~~~
“But Professor! What if I have to defend a client who, like, everybody says is guilty? How am I supposed to argue with the whole world?” Asked Allison Starr, a 19 year old political science major, fresh out of high school in her first year of college.
The professor smiled thoughtfully, her librarian glasses guarding eyes that seemingly held all the wisdom in the universe.
“Allie, it doesn’t matter what everybody says. That’s the court of public opinion, what we deal with is the court of law. The only one you need to argue with is yourself, and decide what you believe is right.”
Young Allie was having an after class meeting with her Law & Ethics professor, Elizabeth Dawson. Every young defense attorney worries what would happen if they had to defend somebody who is obviously guilty, but Allie was more concerned with how she would go about defending somebody who everyone thinks is guilty.
“Public opinion is like a river. It moves fast, it can feel overwhelming, and it always tries to drag you along with it. Sometimes, though, that river leads right into a colossal ocean of bullshit,” Professor Dawson said, causing Allie to giggle.
“It’s your job to plant your feet, stand against the current, and decide how things truly are. And sometimes, even if the entire world might hate you for it, you’ll have to look right in the soul of someone who needs help and say three terrifying words.”
“What words?” asked Allie.
“I believe you.”
~~~
NAME: Brian Bentley
CRIME: Murder of Timothy Osment
METHOD OF EXECUTION: (blank)
Shit, Allison thought.
Shit, shit, shit! Why did it have to be me? Why couldn’t he have gone to Cathy?!
She began to pace back and forth across the SPAR. She knew that the convict would be delivered five minutes after the light turned green, leaving her with about four minutes and thirty seconds before she would have to confront the most hated man in the country. The words of the newsman entered her mind.
“To the lucky Chev who gets him, make sure he gets what he deserves.”
The newsman would likely be disappointed to learn that Brian Bentley was being delivered to a slightly squeamish woman who could never make it past ten minutes with a convict before unceremoniously squishing them under her heel. Obviously, the world wanted Brian Bentley to be brutally tortured, thoroughly broken in penance of his disgusting murder of a child. In other words, the world wanted Brian Bentley to be sent to Cathy. Oops.
Allison was well aware that there were no cameras in the room, no bystanders shouting “You can do better!” but that didn’t stop her from feeling the invisible pressure of an angry country. The identities of Chevaliers were heavily protected, due to the danger of retaliation by Anti-SP extremist groups, but questions rang out through her mind regardless.
What if someone finds out I was the one who got Brian Bentley?
What if Cathy tells someone?
She knew that reporters would swarm her, and the revelation that Brian Bentley got squished like a bug within five minutes would probably doom her to a life of ostracism. This left her with one conclusion.
I’m going to have to torture Brian Bentley.
…
…
…
“How am I supposed to torture Brian Bentley?!” she shouted to the empty room, holding her head in her hands.
“I should have listened when Cathy tried to tell me what she usually does…” she grumbled, any ounce of cruel creativity apparently having left the building under the immense pressure.
Should I… tickle him? she thought.
No, that isn’t torture…
Realising that time was quickly running out, Allison rushed over to the chair and sat down, thinking she should at least look ready when Brian Bentley popped out of the strange two inch door five feet away from her.
What should I do?
What should I do?!
WHAT SH-
“BZZZZZZZZT”
A loud buzzing noise interrupted her frantic thinking, causing her to audibly yelp. Time, it seemed, had run out. Allison quickly smoothed out any traces of stress in her face and body language and neatly folded her hands on the metal table.
Suddenly, the strange two inch door retreated into the wall, leaving a small hole in its stead. Propelled by an unseen force, a small figure came flying into the room, face planting onto the desk below it. It was a man, and for the first time ever, Allison was afraid of him. She silently watched as the one inch tall, naked man rolled onto his back, and raised himself into a sitting position. After rapidly shaking his head a few times, as if to clear a mental fog, his eyes opened- right in Allison’s direction. With seemingly no acknowledgement to the fact that she was thousands of times his size, Brian Bentley was looking directly into Allison Starr’s eyes, and she was looking directly into his.
She took in his features. As she had seen in the news countless times, he had messy black hair and striking green eyes. He was rather pale, but surprisingly fit. Allison would expect a child murderer to be skinny and greasy, but the young man she was met with was toned and muscular, with the slightest hint of a six-pack hidden behind his cross-legged position. Her eyes briefly drifted downwards to his groin, but quickly darted back up to his face, lest she admire the package of a child murderer. Most notable of all, however, was the expression on his face. Or rather, the lack of one. His face was eerily neutral, drawing into question if he was aware of his surroundings in any capacity, let alone the fact that he was the size of a bug in the presence of his would-be-executioner. Not sure how much time had passed during this surreal staring contest, Allison decided it was time to start the session. Her mind blanked, though, and she started with her standard opener.
