“But you weren’t involved with her?”
“No. She was fourteen. I saw her as a kid sister, nothing more.”
“Why would Mr. Fletcher frame you for something so compromising?”
Mason looks directly at Shane. “Because I figured out what he was doing to her. I tried to warn Reagan, tried to get her to see how sick he was. Shane needed me gone so he could keep controlling her.”
“And what was the defendant doing to her?”
Shane’s lawyer objects again. The judge overrules. Mason hesitates. Eventually, he manages to tell the whole story. I bury my gaze in my journal and pretend no one is looking at me.
“Mr. Bloom, what happened on the night of March 15th?” Floyd asks.
“I heard a scream in the middle of the night coming from Reagan’s house. I thought her mother was beating her again, so I ran over there.”
“Did her mother beat her frequently?”
“Yes. She was very…violent with Reagan. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I drove Reagan myself to the ER last January after one of their fights.”
Floyd gives the jury one of those looks you watch in legal thrillers. It’s like, “Did you hear that? Did you fucking hear that?” Then she returns to Mason. “Continue, please. What happened when you reached their house?”
“I banged on the door a lot, but no one opened. I heard her mother yelling and swearing. I heard someone else talking, a man, and then something like broken glass, so I kicked the door open and ran inside.
“There was like a thud and groans. Then no one was shouting anymore. I called Reagan’s name multiple times, searching for her. She yelled back, and I followed her voice upstairs. She kept shouting, ‘Hurry. He’s trying to escape.’”
“He? Who is he?”
“When I reached her room, I saw Shane. He was halfway through the window, and Reagan was holding him from behind, from his cut,” Mason imitates the hand movement, “trying to stop him from leaving.”
“Did you see anything else?”
Mason nods somberly. “Reagan’s mother was on the floor, covered in blood.”
“Was she dead?”
“I didn’t know at the time. Reagan was yelling for help, so I crossed the room and pulled Shane back inside. That’s when I saw the knife.”
Floyd goes to her table and brings a labeled plastic bag with a knife in it for everyone to see. “Is this the knife you saw?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She says something about registering evidence of the murder weapon.
Shane shoots up from his seat. “He’s lying! I didn’t kill her. He did!”
The judge’s gavel comes down. “Order.”
The lawyer pushes Shane back down to his seat with a scolding glare, and the judge prompts Mason to continue.
“He wrestled me, swung that knife at me. It was happening too fast. I managed to get a grip on his arm and squeezed the knife out of his hand, but then he punched me, knocked medown on my as—back and kicked me. I tried to fight back, to hold him off, but he managed to jump out of the window anyway and ran away.”
“And what did you do after that?”
“Reagan was bent over her mom, holding a phone. I assumed she was calling 911 as she checked her mother’s pulse. When I got back on my feet, Reagan said the police were on their way, but her mother wasn’t breathing. I tried CPR, but… She was far gone.
“As we waited for the police, I asked Reagan what happened, and she said her mother found them together, Reagan and Shane, in bed, and she flipped. Shane threatened her to shut up, but she smashed his head with a lamp and threatened to tell on him, so he pulled his knife and stabbed her.”
“Was there anyone else in the house?”
