Grace Anne - By Kathi S. Barton Page 0,79
we’re here there is no need for you to pretend. And if you do it again I will have someone else come and talk to you.” He sat on the bed as he pulled out files and spoke to her. “The trial is set for two hours from now. Once we get into the courtroom they’ll take you to your seat. Now, as I’ve said before, you can’t cause any sort of ruckus or the judge won’t let you speak on your behalf.”
She sat up a little straighter in her wheelchair and looked down at her body. She had on a pair of jogging pants that were bright orange and her shirt, one that had something printed on the front that she simply couldn’t make out, was just as orange. Her socks, also an orange that was more suited to pumpkins than clothing, were barely on her feet. They sort of reminded her of her husb—
“Jail? I’m in jail? No. That can’t be right. There’s been a mistake.” She felt another stir of one of the others, but again, not enough to tell which one. “There’s something wrong.”
The man sitting across from her glared for several minutes. Guinevere might have been uncomfortable by his stare if she wasn’t still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was in jail.
“Miss Waite, for the tenth time, you are not in jail. This is merely a holding place for you until the judge makes the decision as to what sort of facility you will go to. Then when the time is right, you’ll be taken before the court to determine if you are able to stand trial and if you are sane enough to be tried on the crimes against you.”
“What crimes?” she asked him. “I didn’t do anything wrong. It was all that money-grubbing whore’s fault. She’s the one who killed my Roscoe.”
“Yes, that’s it. Keep up that sort of talk and you’ll be spending the next fifty years of your life in a place just like this one, only the state tends to be little less friendly when they’re footing the bill.”
The laughter in her mind made her skin crawl. She hadn’t been prepared for it to sound so chilling. And when Guinnie spoke, Guinevere felt her blood run just a little colder.
“You should have listened to me. Had you or any of the others just given me my due then I wouldn’t have had to resort to such extreme measures. Especially in light of what has happened to you.”
Guinevere waited for Guinnie to continue. When she didn’t, she asked her what she meant. What had she done?
“Done? Why, I did what you should have done many, many years ago. I ended this. I wish his aim would have been just a little better, but… Well, how do you like our new home? Not fancy, but we’re safe.”
“What have you done? Tell Verrie I need to speak to her this minute. I want to speak to Verrie or Ginny right this fucking minute.” Guinevere looked at the man as he stood. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until that moment. The laughter made her think that Guinnie knew much more than she was letting on.
“Miss Waite, this is not the least bit funny. If it weren’t for the fact that I know you can’t move then I would leave here and never return.” He moved his chair back from her a few feet before he began to speak again. “Now, the trial is set for today. Then when the findings find you—”
“You should know that his aim killed Ginny. She was in the front when he fired. Too bad that he only managed to put the bullet into your frontal lobe and not all the way through your sick mind.” Guinevere ignored the man for the child in her mind. “And poor Verrie. She went off the deep end…well, deeper end just after they tied us down after surgery. I swear, there are times when I can still hear her scream.”
Guinevere tried to shake her head to clear it. When she did speak again it was only in her mind and not so the lawyer, Peter March, she remembered his name, could hear her. It upset him for some reason.
“Who’s aim? You are to tell me what happened and right now, Guinnie. I demand that you share what you know.” Guinevere knew she was in no place to demand anything and, apparently, so did Guinnie.
“Demand? I don’t