Pam was back inside the witness box.

The photograph was in her pocket. She was looking past the attorney, past the gallery to the back courtroom wall in a fugue-like state, her arms squeezed tight against her sides. It was like being in the hospital room again, stripped to her underwear and poked and prodded by men with needles, trying to draw answers from her like blood. She felt naked, exposed. There wasn't a limb on her body that wasn't trembling.

It was hot and stale in the windowless courtroom and the telltale scent of wet earth told her it was raining again. Juror number three's beige mud streaked pumps bounced up and down in the corner of her eye. She wondered why anyone would ever wear beige shoes outside, it was just asking for trouble. Roy hated muddy shoes. Time and again she had walked barefoot up the drive to their home, sneakers swinging from her hand, careful not to leave a mud print anywhere that he might find it. She had learned the first time she had come indoors with dirt on her sneakers exactly how strongly he felt about clean footwear.

Looking back now, from the witness box, it seemed a trivial and petty thing to fret over but over the years she had been meticulous over such habits – keeping the carpets clean, keeping the fridge stocked with Yuengling at all times, and not ever, ever walking in front of the TV while there was a game on and a thousand other sins she could reel off at will. She had read somewhere – or maybe been told by someone – that some countries even allowed wife-beating in some circumstances, if the wife had been suspected of infidelity being one such circumstance. It was a chilling thought that a simple matter of geography could draw the line between right and wrong. She still struggled with the implications of that. It seemed to her that often the standards of right and wrong nothing to do with what was actually right and wrong. It was, in the world, whatever someone said it was or how many people believed in the right side or the wrong side. How else could she explain what had happened to her – that she was now having to convince everyone to believe her truth. Not only for herself, but for future women like her if Roy was set free without consequence or therapy for what he had done.

And yet, her future was now in the hands of twelve strangers – the six men, six women responsible for deciding who they believed, her or Roy. And who could guarantee fairness in the deliberation? Who was to say the twelve people, who would of course have lives and problems and responsibilities of their own, wouldn't make a decision based on an arbitrary reason? What if the parents among them made their decision quickly as they needed to pick up their child from daycare, or they were worried about having further time off work so they rushed the process? Or worse, what if all they did was sit and discuss how she was dressed and whether or not she was unfaithful and whether the women thought Roy was hot or not?

It was a thought that wrapped around her heart like a cold hand. After all, as Plato said, the worst form of injustice is pretended justice.

-TO-

The court was back in session much too quickly. She had desperately wanted a few minutes with Jim and her family before she had to go back, but she had stayed in the conference room with Murphy. As it was, her family were in the courtroom just feet away from her but it seemed that she was looking at them through a dozen windows. She felt so far away from them.

"Alright." Murphy resumed. "Pam, you described various injuries that you sought medical treatment for. According to your human resources representative, you were out sick from your job for almost two weeks during the summer of two thousand and six. You advised at the time that you had injured yourself in a fall, later agreeing that you may have had too much to drink which led to the accident. Was that the truth?"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly "I did fall." she said softly. "But I hadn't been drinking. Someone at work joked that I must have been drunk when I fell and I agreed with them. It.. it seemed the easiest thing."

Murphy removed his glasses, wiping the lenses against his sleeve. "What did happen?"

Pam rubbed a hand underneath her eye. "Roy and I were upstairs at home and we had a fight and… he grabbed me. And I just.. ended up at the bottom of the stairs."

"Okay. Did you fall or were you pushed?" Murphy slipped the glasses back on. The room was deathly quiet, waiting for her response.

"Pushed." She said, barely moving her lips.

Murphy stepped forward, straining close. "What injuries did you come away with that time?"

"My ankle was badly sprained and I had broken my little finger." she said, coming to a stop as a sharp sniff of breath jerked her head back. Murphy looked at her steadily, the hard lines around his eyes softening, a proffered sympathy unnoticeable to anyone in the room other than Pam.

"Alright." he continued, his voice serene. "So, there were regular occurrences of violence in the relationship. How often did this happen, Pam?"

"I uh.. I… it was like anything could set it off." she said, a faraway look glazing over her eyes. "It could happen two, three times a day, or things would be calm for weeks. It felt like it was all the time because I was always expecting it."

"Did anyone ever witness Roy use violence against you?"

"I don't think so, not that I know of." she said, breathing stuffily, the pads of her fingers rubbing slowly over her throat feeling the healed skin there, an unconsciously reassuring gesture. Murphy watched her, his eyes wide and sad.

"Okay. You were also out sick from your job in April two thousand and four, for a period of almost two weeks?"

"Yes."

"Alright. What was it that caused you to be out sick that time?"

