The Reluctant Holdout

“Who thinks she’s guilty?”

Eleven hands went up. Eleven pairs of eyes turned to look at me. I willed my hand to raise, but it remained stubbornly at my side.

“You don’t think she’s guilty?” Ms. Clidna asked, crossing her spindly arms.

I squirmed under her violent gaze, but my head shook.

Mr. Ecne’s brow wrinkled. “How?”

Staring at the table, I muttered, “The, uh, evidence. Doesn’t add up.”

“What?”

“She said that the evidence doesn’t add up,” said Mr. Lug. He had the dubious privelege of sitting next to me.

“Why?”

Maybe if I stared intensely enough at the table I would become part of it. Tables have it nice. No one expects them to talk.

I jerked my shoulders a shrug-like motion. “It’s just, I don’t know. It’s all a little circumstantial, isn’t it?”

Mr. Bres laughed. “You watch too many cop shows, kiddo.”

I also had a degree in criminal psychology, but that wasn’t the point.

Their eyes burned holes into my skull. My lunch fought its way up my esophagus. I closed my eyes and ground my teeth against the urge to apologize.

“Are you okay?” asked a distant and distorted voice.

No. But the word stuck in my throat.

I took a deep breath. Counted to ten. An eternity later, I said, “I’m fine.”

Ms. Clidna sniffed and said, “You’ve obviously got your own issues, but please keep them off my jury.”

We’re not your jury, you evil walkingstick, I thought.

“This isn’t about me,” I said.

Ms. Clidna’s exasperation singed the air. Tears of frustration and shame blurred my view of the table. The dark wood swirled hypnotically. The swirls greyed and expanded and my head spun with them. I heard a faint thunk before my consciousness drifted away.

I watched myself critically. Or rather, my annoyingly persistent alter ego watched me critically. After the fifth time it showed up in my dreams, I’d named it Ainsel.

“You again?” I said.

Ainsel crossed her arms and looked down at me, though, being identical, we were the same height. “You know why I’m here.”

“Of course, to annoy me, which seems to be your only purpose.”

Ainsel laughed. “If you stood up to anyone like that in real life, you wouldn’t need me.”

“I don’t need you,” I said, my footsteps echoing on nothing in the white emptiness. I succeeded in going nowhere.

I looked back at Ainsel’s cruel smile. “See? You can’t even control your own dream, you fucking wimp,” she taunted.

“What do you know? You don’t even exist!”

Ainsel raised a mocking eyebrow. “I know everything you know, and everything you won’t let yourself know. I am what you could be, if you didn’t let your fear control you.”

I stamped my foot. The nothingness swallowed the sound. “You’re just a figment of my imagination! You’re trapped in my head!” I screamed.

Ainsel studied her nails. “Oh, like you aren’t trapped in your head? Your just as much a prisoner as I am.”

There really wasn’t much I could say to that, so I punched her. Right in the middle of the face. She smiled through the blood dripping from her nose. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” she said. “Hit me again.”

I obliged. I hit her stomach, her bowed shoulder, anything I could reach. She fell, still smiling. I kneeled above her and rained down punches like meteorites. My knuckles grew red and wet with blood, hers and mine indistinguishable.

I sat beside Ainsel’s prone form and looked at the crumpled mess I’d made. “I hate you,” I told her.

She sat up. “No,” she said, “you hate yourself.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

“Oh, now you want my advice?”

“Would I have created you otherwise?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you created me out of pure self-loathing.”

I shrugged. “Maybe, but you’re usually right.”

“Technically,” she said, “I’m just you, so really what you’re saying is that you’re right.”

I shook my head. “Stop, I already have a headache.”

She sighed. “You know she’s not guilty, and you know your stupid moral code is going to have you beating yourself up for the rest of your life if you let her be sentenced to death.”

“How the hell am I supposed to convince them, though?” Tears pricked my eyes. “Have you met me? I’m the least convincing person on this planet. And I can barely even get out a sentence when that mean walkingstick lady looks at me!”

Ainsel shook her head. “It’s like you said, before you fainted like the wimp you are. This isn’t about you. I know it’s too much to ask you to be strong for yourself. But if your weakness lets another person die? You’re going to get your shit together, for her.”

I watched a cloud float by. I nodded slowly. “Okay, maybe I can do that.”

