’d officially missed something important. The thought of not being there in case something terrible had happened made my chest ache and my breath caught in my throat.

Next came relief that everything seemed to have gone all right. Then came another wave of relief with the idea that she wouldn’t need to have any more pokes to draw blood and no more I.V. shenanigans to be dealt with. I let the tension leave me with a sigh and typed my response.

I am so glad everything went smoothly. I miss you both too. Trial is, uh, interesting. I was on the stand and then they called a recess. Defense is trying to question my memory of his face.

I knew Porter would be upset by my update, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it from across the city. A response from him was almost immediate.

Give ’em hell, Babe. Mattie and I will be waiting for you this evening. And by the way, she told me she didn’t like the bottle. Hated it. Only drank it in protest.

I laughed out loud at his message, but my heart swelled in my chest at his words as well. He knew exactly what was most upsetting about this day and also knew exactly how to make it easier for me. I responded with a smile on my face.

I love you. Give Mattie some snuggles for me.

I’ll try, but she keeps telling me that I’m not as comfortable to lay on as you are. She’s pretty mouthy. ;)

Oh, and I love you too. Always.

Time passed too quickly and we found ourselves back in the courtroom and I was, once again, called to the stand to continue my testimony. The judge reminded me that I was still under oath, to which I gave her an understanding nod and a quiet, “Yes, Your Honor.” The defense lawyer made his way towards me again, slowly, not making eye contact, reminding me of a snake in tall grass, slithering his way towards his prey. He tried to throw me off, intimidate me, but I wasn’t having any of it. I could see him, plain as day, and refused to be anything but confident in that moment.

“Mrs. Masters, before the recess we were talking about your miraculous memory returning just in the nick of time to I.D. a random man in a line up.”

“But he wasn’t random. That was the man who was arrested and found to have a gun on him which matched the type of gun that shot me. That’s not a coincidence.”

“Your honor, this witness is not qualified to offer testimony as to what my client had on him when he was arrested or not. Please let her previous statement be stricken from the record.”

“Sustained,” the judge said. “Jury,” she said, turning to address the group of people sitting to our left, “you will not allow the witness’ previous statement alter or influence your final decision. It has been stricken from the record.” The jurors all nodded and turned their faces back towards me.

“Mrs. Masters, let’s try this again. Just tell me about how you saw Mr. Ramie in a line up, and identified him, if you couldn’t remember his face.”

I took a deep breath in and tried to sort out my thoughts before I spoke them aloud. “Up until the line-up at the police station, whenever I pictured the person who shot me, I could see everything except his face. His height, his build, his clothing. The only thing missing was the face.” I took in another breath, letting it out slowly, looking to Kalli for a little strength. She gave me a small and tight smile, obviously nervous for me. “When I went in for the line up, I even told the detective I didn’t remember anything. I assured him I wouldn’t be of any help, but Detective Dillard insisted I try. I went in the room and I started at the beginning, looking at each man, trying to make desperately sure that I wasn’t passing up the man who had shot a gun at me.”

I finally looked the defense lawyer right in his eyes. “The first five men looked like strangers. I had no recognition of any of them. Nothing. But when I started looking at number six, everything started coming together, like a fog was lifting.”

“A fog?” The lawyer smirked at me.

“Have you ever had amnesia?”

My question caught him off guard and he stumbled through a response, “Um, no.”

“Then you have no idea what it feels like to have a memory return to you. It is an all-of-a-sudden occurrence. There’s nothing slow and gradual about it. It’s like having the answer to a question or the name of a song on the tip of your tongue. It seems like it’s just
right there
, but it isn’t, and it either comes or it goes. But when it does come, it’s like a balloon popping. All at once and deafeningly loud. The memory screams at you to be remembered.” My eyes roamed over to Jason Ramie and our glares met one another. He didn’t look remorseful or contrite. He looked angry and annoyed. “Jason Ramie is the man who shot me and the fact that my memory returned when I saw his face is neither a coincidence nor a fallacy.” I paused, looking back at the lawyer standing in front of me, his face painted with a look of shock, much like I might have just told him to kiss my ass. He looked baffled and disoriented as he tried to think of what to say next. “But I will let Dr. Bronson tell you about the medical side of amnesia, seeing as how I am not a medical professional.”

The smile on my face probably looked bitchy. I most likely looked like the cat that ate the canary. But I felt wonderful. I’d finally gotten my chance to tell this small and secluded room of people what Jason Ramie had done to me. I’d looked him in the eye and told him that I knew who he was and what he’d done.