"I had come back from-" she stopped, remembering the crowd in front of her – including her Mom. It was taking a great effort for her to not only restrain her own surging emotions, and coupled with not wanting to make things harder for her family and have them upset any further she absolutely felt like she was being ripped right down the middle. How well she remember that night, and how voraciously Roy had objected her taking those few extra hours with her Mom. "Come back later than I expected from somewhere and.. um… Roy was waiting when I got home."

"How late were you?"

"A couple hours I think." she said. Her heart was thrashing wildly against her chest, and it was at that moment she found herself looking at Roy. It was the first time she had really looked at him since the trial had begun and the first time even since the day she had left him for good.

Her breath flowed out of her, leaving her airless. Words were gone. Roy was much thinner, physically, than she remembered and his face had achieved a hardness that was much more pronounced than the last time she saw him. He looked weathered and toughened, his face scarlet with rage as he scowled at her in return. Perhaps the most terrifying thing was that despite the physical changes, Roy was still extremely intimidating, even sitting in standard issue prison clothing with two officers placed nearby should he make any kind of movement towards her.

"Pam?" Murphy's tentative voice brought her back and she turned to him. His own face was kind and reassuring; much like Jim's. She nodded weakly, swiping a finger under her eye to rub at the sting there. It came away wet. "Pam. Look at me, please. Stay focused on me okay? It's just you and I talking, alright?"

She nodded again, pressing her lips together tightly. Her shoulders hitched up and down with her breath as she forced herself to speak. "I was a couple hours late." she repeated, stringing the words out through her teeth with difficulty. "Roy p-punched me. Several times. I had a broken rib or two."

She swiped a trembling hand at her eyes again, her chest heaving. Murphy looked conflicted, she half thought he would request another break but when he spoke it was to ask her another question.

"I know this is very difficult for you. So I'll try to keep it simple. Just a few more questions for the moment. The night in question, the night that brings us here to this courtroom – the night you left your fiancé for good. Could you explain what happened?"

"I wanted to leave him." she swallowed heavily. "After everything that happened and leading up to Roy and Jim getting into it that day, I went out by myself and made up my mind. When I went back home Roy wasn't there. I was relieved. I wanted to, wanted to get my things and go. I wanted him to know I wasn't coming back and so I got some things and left my engagement ring for him upstairs in the bedroom. But when I got downstairs and opened the door to leave, he grabbed me from behind and um, pushed me against the wall."

"You weren't aware he was inside the house?"

"No."

"What did he do then?"

"He yelled at me to get away from the door. He was holding me against the wall and yelling."

"So, Roy was physically holding you against the wall, restraining you from leaving the house." Murphy said carefully, screwing up his forehead trying to see it happening. "How was he holding you there? For example, were you facing him or facing the wall?"

"He had hold of my hair and he was pushing my face into the wall. And… and he was holding one of my arms back."

"And then what happened?"

Pam was silent. She inhaled through her nose, now stuffy and tight, squeezing air into her body. "It's blurry." she said finally. "I went numb when I hit the wall. I remember being on the floor and he was pulling me along the carpet by my hair. And then he left me at the other end of the hall and he starting throwing things out of my bag."

"Things you had planned to take with you?"

"Yes. I remember getting up off the floor and leaning against the wall. He was yelling that I was running away with Jim, that he was right all along about me. I think that's what he…." she shook her head and exhaled shakily. "I was so determined to leave. I just wanted to leave."

"What did you think at this point, Pam?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It – it was like it wasn't really happening. It wasn't real. I was so scared and...and -" she stopped, rubbing her fingers under her nose. The words tangled in her throat, caught in a surge of panic attacking her. She sniffed loudly, her head down. "I'm sorry." she said, through shaking fingers.

"Take your time." Murphy said, stepping back.

Pam nodded, plucking a tissue out of the box. She dabbed at her eyes and nose with it, not looking up at all. She wasn't there in the courtroom. She was back on the floor of the house she had shared with Roy, pain spiking over her scalp like shards of glass, terror seizing her muscles.

"I wanted to leave." she blinked hard. "And I was so scared, so scared and I thought he was going to kill me, but I thought, he's going to kill me anyway whether it's now or later so I told him again I was leaving and he said I wasn't going anywhere." the words tumbled out of her rapidly, the memories coming at her head on. "He hit me in the face, really really hard and then I remember him being on top of me on the floor and I was trying to fight back, trying to get him off me but he just punched me and punched me and he just kept hitting me, he was holding me by the throat and there was blood on the carpet." she cried, blinking to clear her vision.

Murphy was looking towards the judge, who in turn sat back in her seat quietly, soft eyes on Pam. Pam leaned forward wearily, resting her forearms on the hard wooden bench top of the witness box. She didn't dare look up into the room, discreetly pressing her tissue to her eyes.

