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When I reach the entrance, I turn to face him. I do a dramatic bow and stand upright.

“I wish you the best!” I yell, but then I add, “in Hell!”

I let out an evil laugh, turn and stride out the door, my middle finger and fat ass waving goodbye to him.

* * *

“Members of the jury, I understand you have a verdict.” The judge gestures for the bailiff to collect the envelope containing the verdict from the jury foreman. The bailiff takes the envelope and hands it to the judge. The judge opens the envelope, slides the documents out and reviews it. He then hands it to the clerk. This is what I hate about court. All of the unnecessary formalities. Like, just get on with it.

The clerk puts on the glasses that are hanging around her neck. She pulls the paper out and announces the verdict that I fully expected. I can feel everyone hold their breath as they await the fate of my client. The fate that I already know.

Both sides have wrapped up their cases. Now, it’s the grand finale.

“On the count of first-degree murder, the jury finds Thomas Reynolds…guilty.” Shock radiates off my client, even though I told him this was a likely outcome. He just refused to believe it. Before the trial began, the prosecution offered a plea deal, but my client refused it on the grounds that he was innocent. What a liar.

I sigh and nod my head, fully expecting that. You win some, and you lose some. I tried my best. I did. But he dug his own grave. And that poor woman’s, apparently.

I don’t feel bad about losing this case for my client. It is easier to lose a case when you know that the person is guilty. It’s a different feeling when you lose knowing your client is absolutely innocent. Those cases hurt. It sticks with you. It makes you not able to eat for days. Question why you ever became a lawyer.

But there is a different type of loss as a lawyer that is hard to come back from. The type of loss that happens because you failed the victim. That’s the loss I think about with every breath I take. Wishing I could go back, wishing I did things differently. But now is not the time to fall into that hole.

I can hear some people clapping and crying. Today, I presented my case, then we did closing argument. It took me less than a day, since my client all but handed them everything they needed to wrap this case up tightly with a bow.

My client snaps out of his daze and grabs my arm roughly. He yanks me closer to him and yells in my face.

“You stupid bitch! This is all your fault! I paid you all that money to prove I’m innocent!”

Being a lawyer consists of everyone being angry with you.

All the time.

Your boss. Your client. Your client’s significant other. Potential clients. Opposing party. Opposing party’s significant other. Opposing counsel. The judge. The clerk. Security guards. Random people in the grocery store who ask you for legal advice and get mad when you say, “It depends.” It really does depend on your specific set of facts for fucks sake. The only beings not angry with me are my cats. But they are one more late meal from shunning me forever.

The bailiffs rush over to get him off me. He tries to run away from them, but they cut him off. One of the bailiffs trying to detain him is a rookie that seems flustered at the situation. I spoke to the rookie earlier today while we waited for court to start. He was considering law school in the future, so I gave him some advice. In other words, I told him that if he enjoyed his sanity, he would consider any other career path.

I hear the bailiffs shouting. I turn to look at them and see that Mr. Reynolds has managed to take the rookie’s gun from his holster.

“If I’m going down, you’re coming with me, Joyce!” he yells as he points the gun at me with shaky hands. Damn. ‘Joyce Freedom Day’ was doing so well. Now this murderous imbecile has to ruin everything.

The atmosphere in the room changes. Everyone stands still. The bailiffs surround him, but no one moves an inch, worried he might pull his finger on the trigger. I raise my hands in the air. Despite my heart beating rapidly in my chest, I calmly say, “Damn it, Mr. Reynolds. Just hand them the—”

A loud pop echoes through the room. Before I can process the sound, I feel a burning sensation in my chest. An overwhelming pain consumes me to where I can no longer hold myself up. I fall to my knees, trying to move my hand towards the pain, but I’m too weak. I look to Mr. Reynolds to see him staring at me in shock. He finally drops the gun.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out. I can only gasp. Realization hits me at what just occurred.

He actually fucking shot me.

My vision starts to fade. The darkness at the corner of my eyes begins to close in. I collapse to the floor, feeling nothing but darkness wrapping around me. Hands touch me, the room is noisy with activity, but I stare at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as the darkness finally closes in. The noisy chaos fades away. Finally, an overwhelming sense of peace washes over me. I take what I believe to be my last breath.

Hm. I don’t feel dead.

I blink my eyes open. I stare up at the same ceiling I thought I was going to look at for the last time.

For goodness sake, I can’t even die properly.

Feeling in control over my body again, I groan at the lingering, aching pain. I rub my chest as I stand up, muttering a couple of curse words. I glance around the room and it’s still complete chaos. Everyone is panicking. Some people are running out the door. Others are crying. More cops run in, and my client is tackled to the ground. I start talking to try to calm everyone down, but no one pays me any attention. I look towards Richard, and he seems frozen in place, looking in my direction.

“Everyone, it’s okay. I’m good. It seems like it was a flesh wound. You see? I’m fine,” I assure them. Not a single person looks at me, or seems to hear me over the noise. I repeat myself again. But again, no one answers me. Richard snaps out of whatever shock he is in and runs towards me with wide eyes.