Final hope

Leaning back in his chair, spine straight and shoulders pulled back, Rowan shifted his right wrist gently in the restraints, never quite getting used to being handcuffed.

The trial had a slow but predictable start. The arresting officer damning in his testimony and while Rowan’d been prepped and knew it was a painful spectacle, particularly as he knew what the consequences were.

The pangs of helplessness kept hitting his core and it took every muscle to stop himself collapsing. He hardened his demeanour as he waited for his lawyer to join him in the consultation room. Rowen was agitated though. There seemed to be lots of conferring between his attorney and the firm’s paralegals. His sister had hired a top tier firm with little more assurance than what she felt in her heart was her brother’s innocence.After all, the evidence was damming.

The only DNA evidence at the scene of the crime was his and the single person seen at the scene after the murder was him. How he wished there was another witness. Rowan had broken into Sally Hanson’s house after he saw her being slapped repeatedly by an unknown figure in her bedroom. He hadn’t see his face as he was made privy to the assault from across the road. Fixing up a wardrobe for a job on Task Rabbit, he saw the assailant’s hand repeatedly strike her down.

Why didn’t he just call the cops, had been the question hurled at him by apprehending officers. Rowan couldn’t answer that, all he knew was he felt the instinct to just react, flying down the stairs and across the road he opened her unlocked door before pounding up the stairs to find Hansen lying on the floor clutching the stab wounds in her stomach barely able to croak out her last words.

“Hold on, just hold on,” pleaded Rowan as he took over stemming the blood flow. He mentally searched for the whereabouts of his phone but felt Sally’s grip tighten before releasing completely.

“Ma’am, ma’am!” He called. As a furrow of sadness started encroaching on Rowan’s brow, he for this stranger he had no knowledge or thought was abruptly interrupted, as a tall, gangly teenage boy entered the room.

“Mom!”

“Sorry about the wait Rowan,” said Matt Mitchell, Rowan’s lawyer deftly entered the room disrupting the arrestee’s thoughts back to the day he do wished he could take back.

Pulling out a chair and tucking himself in under the table as smoothly as he entered the room, Mitchell leaned in close to his client, elbows on the table, looked into his eyes in earnest.

“Rowan, this is important. Have you been 100% honest with me?” Asked Mitchell, quickly reaffirming, “this is all under client attorney privilege.”

“Mitch,” began Rowan, “where is this all coming from?”

Mitchell leaned back, pausing five seconds before answering, “it seems there is an eye witness after all,” said Mitchell, “and he says - that whole story with the mystery hitter - it never happened.”