The Testimony of Avalon Corbyn

      I kept my face straight, kept my tone even as I recounted the events of the past few months.

      The case of Patience Eloise Richardson’s murder was finally getting its close.

      This was the moment I’d been wanting for so very long.

      Ever since my best friend had spoken about a handsome man inviting her to dinner, ever since she’d never arrived back, ever since I’d seen her body before the officers had the time to push me away, ever since Victor Morris, the only man I ever loved, had found his mother’s letters burned and it’d looked like I had done it, ever since Anderson had appeared in my home with his rotten intentions.

      Ever since I’d staged my own death with the help of the police, I’d been yearning for this moment, trying to make it happen.

      The judge told me I could be seated after I finished testifying. As I tucked my skirt beneath me, I felt an icy glare burrow into my skin.

      Anderson Quincey.

      He was sitting, restrained, by a table on the other side of the room.

      Ever since I’d walked in, he’d only glared daggers at me. I could feel his eyes following my every movement.

      He wanted me to look over at him.

      He wanted to intimidate me away from sharing the truth.

      But nothing would stop me now from screaming the truth from the rooftops.

      It was done.

      Everyone knew.

      They knew everything he’d done and how London’s most respectable specimen of a man was actually the blood-crazed murderer who’d killed Patience Richardson—killed my best friend.

      My gaze searched the seats behind me.

      I saw my parents, both who were white in the face, looking almost sick.

      When I’d “come back to life”, my mother had, quite promptly, fainted with the grace of a brick.

      My father had been a bit more tactful, though when the police officers had arrested Anderson, I was quite sure his eyeballs had bulged completely from their sockets.

      They’d both been immensely shaken.

      Of course, how was one supposed to react when their daughter comes back to life—even if they’d never spared much thought about her before? I’d been quite pleased at the level of relief and shock on their faces.

      It meant they cared.

      Even if they were bloody terrible at showing it.

      As Father tried to give me an encouraging look that resembled more of a scandalized grimace, Mother mirroring the expression, my eyes moved over them, continuing to look through the crowd.

      My gaze sought another.

      When I found his head of disheveled blonde hair, his chocolate eyes locked on mine. Where a hardened expression had been carved onto his face, he now gave me a soft, reassuring smile, though I could see it was forced.

      This trial was not easy for any of us to sit through.

      Unbeknownst to him, I absorbed the strength in his expression and tall posture, trying to use it as my own. I returned his smile, hoping to seem confident.

      I did not know how the judge could ever rule not guilty with the amount of evidence the police had made sure to collect—even if Anderson had tried to pay his way out of this one. But there was always a chance whenever a wealthy and well-known citizen was on trial…

      I focused on the judge in front of me.

      He was middle-aged, which I could tell by the crow’s feet by his eyes and the lines etched in his face. His gaze was piercing as he listened to the case. He seemed astute.

      But what if he’s been payed off? What if that Anderson is let off the hook? What if-

      I cut off my treacherous thoughts, trying to breath normally, trying not to show my fear.

      Truth will out.

      Yes.

      And the truth was out now. No one could refute that.

      After what seemed like forever, we were told the verdict had been reached.

      I clutched my dress in my fists, the circulation in my hands almost completely gone.

      Not guilty.

      Please don’t say not guilty.

      For a moment, I imagined hearing those words. What would happen if they were spoken?

      I would die, that was what would happen. And it would be for real this time. Anderson would corner me in the middle of the night and slit my throat, just as he’d done to Patience. If it came to that, my only hope was that he made it quick, unlike he’d done with my best friend.

      I shuddered.

      Please don’t say not guilty.

      Straightening in my seat, I prepared myself.

      Please. Let justice prevail.

      “Guilty.”

      As the word was spoken, I felt as if my body had just been pulled out of the ocean, everything around me becoming suddenly clear, sound reaching my ears at full volume. It was as if someone had cleaned the glasses I wasn’t wearing, my vision un-fogging, clarity greeting me with a secure embrace.

      Guilty.

      We’d won.

      Justice had prevailed.

      I flipped around in my seat, meeting Victor’s gaze.

      He was letting out a nearly audible sigh of relief and as his eyes met mine, he gave me a nod.

      As the judge read out Anderson’s sentence, I felt like throwing propriety out of the window and leaping up to give Victor Morris a hug-

      Wait, a hug? Victor?

      I had to keep my thoughts in check, play my cards close to my chest.

      This is a trial, Avalon. Now is not the time nor place for impulsive, idiotic feelings.

      Ignoring the voices in my mind, I finally dared to look Anderson’s way.

      His icy blue eyes bore into my green ones, malice, anger, hatred overflowing from them.

      I met his glare defiantly with my own, not allowing his hostility to affect me.

      Because we had won.

      Patience could finally Rest In Peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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