Beyond Justice (47 page)

Nothing.

The urge to go home and soak in a tub of hydrogen peroxide threatened to overtake me.

___________________

When I pulled into the driveway, I noticed Rachel waiting inside her car.  She came out as soon as she saw me and met me at the front door with a stack of documents.  "You got my voicemails, didn't you?" she said.

"Forgot to turn my cell on.  Come in?"

We sat at the breakfast nook and I offered her a drink, which she declined as she leafed through the pages.  "Need your signatures," she said.  "State legislature's denied the governor any right to intervene.   We're filing for a motion to take Aaron's case up to Federal Court."

I looked over the documents and signed them.

The reinforced concrete in her voice began to crumble.  "I've got to be honest with you.  It's not looking good."

"I'm going to see Aaron, right now."  I handed her the papers.

"I'll come with you."  She added, "If it's okay."

"Why are we doing this, Rachel?"

"Doing what?"

"We get into one stupid fight and we're reduced to attorney-client?"

"You walked out," she said, her eyes fixed on mine.

"If I'd stayed I would have said something I'd regret."

"So you don't regret anything you said?"

"I do, but—!" 

Stop.

Deep breath
. 

"All right, this is crazy.  We're chasing our tails."  I reached out for her.  She pulled back initially, but then responded by putting her hand in mine.

"You're right," she said.  "This is petty."

"Isn't it?"

She touched her forehead to mine.  "I'm sorry."

"Me too."  I kissed the tip of her nose.  "Move to retry?"

Her soft fingers caressed my face.  "Granted."

Our lips brushed.  My spine tingled.  We were all right again. 

Thank God.  We got into my car and drove to Children's Hospital.  Directly into the eye of the storm.

Chapter Ninety-Nine

The sound of chanting and singing and shouting and swearing, rose up into a putty-colored sky as we climbed the concrete steps out of the parking lot to the entrance of Children's Hospital.  The first thing I saw was not the heads of protesters, but their picket signs and posters, bobbing irately.

LET AARON LIVE!

SET AARON FREE!

FIRST DO NO HARM!

TORTURE FOR RELIGIOUS GAIN!

Police barricades separated the factions on both sides and news reporters spoke into video cameras.  I stopped midstride, grabbed Rachel's arm and turned around.

"Did you know about this?"

"They weren't here yesterday."

"Any chance we get in without being recognized?"

"Don't you want to say anything to the press?"

"Like what?"

"Let's leave," she said, glancing over to the mob.  "We'll take our chances later tonight."

I considered it but became angry. "No, wait.  It won't be any better later.  And there's no way I'm going to let them keep me from my son."

"You sure?"

I took her hand and led her to the top of the steps.  She started to jog ahead of me and would have broken into a sprint if I didn't hold her back and say, "Hold on.  We walk.  Keep your head high."  Facing the entrance, hardly anyone in the crowd looked elsewhere.  But then a woman with the SET AARON FREE sign turned, met my eyes and pointed.

"It's him!"

The crowd let out a roar of antiphonal strife.  On one side, tearful men and women reached out trying to touch my hand.  But at the same time, on the other side, snarling protesters gritted their teeth and hurled insults along with wadded up papers at their opponents.

We hadn't even gotten a quarter of the way to the entrance when a half-emptied Pepsi can flew at us from the LET AARON GO side.  Rachel shrieked as it hit her in the ear and splashed all over her face and shirt. 

"Legal whore!" shouted the man who threw it.

My hands and forearms became rigid.  With all the ferocity of an ex-con, I marched over to him with my fist balled up.

"Sam, don't!" Rachel said.

Just as I got to the barricade, the man sneered and faded back into the shouting crowd.  Lucky for him.  But just then, a boy, about Aaron's age who sat on his father's shoulders shouted, "Yo!" I'd never seen a child's face so twisted with hatred.  "You bastard!" he shouted, then leaned over and spat in my face.

"Tommy!" his father said and brought the boy down from his shoulders.  He regarded me apologetically, but couldn't seem to utter the words.  He just took the boy by than hand and led him away.

A hand bearing a white handkerchief stretched over to me.  It was Dan DeMarco of Channel Seven News.  His camera man stood next to him. "Mister Hudson," DeMarco said.  "How're you holding up?"

Rachel pushed in front of me and shouted, "No comment."

My thoughts lingered upon little Tommy.  So young, so angry.  No child should know hatred like this.  "Come on, Sam."  Rachel tugged on my arm.  "Let's go."

I took a couple of steps forward to return the handkerchief.

The reporter said, "Mister Hudson, a statement please."

Three or four more reporters pushed though on both sides closing on our position.  I said nothing and started for the hospital entrance. 

The crowd started up again.

Just as we reached the glass doors, I turned and looked at the crowd.  Both sides angered me.  None of them knew Aaron.  And while I'm certain the purest among them believed they were picketing in his best interest, most of them were everything their opponents thought they were.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked, realizing that I'd let go of her hand.

"I going to say something."  Two steps forward and the clamoring died down.  News cameras were aimed, microphones telescoped.  I didn't speak until the drumming of my heart settled.  Finally, with a deep breath, I looked up and into the crowd.