"Somehow I pushed him off me," she heard herself say. Her words were jerky and disconnected. "Or I managed to get out from under him. I remember him falling over something and I managed to get up and run out."

"Thank you." Murphy said quietly. Roy snorted loudly and Pam found herself turning towards him. He was all arms and anger as he threw his hands up dramatically, muttering fiercely at his attorney. His nostrils flared, he was literally swelling with rage.

"Pam," Murphy got her attention again. When he was sure she was looking at him he continued. "You've stated here twice that Roy held you by the throat on two occasions. Your statement to the police refers to other incidents involving him choking you. Jim," Murphy gestured to him as he spoke. "stated that you had scratches and fingermarks on your neck that last night. Was the choking something that happened regularly?"

She nodded, her face feeling hot. Pressing a cold, clammy hand under her nose another sniffle escaped her. "Y-yes. When he was r-really mad sometimes he would ch- choke me."

"Alright. Thank you." Murphy paused. Conflict was scrawled over his face, between doing the job he was hired to do and the obvious compassion he was feeling displayed towards her. "So, your police statement says that you left the house, you took no possessions with you and you vomited before you hailed a passing cab. We've heard that you directed the driver to go to Jim's home. How did you feel when you arrived there?"

"Feel?" she practically gasped. "Numb. Almost completely numb. But at the same time I was terrified. I thought no one was home and I then didn't know what to do."

"Can you tell us why you went to Jim's house in particular?"

She was still, searching for the words. "It was… that morning, Jim told me he was scared that Roy could end up killing me. Roy always said me no one would ever believe me, and when I had a broken wrist, or fingermarks on my arm, most people did just believe it when I said it was an accident, like they just knew that I was that clumsy." she brushed agitatedly at her eyes. "But Jim said he was scared Roy could really kill me. And I realized that someone would believe me, someone did see what was happening."

"To have him see what was happening to you?"

"Yeah." she said slowly. "He said I could stay at his place if I wanted to leave Roy. He said he'd get me to my parents or my sister, even his parents or anywhere I wanted to go if I left. But I didn't want to see anyone or have Roy come after me there. I knew he'd come for me… so I went to Jim's because he understood, I trusted him and we'd talked about it and I knew he'd let me stay."

"Okay. So, once you are safely at Jim's house and away from Roy, you got cleaned up, you went to sleep. Can you tell us why you did not want to go to the police right away?"

"I don't.. I was confused. I was really scared and I couldn't face having to go to police and go through everything again when all I wanted to do was sleep and not think about it."

"Pretend it wasn't happening?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. So you also waited until morning before going to the hospital."

"Jim wanted to take me there but I begged him not to make me go. It was like… like I just couldn't face it, all those people, all over me knowing what had happened to me, feeling sorry, feeling judgmental.. I don't know." she touched her hand to her throat again, feeling her shoulders sag. A small sob jerked her body and she slumped forward, crossing her arms on the bench top, her head dropping to her arms momentarily before she wearily remembered where she was. The entire room was in silence, waiting on her. She exhaled slowly through her mouth, pressing another tissue to her nose.

"Okay. Pam," Murphy said. "Following all that has happened to you over the years, following the vicious assault you suffered that night, how has this impacted you on a long term basis?"

She held her breath. "How?" she said, now looking straight at him. Her hands slipped off the bench top and she shoved them between her legs. There was a wetness left behind on the oak where she had bent her head. "How has this impacted me?" she was unexpectedly bitter. "I have treatment for post traumatic stress. I wake up in the night feeling that I'm being choked and I can't sleep some nights. I have chronic pain in my lower back. There are scars on my body that I have to see every day. I lost nearly all my friends, I was distanced from my family. I get headaches. I have had to try to rebuild my entire life. I was dependent on Roy for almost everything. He controlled everything, money, where I worked, what I ate, who I talked to, who I was. Every day I ask myself what I could have done to stop it. Could I have loved him better? Couldn't I have done something? I have flashbacks that cause panic attacks. I feel guilty because I couldn't stop it, and because everyone around me has turned their lives upside down to help me." she said, feeling the anger stir within her. "So many things have changed. I have to live my life with this past I have to accept is mine and I have to live with the terror I feel that somehow he will kill me."

"You've been left in a position where you constantly fear for your life, is that what you are saying?"

"Yes. Very much." she said, and broke down.

Murphy stood looking at the quivering woman with her head in her hands sympathetically. "No more questions for the moment, your honor."

Judge Summers sat back, a sad expression on her face as she gazed at Pam. Then she called for another recess, granting the woman a few minutes respite before she had to come back to cross examination by the unpleasant defense attorney.