“What’s your name?” she asked calmly, before immediately cursing her stupidity.
You idiot, as if you don’t know who he is. He’s gonna say “you don’t know who I am? Quit the bullshit.”
“Brian Bentley,” said the young man, his voice neither high nor low pitched. This caught Allison by surprise, did he really think she didn’t know who he was? Even more flustered now, she continued with her usual line of questioning- exactly what was recommended in the Chevalier handbook: What crime did he commit?
“W-What-”
“I murdered Timothy Osment, ‘America’s Little Brother,’” he said, as if reading from a script.
“W-Why did you think I was going to ask-”
“You’re trying to make me relive my guilt,” he said, his expression never changing.
Allison was flabbergasted. Is this bug seriously dominating the conversation right now? she thought, her temper rising. She decided to go on the offensive, deviating from the recommended questions.
“Well, are you?” she asked.
Brian Bentley did not respond.
“Are you guilty?” she elaborated. Then, something strange happened. His expression changed. If you remember from Allison’s session with triple-murderer Joe, she is very good at picking up subtle changes in expressions and body language- even in one-inch criminals. Brian Bentley’s eyes slightly widened, and his mouth barely opened, as if an important thought was on the tippiest-tip of his tiny tongue. Then, his expression returned to normal, the thought apparently having evaporated.
“No, I’m not,” he said. Once again, Allison’s temper flared.
“You really are cold blooded, aren’t you? You feel no guilt after murdering a child?!” she said, her voice rising near the end. Wait, why am I the one getting emotional here?
Brian Bentley did not respond.
Allison remembered a tip her old mentor, Professor Dawson, used to tell her.
“Allie, if somebody is giving you a hard time during an interview, simply say nothing. The awkward silence will compel them to keep talking. Most of the time.”
So that’s exactly what she did. Mirroring Brian Bentley, Allison said nothing. Silence fell upon the room like a blanket of snow.
The silence continued.
The silence continued.
The silence continued.
The silence continued.
The silence continued.
Then, success! Brian Bentley started to respond. Albeit, not with words. He stood to his feet, his green eyes finally breaking their embrace with Allison’s browns. He turned to face the far side of the desk, his back facing the strange two inch tall door. He began to walk. Despite the desk being about 1.5 feet in width, for his miniscule legs it would take him a hot minute to reach the edge. The edge, seemingly, being the place he was going.
Allison sat, as if in a trance, watching him make his way over.
What is he doing? she thought.
Finally, Brian Bentley made his way to the end of the metal desk, his bare feet slightly going over the edge. He peered into the abyss, a fall that looked to be hundreds, if not thousands, of feet. He took a step back, and once again looked to Allison.
“If you don’t get on with this, I’m probably just gonna jump off myself.”
That did it. How dare him, is he seriously screwing with me?! Does he not realise I’m going to KILL him?! Allison thought.
“FUCK you!” she exclaimed, slamming her fist on the desk. The force caused a vibration, and Brian Bentley fell to his rear, his expression ever unchanging.
“You think you’re too good for this? You think you’re too cool to show fear?! You want me to get on with it?! Fine!” Allison said angrily, the venom spilling out of her mouth.
“How would you like me to do it, then, since you’re the one calling the shots here, huh?” she asked.
“Usually, I just drop them to the floor and quickly squish them like bugs, but how about I branch out, just for you? What if I bring my fist down on your insignificant body, and crush you where you stand? What if I throw you on this chair and fucking sit on you, huh? What if I stick you in my shoe and let you squish under my toes? What if I drop you in that toilet over there and take a shit on you? Did you know that toilet flushes straight into a fucking incinerator?!”
The cruelty Allison had failed to find earlier was now flooding into her mind, triggered by the inexplicable anger she was feeling towards Brian Bentley. Still, she went.
“What if I inhale you up my nose, let you drown amidst the snot? What if I stick you between my boobs and squeeze as hard as I can? Would you like that, you little perv? What if I fucking EAT you, huh? What if I drop you inside my mouth like a little piece of candy and swallow you whole? What if I let you dissolve into nothingness in my stomach acid?! Well?! Which one sounds the best to YOU, you robot child murdering disgusting little BUG?!” Allison was screaming at this point, the sheer power of her voice causing Brian Bentley’s hair to flutter in the wind it was creating.
Finished with her tirade, Allison was now panting and sweating. Her face red, her neat ponytail coming apart at the seams, she looked like she had just run a marathon.
Why am I so mad? she wondered to herself. Why is his behavior driving me so insane?
This was far from the worst behavior she had seen from a convict. She had seen convicts call her every name under the sun, threatening to kill her and fuck her corpse if “you fucking touch me, bitch!” Through it all, she would sit calmly, hands neatly folded on the desk until it was their time to grab the tiny criminal and drop them on the floor to be crushed. But a little light provoking and silence had caused her to lose her composure to this extent? She truly did not understand why.
