Special Dead by Patrick Freivald Read Free Book Online Page B

them as they disembarked in front
of the U.S. Courthouse in Buffalo, a white lab coat over his charcoal-gray suit.
He helped Dr. Romero off the truck but didn’t extend the same courtesy to Ani
or to anyone else. The guards lifted Ani and set her down, then gave her a
moment to untangle her feet from the chain before letting go.
    The early morning sun glared off the courthouse
windows. The huge building was a full city block of almost unadorned sandstone
built in the style of New Deal federal buildings everywhere. Ani noted with
pleasure that there were no steps to speak of, so she wouldn’t have to lurch
her manacled way up a staircase in front of all the reporters.
    Huh.
    “Mom, where are all the reporters?” She’d been
expecting a mob-scene of flashbulbs and yowling microphone-holders.
    Dr. Banerjee’s brown, dispassionate eyes held not
the slightest trace of humor. “According to the press release, you arrive at
ten. They’ll be rolling in at nine or so.” He nodded at Mr. Benson who, without
another word, escorted them through a side door into the building.
    The inside was as sparse as the outside, with
marble floors trimmed in green and muted scrollwork and walls clad in beige
stone tile. The few people they passed stared with naked fear or revulsion as Mr.
Benson ushered her into a small elevator and up to the seventh floor.
    Dr. Banerjee directed them into a wood-paneled
courtroom accented with green marble. Ani’s eyes were drawn to the elaborate
plaster ceiling and the bronze light fixtures, then dropped to the severe, church-like
pews. Comfy. The soldiers had already fanned out to the doors and stood
at ease.
    Ani sat between her mom and Dr. Banerjee in the
front row behind the plaintiff’s table. They waited. Dr. Banerjee hammered away
at a laptop; her mom worked on her iPad. With nothing else to do, Ani put in
her iPod ear buds and closed her eyes. Used to sleepless eight-hour baths every
night, waiting a few hours was nothing.
    Her mother tapped her arm, interrupting The Black
Eyed Peas. Ani opened her eyes to find people trickling in—a few reporters and
court functionaries were the only allowed spectators. She wrapped her
headphones around her iPod and put it in her purse. Her mom moved up next to
their lawyer at the defendant’s table, and Superintendent Salter and Mr.
Kickbush—Sam’s dad—sat with the school lawyer at the opposite table. A few
minutes later the bailiff bade them all rise, and the Honorable Justice
Constance Jones took the bench.
    A wizened black woman with gray hair and soft
brown eyes, Justice Jones nonetheless had a regal air. She banged the gavel and
announced that the Romero versus Ohneka Falls appeal was in session. The
opening arguments were long, technical, and boring, and Ani’s mind wandered despite
the gravity of the situation.
    If we lose, I burn.
    The judge called witnesses, and the lawyers made
their cases. It wasn’t like on TV, because Judge Jones asked most of the
questions, with the lawyers doing follow-up. The morning was a parade of monotonous,
repetitive arguments she’d heard before:  They’re monsters. No, they’re sick
children. They’re too dangerous. Not when properly medicated. It’s
too expensive. The school is being reimbursed.
    After lunch came Ani’s turn.
    “Ani Romero, do you promise to tell the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
    “I do,” Ani said . The Bible didn’t burn her
cold hand in rebuke for the lie.
    She sat in the chair, all eyes on her as Mr.
Benson shackled her into place. The blonde woman from class, Dr. Freeman, sat
in the back next to the reporters but wasn’t taking notes. Ani stared at her a
moment, and she stared back.
    Who are you?
    “How old are you, child?” Judge Jones asked, drawing
her attention. She had something in her teeth. Spinach?
    “Eighteen.”
    “And how long have you been dead?”
    Four years.
    “I’m not dead. I’ve been sick for a year and