Ainsel nudged my shoulder. “No maybe about this. You’re going to do this, and you’re not going to come back to visit me until you do. Now get lost!”

The emptiness shattered and I fell into the void.

The void deposited me gently on a hard chair. My vision filled with something hewn of a dark wood, perhaps mahogany. I peeled my aching forhead off the table.

I looked up into eleven pairs of eyes. Reality hit me like a bus and blood flooded my face.

“Water,” I croaked and fled. The door slammed, and the echoes chased me down the hall.

I ducked into the bathroom. My reflection cowered the mirror. I scowled and splashed icy water into my face. The dripping water made me look even more pathetic, but at least the redness was fading.

I wanted to leave the court house and never come back, but I knew I’d never handle the guilt. Also, I was fairly certain it was illegal, and I didn’t think I’d do well in jail.

The walk back to the deliberation room felt like a march to the gallows. I took a deep breath at the door. I knew better than to try for real confidence, but I pushed my shoulders back and lifted my head in some approxiamation of it.

Eleven pairs of eyes followed me to my seat. Another deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just got a little dizzy. I did not drink enough today.” The words slid bloated across my tongue. Deep breath.

“Do you need a doctor?” Mr. Lug asked.

“No,” I said.

A buzzing rose in my ears. I needed to say something. I needed to make them see. Deep breath. The buzzing faded enough for Ms. Clidna’s persistent droning to rise above it.

“Listen,” I interrupted. No one heard me. I cleared my throat. “Excuse me,” I tried again.

Ms. Clidna stopped talking and regarded me prunishly, as if I’d said something vulgar. I kept my gaze up, the muscles in my neck straining against themselves. For justice, I told myself. It was far too late for me, but someone should have it.

“She’s not guilty,” I heard myself say, though it didn’t sound like me. It sounded like Ainsel, though of course that was impossible.

“You’ve said that, but how?” Mr. Ecne asked.

I didn’t close my eyes, though I couldn’t look at any of them, either. I kept my gaze on the clock. It ticked languidly.

“The evidence is circumstancial,” my voice told the clock.

“You said that, too, but you, uh, fainted before you explained,” said Mr. Fidgen.

The clock ticked on. A distant part of me was surprised they’d been listening. I sat up a little straighter and pushed the words out before the little bit of strength I’d mustered could fade. “There’s nothing to prove she actually did it, the prosecutor is good, better than her lawyer anyway, but it’s all circumstantial.” I stopped for a breath. My heart pounded angrily at my ribcage and my shirt felt damp. Before my thoughts could catch me, I continued, “All they’ve really got is her car nearby, and a witness who saw a girl who looked like her enter the house, but witnesses get things wrong, because people don’t always see what they think they see.” A thought threatened to form, but I shoved into the dubious depths of my subconscious. Deep breath. I refocused on the clock, but the clock looked back so I turned my gaze to the beige wall beside it instead.

“Maybe she did it, she doesn’t have an alibi, but there’s reasonable doubt so we can’t say she did it beyond reasonable doubt and I don’t think she did it and if she’s convicted she’ll die while the real killer goes free and it’s not fair!” I panted, face flushed. Whatever had possessed me disappeared without a trace. My body trembled and I thought I might faint again.

“She makes a good point,” said Mr. Lug.

Ms. Clidna huffed. “Frankly, I don’t see it.”

Mr. Ecne tilted his head. “You know, I actually kind of do.” He nodded at me. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Dagda. “How good of a look did the witness get?”

I wanted to tell him that even with a good look, witnesses could be wrong, but I’d used up all my words.

Mr. Lug shuffled through his notes. “Not a great one,” he said.

“You know, I called it from the beginning. The evidence just isn’t there,” Mr. Bres said.

The words blurred together in my ears, but it didn’t matter anymore. I’d said my lines. My part was over and now I just waited patiently for the story to end.

The clock and I watched the time pass together, though afterward I realized I hadn’t kept count. Some number of moments later Ms. Clidna knocked on the table.

“Another vote, then,” she announced. “Who thinks she’s not guilty?”

Mr. Lug’s scarred hand went up. Mr. Dagda raised his wrinkled one. My hand floated up, lighter than it had ever felt before, and eleven hands were up again but this time mine was one of them. Ms. Clidna pursed her lips and sighed. She looked off into the distance and nodded to herself. And Ms. Clidna lifted her manicured hand straight up towards the panelled ceiling.