Through it all, as you might have guessed, Brian Bentley did not move. Brian Bentley did not speak. Brian Bentley did not blink. Unless you were looking closely, you’d probably think Brian Bentley did not breathe. This did little to soothe Allison’s anger, but at this point she was too tired to go on like this. Finally forced to a decision, Allison chose to do what she knew best.
“Whatever. Clearly, you’re brain damaged, so I’ll just squish you under my foot like the fucking bug you are,” she spat.
“I’ll make it quick” she said as her left hand suddenly reached for the tiny convict. Unceremoniously, and with no trace of gentleness, she plucked Brian Bentley off the edge of the table and moved to the center of the SPAR, dropping his body to the cold metal below. As she had done hundreds of times before, she raised her jet black heel far above the body, before coming to a stop to ask the final recommended question.
“Do you have any last words?”
Normally, she brought her foot down immediately after asking, not always giving them enough time to respond. This time, though, she hesitated. For the first time ever, she actually wanted to know what the last words would be. But no words came, so she began to lower her foot with a groan of disgust.
However, right before her foot made astronomical contact with the floor, something strange happened. Brian Bentley spoke. They were words that Allison had heard many times before, but they nonetheless caused her foot to abruptly stop descending.
“I didn’t do it.”
“I didn’t do it.” “I’m innocent.” “I was framed.” “They set me up.” These were all words that many criminals had screamed or cried prior to their deaths, but something about the way Brian Bentley spoke them was entirely unique.
This was not a scream.
This was not a cry.
This was a whisper, a soft declaration of innocence to an empty and uncaring universe.
Most people probably wouldn’t have even heard it, but Allison’s well trained ears and the eerie silence that only a metal room could create caused Allison to hear him as if he had screamed it into her ear. Allison moved her foot to the side, so she could look upon Brian Bentley once more. What she saw was a pitiful young man, eyes closed, small tears running down his face, body shaking in the way that only happens when one is sobbing.
Compelled by an unknown part of her brain, she lowered her foot directly next to him, and once again felt Brian Bentley between her fingers as she returned him to the metal desk. Once he realised he was not dead, Brian Bentley opened his eyes, a steady stream of tears staining his face.
“Why did you say that?” Allison whispered.
“You said you would make it quick,” he responded, his voice mixed with the occasional sobbing gasp.
“I said, why did you say that?” Allison repeated, slightly more forcefully this time. “Are you trying to make me change my mind? Are you trying to make me feel guilty? Why would you say that?” she continued.
Brian Bentley responded by tearfully shaking his head, as if he was a child being scolded by a strict teacher.
“Just… I just… one last time… I wanted the universe to hear it… hear…” he choked out, before closing his eyes and sobbing slightly harder.
The tears were now fuller, his body convulsing with more intensity. Strangely enough though, he was making absolutely no noise. His hands were clasped over his mouth in a dead man’s embrace, and his whole body was so tense it looked as if it would break should someone touch it wrong. It was pretty impressive, actually, and Allison realised it was the type of skill that could only be acquired with an ungodly amount of practice. Clearly, Brian Bentley was not the robot everybody thought he was.
Looking upon his tiny, sobbing figure, Allison did not see a murderer. She saw a scared shitless kid, shouldering an earth shattering amount of sadness. Professor Dawson’s words from so long ago reentered her mind.
“It’s your job to plant your feet, stand against the current, and decide how things truly are.”
Suddenly, three years worth of doubt came flooding into her mind. The kind of taboo doubt that was repressed within a repression, something she would dare not speak aloud.
Why was his trial not televised?
Why was he sentenced after two days?
Why was every court record sealed?
Why was Timmy Osment’s autopsy never released?
Why was Brian Bentley’s testimony never released?
Why was the police officer’s body cam disabled?
Why was new evidence “discovered” the exact day Brian Bentley turned 21?
Why was Brian Bentley sentenced to life in prison?
Why was Brian Bentley re-sentenced to death?
Why was Brian Bentley convicted?
Why was Brian Bentley convicted?!
“I didn’t do it…” Brian Bentley weakly called out again.
He didn’t do it.
He didn’t do it.
Brian Bentley is innocent.
Allison snapped back to reality, feeling nauseous. Brian Bentley was innocent. He did not commit that terrible crime. The question then was what Allison was going to do with that information. She steeled her spine and opened her heart, for she knew what needed to be done.
“Brian,” she said softly.
Brian did not respond, he only continued to cry.
“Brian, look at me,” she repeated, ever so gently teasing his chin upwards with the tip of her fingernail.
Brian locked eyes with Allison, and she decided that, even if the world might hate her for it, she needed to look right in his soul and say three terrifying words.
“I believe you.”