The rest of the trial dragged on. I might have been biased, but Mr. Donaldson was, in my opinion, a much better lawyer than Jason Ramie’s. The prosecution pressed on after my testimony. Mr. Donaldson did a superb job of bringing witnesses to the stand that painted a picture of Jason Ramie’s guilt. The jury heard about how the bullet pulled from my shoulder matched a bullet that had been shot out of the gun found on his person at his arrest. Detective Dillard did a wonderful job of talking about each gun’s “fingerprint” and how the two bullets each had the same “fingerprint” on them and so they were both fired from the same gun—Jason Ramie’s.

Dr. Bronson took the stand and spoke about my amnesia and, thankfully, backed up my testimony that memory loss was unpredictable and could reverse at any moment for any number of reasons. He also gave his professional opinion that I couldn’t have involuntarily assigned a new memory. In layman’s terms, I couldn’t have forced myself to remember something unreal or untrue out of want or need. He also reiterated that memories can come back swiftly and in response to stimuli.

The prosecution rested around lunch time and I was in need of a break. I called Porter and learned that not only had Mattie gotten the PICC line, but that Dr. Edwards was also planning on getting her echocardiogram done soon. My head dropped and my eyes closed—another thing I would miss. Porter assured me that Mattie was open and vocal about her dislike for being with Daddy alone. He was doing everything he could to make me feel better about being away, and I loved him all the more for it.

After lunch break, the defense took control of the courtroom and I was surprised to find that even I, a fashionista with no background in law and criminal investigations, found their argument to be lacking. Jason Ramie’s lawyers focused on the reliability of the testimony of the man who had exchanged information to lessen his own sentence. They tried to make it seem like the man who gave up Jason Ramie’s name to begin with was unreliable and couldn’t be trusted. This argument, to me at least, paled in comparison with the ballistics evidence presented by Detective Dillard.

The defense called me up to testify again and even though I was nervous to take the stand, my nerves quickly faded when I realized the defense was grasping at straws. His lawyer tried baiting me into talking about my mental health, attempting to argue that I had been struggling with depression and couldn’t make a sound identification due to my mental status. Before I could even begin to tell him what kind of a ridiculous assessment that was Mr. Donaldson objected stating that the court had already established that I wasn’t a medical professional and shouldn’t be expected to comment on my own mental stability and should the defense want to explore it they should have subpoenaed my counselor.

I smiled at his smart assery.

Without much more to say about anything, the defense released me from the stand and shortly after rested their arguments. Closing arguments came and went, again, the prosecution taking one for the win. The judge turned her attention to the jury and started a long and in-depth speech about their next tasks, telling them they would be sequestered until they could come to a unanimous verdict. The jurors were led from the room by the bailiff and taken to their secret deliberation location, and Jason Ramie, again, was taken from the room, led off in handcuffs. The judge thanked the lawyers and stated that the court was in recess until the jury came to a decision.

I looked around at Megan and Kalli, and then at Mr. Donaldson who gave me a tired smile.

“So,” I said quietly, looking around the room at everyone dispersing. “That’s it then?”

“I’m afraid so. Now we just wait for the jury to come back with a verdict.”

“And that could, in all seriousness, take days, right?”

He chuckled at me and laid a gentle and friendly hand on my shoulder. “Yes, there is always that chance. But realistically, I doubt the jury will have a hard time with this case. I wouldn’t go far if I were you,” he said with a wink. “But if you’ll excuse me I will use the break to make some calls that are pressing.” I nodded and stepped away, letting him pass and leave the courtroom.

We girls went back to our special nursing room and I could tell the girls were trying to keep my mind occupied on other topics because their conversations never touched on the trial or Mattie. They talked about Megan and Patrick’s dilemma over where in Portland to buy a house, or Kalli’s newest film she was working on. I let them have their conversation as I texted Porter to keep him in the loop. We’d had a good rhythm of texts going back and forth, but then suddenly his stopped and I didn’t get a response from him.

“Why is your forehead all scrunched up, Fella? It’s not good for wrinkles, you know,” Megan asked, glancing at me and noticing my uptight state.

“Porter just stopped texting me. We were in the middle of a conversation and now there’s nothing.”

“Maybe he’s feeding the baby?” Kalli supplied, trying to be helpful. I gave her a small smile.

We finished up and walked back to the lobby outside our courtroom. It felt weird to wait, especially since we had no idea for how long we’d be waiting. But to leave felt strange as well, like leaving the movie before the end, not knowing how it turned out, anticlimactic. So we waited. It was another half-hour before I received another text from Porter.

Hey. Sorry I disappeared. A lot happened in the last 30 minutes.