Shawn grabs Micah’s hand even tighter, flings it around, and the two friends embrace each other.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury for your service. You are excused.” says the judge. “This court is dismissed.”
“Shawn, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Micah says into Shawn’s ear as they linger in their embrace.
“It’s what we do,” Shawn says. “I’ll come see you in a few and take you home. Well, actually, you can spend the night with Haylee and me tonight. You shouldn’t be alone your first night back as a free man.”
“Okay.” Micah smiles through his tears. “I think that’s a good idea.”
They let go of each other, and Micah is taken away by the prison escort.
“Well done, Mr. Connelly,” says a voice to his left. Astrid is still sitting, the arch in her back a bit more pronounced than before. Her folders and notes are in the same places as they were during the verdicts. “Not sure how that happened, but that’s justice for you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Lerner.”
“Do you really think he’s innocent?”
“I’ve known him a long time. Yes, yes, I do.”
“I don’t.”
“Well,” he says, with a guttural chuckle. “Good thing you weren’t on that jury. Come on, Ms. Lerner, I’ll walk you out. You’ve got a killer to find.”
They both pack up their things and leave out the side entrance.
Jenna is still sitting. Aside from the bailiff, she is the last one there. She gets up, walks to the back of the courtroom, and turns around. The bailiff turns out the lights. Jenna remains silhouetted in the doorway.
C h a p t e r 4 5
The room is dark, though it is 7:20am. Again, Ghost finds himself huddled at a desk in front of a cracked, mustard-yellow wall interrupted only by a single tiny window, haphazardly covered by black velvet curtains. Light trickles in above and below, revealing only the slightest details of his workspace.
He turns to his laptop and jostles it awake. He sees a new email from a familiar address. He opens it.
Confess. I have the letter.
The man, the father, heads toward his son. He watches his own shadow, cast by the computer screen, become smaller and clearer as he walks down the hall.
“Mon cœur, Daddy has to go to work, but can you do something for me while I’m gone?” he asks, announcing himself. He enters the room and pulls a small suitcase from underneath the bed.
“Yes, Daddy?” the child says, pulling back the covers, revealing pajamas with a repeating pattern of “I Heart NY.”
“Can you pack yourself some of your favorite clothes and your toothbrush and toothpaste, and a couple of your favorite dump trucks?” He stretches out the word favorite as only a father can.
“Sure! We going on a trip?”
“It’s a surprise. I will tell you all about it when I get home. Make sure you pack everything neat like Daddy.”
“Okay!”
“Thank you, sweet boy,” Ghost says. “When I leave, make sure you lock the doors like I taught you. If someone knocks, don’t answer, you hear? Make sure you don’t let nobody know you’re here.”
He kisses his son on the forehead and exits the apartment, leaving his filthy computer to continue casting its eerie glow.
C h a p t e r 4 6
“My car is filthy, baby, I’m gonna head out to the car wash, you need anything?” Haylee asks her husband, who is sitting on their avocado-green mid-century sofa, reading the paper and drinking coffee. “The birds shit all over the hood again.”
“Birds? It’s the dead of winter.” Shawn says.
“I don’t know what to tell you. Either it was birds or those neighborhood kids.” She laughs at her own ridiculousness. “Last chance, do you need anything?
“Nah, I’m good,” Shawn says, making a slurping noise. “So good.”
“Have fun basking in your victory,” she says.
“Wait, don’t leave just yet, come over here a second.”
Shawn pats the couch. Haylee accepts the invitation.
“My firm just got word that the jury selection was key in acquitting Micah, and I wanted to thank you for that.”
“I don’t understand,” she says leaning into his chest. Shawn lifts his arm and places it around her shoulder.
“Well, I don’t know if you remember this, but we were getting ready together one morning a few weeks ago, and you mentioned something about several clients of yours experiencing spiritual abuse. You had a theory that people who are ultra-religious usually move to the city to escape the abuse. You remember that?”
“You listen to me!” Haylee says, pounding her husband’s knee.
“Of course I do, honey. Turns out you were right. All I had to do was find people who were fairly new to the city, with extreme religious views, which is mostly what the prosecution was looking for too. For entirely different reasons of course. I think they thought they’d secured a pool of homophobes, and that was that.”
“I don’t completely understand,” Haylee says, almost following his thought process. “But from what I understand, well, that was a pretty risky move.”
“Seems like some sort of unconscious empathy,” Shawn says, proud of the phrase he’d just coined. “According to post-trial interviews, some of the jury thought Micah was being ganged up on. With the addition of the fact that nobody else was even fully considered, they all felt they had no choice but to acquit for one reason or another.”
“Wow, that’s kind of incredible,” she replies, getting up.
“You’re incredible. You should eat something and take it easy,” Shawn says. “Want me to fix you some French toast?”
“Baby, I’m pregnant, not dead. And I’m going to get the car washed, not running a half-marathon.”
Shawn raises his left eyebrow as if to say “good point” and continues drinking his coffee.
“Hey, I thought Micah was spending the night last night.” Haylee looks around.
“Oh yeah, you missed him. God, baby, he was so happy to be in a normal space, he conked out as soon as his head hit this couch.”
“You didn’t give
