There Was No Choice

There was no choice. I knew I had to go, but there was no choice. I wanted to make sure he paid, and I wanted to run away as fast as I could.

Maybe if I tell them I am sick, or maybe if I tell myself I am sick, it will all be over soon. I do not want to go. I cannot. Well, ok I can, I must. I am obligated to do so. They asked, I said I would and here I am.

I get ready, leave the house and head for the court. Today is a sharp navy suit, Brooks Brothers all the way. I love a tailored suit. It feels powerful and confident. I am not, not today. I know what I saw, heard, and read, but it cannot be true. Can it?

I am a psychologist, a forensic psychologist by trade. I have been in this business for twenty plus years, many of them dealing with serial killers, bombers, and terrorist-types. If you read about them, chances are I was consulted. Maybe I did not take the job, but I was probably consulted. I have no books out, no articles or published papers either. I have kept a personal journal for many years and when I retire it will be an amazing read. Now though, today. I have no choice but to speak the truth and let the chips fall where they may.

Billy Ray Johnson was only fifteen years old when he killed his parents, today, at twenty, he is strong and fit, prison fit really. He has been in juvenile since that night, awaiting trial as an adult, of course. The newspaper story goes something like this:

Billy Ray was angry at his parents for not letting him keep the kitten he saved from the tree. He had it for a few days before his mother found it and told his father. His parents, kind, on paper, were in agreement that he would not be able to keep the kitten.

He stabbed them in their sleep. First his father then his mother. The scene was full of rage, blood everywhere and anger tossed about like a ragdoll. He was vicious in his attack. Relentless in this bloodbath. The first on scene were sickened and so on. You know, typical horror scene “news” but the real truth was that Billy was not even home, there was no kitten and there was an unknown subject that perpetrated this God-awful attack on his parents.

Of course, no one believed it, me either. At first, I thought he was doing a great job of acting, a pure psychopath. But then, after spending time with him, listening to him and the tapes, over and over. I wondered. Could this be true? I mean really, was there another shooter on the grassy knoll? Was Billy Ray really gone that night? Snuck out of the window to meet a “friend”?

Billy Ray claims he met someone online, snuck out to meet them in the local park and they hit him over the head or drugged him. That is the part that got me, he says he does not know what happened. I wonder, but I know, from years of experience, that we sometimes just truly do not know. So, benefit of the doubt here. Well, in my mind, benefit of the doubt, not so sure about the rest of the players. We will see.

Billy says he came home the next morning, full of grass and dirt, like he had been kicked around in a ball field. He says he has no memory of what happened and that his parents were already dead. He did call the police right away. But to them, he was late, they pinned it on him from moment one. No choice, they said, no other suspects, they said. What can you do? So, they did nothing. Small town justice they call it.

Sure, justice for whom, I wondered each day I was here. Too many to count, really. I hate this town, have hated it since the eerie feeling crossing into it all those months ago. No, I have not been here all those years. Just about a year, though. I am due to testify and leave by the end of the week. I have my ticket, bags partially packed. I. Am. Ready.

So, the courthouse is packed, the change of venue did not hold, judge decided he could handle it. Right, but here we are.

I walk up the steps, check in with the bailiff and take my seat in the back room, away from the jury, lookie-loos and everyone else in town. I hung my head in silence and said a little prayer. God, please give me the strength and courage to do what is right, not what they think I should say.

I can hear the hustle now, Billy being led in, my room is in the same hall they walk him up from, so I am aware. I imagine he is too. He knows the courthouse too. He has been here enough, and we chatted about it in sessions. He thinks it needs a paint job.

He is seated and the trial begins. I cannot hear anything and that is as it should be. No one knows if I am there and that my testimony will be forthcoming.

Anxious? Nervous? No, not really, I have no choice. This is my calling, my profession and I have been here before. There is no room for regret or hope either. I must be calm and focused. I know the truth and I will stick to it. Funny, old time “just the facts” floats through my mind. But there it is, just the facts.

My turn. I walk into the courtroom, settle into the seat, swear, again on the Bible and settle in. The usual credential reading, the pomp and circumstance before the questions are over. Here it comes.

Doctor Keller, please tell us your findings.