Dying for Rain (The Rain Trilog - BB Easton Page 0,16

pushes open a massive wooden door. It swings wide, revealing a courtroom as big as a grocery store and as empty as church on Monday.

There’s no jury.

No plaintiffs or defendants.

No witnesses waiting to be called forward.

The pews are all vacant, except for a few uniformed officers.

And there, standing next to the raised wooden judge’s podium, is a tall, slender, bald man I recognize instantly as the bailiff from the executions.

Upon seeing the camera, he adjusts his uniform, lifts both hands as if he’s about to conduct a symphony, and shouts, “All rise! The honorable Governor Beauregard Steele is presiding.”

The two officers in the front row stand as Governor Steele breezes in through the doorway behind the bailiff. He’s wearing a black judge’s robe, but he left it wide open in the front to accommodate his sizable belly, and the sleeves are about three inches too short.

“Be seated.”

The chair behind the podium squeaks loudly as Governor Steele sits and taps the tiny microphone in front of him, “Ladies and gentlemen, I declauh that the Georgia State Superiuh Court is now in session. I hereby call to order the case of the People Versus …” Governor Steele shuffles a few papers around on the podium until the bailiff comes over and whispers something in his ear. “Wesson Patrick Parkuh!”

He slams his gavel down, and I feel the blow directly in my own chest.

No. No, no, no.

“Bailiff!” He swings his gavel in the direction of the man on his right with the enthusiasm of a game show host. “Bring out the accused!”

I’m no longer in my body. I’m not even in my living room. I’m in the back row of that courtroom, clutching the smooth wooden bench in front of me so hard that my knuckles turn white as the bailiff pushes through the door behind him and reenters the room, dragging Wes by the elbow.

My Wes.

The camera zooms in on his beautiful face, and thanks to the power of HDTV, I can count every black eyelash as he stares at the floor, every stubborn strand of hair that refuses to stay tucked behind his ear, and every worried crease in his lips as he chews on the corner of his mouth. He’s right there. Larger than life. So close I can touch him.

So, I do.

I step toward the TV as Mrs. Renshaw and Sophie and Carter come running up the stairs. Wes’s eyes stare back at me the moment my fingertips graze his cheek, but they’re not happy to see me.

They’re downright hateful.

“Rainbow! Get away from there!” Mrs. Renshaw snaps. “Jimbo, don’t just sit there! Turn that godforsaken thing off!”

“I tried, Agnes! They’re broadcastin’ it on every damn channel!”

“Well, try harder!”

“Your Honor.” The camera cuts away from Wes and over to the judge’s stand, where one of the police officers in the front row is now addressing the governor.

I yank my hand back and stumble away from the screen.

“The accused has been charged with violating the one and only true law, the law of natural selection, by procuring and administering life-saving antibiotics to a mortally wounded citizen. The evidence will show that an open bottle of Keflex was found at the scene of the crime with the accused’s fingerprints on it, and the accused was identified on sight by an eyewitness. I motion to find the accused guilty as charged.”

Governor Steele leans back in his chair and folds his hands across his stomach. “Very good then. Very good. Does the, uh, defense have anything to say?” He turns a beady eye on the second officer in the front row, who stands at attention and violently shakes his head.

“Jimbo! Turn! It! Off!”

“I’m tryin’, woman!”

“Very well then.” Governor Steele nods at the mute officer in approval, and his chair squeaks loudly as he leans forward and breathes into the microphone. “Mistuh Parkuh …”

The bailiff drags Wes over to the judge’s stand, but Wes doesn’t hurry. He crosses the courtroom on long, lazy legs, taking his time as the bailiff jerks on his elbow. With his hands cuffed and ankles shackled, he still manages to make that orange jumpsuit look cool as he stands in a carefree pose before the governor. Wes, the Ice King. He only acts that way when he feels threatened. It makes me want to reach into the TV and hug him from behind. Wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek on his back, like I used to when we would ride through the woods on his dirt