"You all seem to know what's best for my son."  Though some in the distance probably couldn't hear me, I didn't shout.  They leaned forward.  "Truth is, I don't think any one of us really knows.  Only God does." A whoop emerged from the Pro-Lifer's side.  I shot them a glare. "And far be it from any of us to define or to limit divine wisdom.  I appreciate all your prayers, but I don't believe what you're doing here is particularly godly."

"Yeah!" cried a woman on the Let Aaron Go side.

"That said, I'll be damned if I let politicians or special interest groups play God with my son's life!  He is
my
son and to deny me legal guardianship because of a policy-serving technicality—!" The words caught.  "It's not just an offense against me, it's against all of us."

Unsatisfied, the crowd started to grumble.  I held a hand up sharply and shouted so loud my voice echoed down to the parking lot.  "HEY!"

All eyes came forward.

"I have just two more things to say." 
I scanned the pavilion, made contact with as many of them as possible.  "Go home and leave us alone!"

Chapter One Hundred

Each visit grew more difficult than the last.  Aaron showed no signs of improving.  His legislative death sentence didn't make things any easier.  Rachel and I spent the entire visit pleading with God to work a miracle or two.   Was I deceiving myself?  Two hours later, we left through the back entrance to avoid the crowd.  Neither of us said a word on the way back.

Rachel begged off dinner.  She still had tons of work for my case and a new civil suit.  Wouldn't be the best company with all that on her mind, anyway, she said.  Dinner was once again a solitary affair.

The evening news featured my statement on the steps of Children's.   I came across as self-righteous and pompous.  Nice.  Dan DeMarco faced the camera and said, "That was Sam Hudson, recently exonerated for the murders of his wife and daughter.  No stranger to the media and the court, Hudson is reported to have been visiting confessed serial killer, Brent Stringer.  Also referring to himself as
Kitsume
, Stringer's murder trial begins next Monday.  Hudson is scheduled to testify against him as a witness for the State."

Later that night, Rachel arrived at my doorstep.  She stepped in as soon as I opened the door and spread out her office across the living room table, the sofa and floor.  "Sorry, I really need to finish this brief."

"Where were you?"

"I was in my office when you called."

"You didn't have to come."

She went back to organizing her papers.  "I'm going to be pulling an all-nighter.  Don't worry, I'll be a proper lady.  Promise."

"It's not you I'm worried about.   Need a blanket and pillow?"

"There it is!" She pulled out a sheet of paper and held it triumphantly.  I've been looking all over for this lousy affidavit..."  She stopped herself, realized I had no idea what she was talking about.  She dropped it back into the organized stack and came over to put her arms around me.  "I've been so caught up with this civil case."

"MacClellan vs. Donnell?"

"Wrongful death.  I work on Aaron's case at night." She pointed to the paper.  "That one's from a doctor at Johns Hopkins.  Says that Aaron might not qualify as being in a persistent vegetative state.  Something about neurological frequency response."

"Will he testify?"

"I'm working on him.  As long as they're denying your guardianship, I'm going to try every angle." She shrugged.  "I'm going for Constitutional rights tomorrow."

"Give it to me straight.  Not like I'm his father, attorney to attorney.  What are the chances?"

There was no smile on her face to start with.  She managed to look even more severe.  "I'm still praying."

That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear, but did ask for the truth.  "All right, then," I said, rubbing the knot in my neck.  "Make yourself at home.  Not much in the fridge, but help yourself.  Sure you don't need a blanket or anything?"

"Maybe coffee.  Like I said, all-nighter."

At 4:06 AM I came downstairs to find Rachel curled up on the sofa, an empty coffee mug in her hand.  I set it on the table, tucked her in with a comforter from the guest room and dimmed the lights.

"Just try to stay awake in court," I whispered and kissed her on the head.

Chapter One Hundred and One

The news wasn't good.  Rachel was still working on legal briefs and when she texted me:
Motion Denied
.  Despite vocal opposition from various interest groups, the State's mandate to terminate Aaron's life support had prevailed.  The
Union Tribune
quoted them saying, "We are loathe to incite another Terri Schiavo incident."

Incident?  Since when were matters of life and death mere incidents? 

The faith needed to sustain hope for Aaron and to befriend Brent Stringer was beyond my capacity.  Still, after all I'd seen, after all I'd been through, I was determined to hold fast.  Two more days passed and Brent was refusing visitation again.  But on the third day something truly remarkable happened. 

He asked to see me.

"What I don't understand is this guy hanging on the cross next to Jesus," Brent said, his tone calmer and more down to earth than ever before.  "I mean, he's about to die and he's got the nerve to ask the Son of God to forgive him?"

A good question, but I still wasn't all that comfortable with this manipulative psychopath acting like he was letting his guard down.  "So you've been reading the Bible I gave you."

"Not much else to do in a jail cell.  You ought to know that."  Where was that smug air of superiority?  That wise-cracking attitude?  Was he just luring me into something only his mind could conceive?  These visits were becoming quite a chore.  Still, I made God a promise and I intended to keep it.

"What do you think, Sam?  Do you think Jesus really meant it when he told that criminal he would—"

"What are you going on about?"

He shut his eyes, concentrating on God only knew what.  Then he began to recite:

"We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve.  But this man has done nothing wrong."  Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Jesus answered him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise."