Chapter 10: Let's Make a Deal
Boston, Massachusetts: The Day After Emma Was Obliviated
Emma Swan blinked as she tried to realize where she was. She really had no recollection from the time she had stepped off of that plane in Logan Airport and the security agent asked her for her passport.
Of course, she didn't have one.
Emma didn't have a driver's license, let alone a passport. Foster kids didn't get those sorts of things. Instead they got—
Emma shook her head as she stared at the walls in the county jail she was thrown into. She had been arrested at the airport for her lack of a passport. Apparently, that was a crime. And apparently, she had been in a foreign country for the better part of almost three months or there about. Since it was now October, and the last thing she really remembered it was late June.
She really only had vague recollections of being in England, none of them making sense. She heard the words drug use, but she wasn't one really for drugs. Never had been.
She should've though. Some of the crap she had seen and heard, it made her want to use drugs. Look at her last foster home, she had to get away from those two. While Diana wasn't near as creepy as Ralph, she was just as bad in a way. Always accusing Emma of flirting with Ralph, of ruining her business deals, of really anything that was feasibly and unfeasibly blamable.
Which was one of the reasons she ended up stealing all of their petty cash, besides the fact that Ralph had more less threatened her that if she didn't have sex with him that she was going to regret it.
She inwardly shuddered at the thought of Ralph as her stomach turned. She found her head soon in the jail cell's small toilet puking out what appeared to be an empty stomach.
God, what was wrong with her.
She didn't remember much from the night before. Just getting her photo taken, taking a breathalyzer test, being forced to give her fingerprints, a blood sample. She didn't understand any of this. And then they just ended up locking her in her cell, not asking if she needed medical attention—not that she really had the ability to say so if she did need to see a doctor.
She had been in such a daze. At least, she somehow could think now.
When he stomach finally settled down she lifted her head to look for a guard or something. Maybe someone could tell her what the hell was going on. Despite her not so stellar upbringing, Emma knew she had some rights.
Thank God, for high school civics class and more importantly Law and Order—the one show that had been a constant in her otherwise miserable childhood.
"Emma Swan?" Someone said.
She turned around. There in front of her was a round man with glasses. He had a three piece suit on and he looked annoyed.
"And you would be?" She asked.
"Purvis Bernard. Your public defender?"
Emma raised an eyebrow. "You're my lawyer?"
The man nodded. "There are some very serious charges against you, young lady."
Already she hated the guy. She didn't know what it was about him; maybe it was that he was a lawyer? Lawyers weren't supposed to be well liked, though Emma did like a few of them on Law and Order and that show on ABC—The Practice. Give her Bobby Donnell any day with those baby blues.
Though Purvis Bernard quickly squashed any mood that Bobby Donnell would've put Emma in. The guy was practically rolling his pale gray eyes at Emma and he hadn't said more than two sentences to her.
Emma sighed, "I get I didn't have a passport but—"
The lawyer shook his head. "The fact you lacked a passport and were able to hop onto an international flight is the least of your worries, young lady?"
"Is it?" She frowned then she wondered if the cops knew of the petty theft. She had tried to be careful. She didn't think she'd have to wear gloves or anything since she had been living with the Millers for the better part of three months, and for that matter, it wasn't like she really thought still a few hundred bucks would be anything the Boston police would be that concerned of.
After all, there were murderers out there.
"Yes," The lawyer said. "We have an arraignment in an hour. Don't expect bail, the fact you jumped onto a plane—or more like snuck on a plane to a foreign country will not favor your case."
Emma frowned, "I really don't remember getting on a plane to be honest. All of that England stuff is a blur."
"Of course you don't." Bernard snapped. "I've read the police reports, you know. I wouldn't be a good public defender if I didn't. You were high out your mind last night, explains the vomiting."
"I wasn't high," Emma said. "I wouldn't do drugs."
The attorney rolled his eyes. "We'll see when the blood results come in. Ms. Swan, I must insist that you keep your mouth shut today. This is not the time for theatrics."
Emma looked at him, "Theatrics? I'm confused. So, I'm being charged from the passport thing and drugs?"
"You must have been higher than a kite last night when they read your rights to you," Bernard said continuing to berate you.
Odd, Emma thought lawyers were supposed to help you, to listen to your story. Bernard had seemed to make up her mind about her and then some.
When Emma mentioned this to Bernard, he laughed.
"Oh, save it." He snapped. "I have been practicing law for almost twenty years, Ms. Swan, and you know what I've learned through all that time?"
"That compassion for your clients is important."
Bernard started l laughing. "Oh, that is rich. This is not a television episode, Ms. Swan. I have seen plenty of people like you, and I'll keep seeing plenty of people like you as long as I'm a defense attorney. You are a criminal. You are just acting confused. Hell, all I know you could be confused off of whatever it was you were found on. Seriously, a girl like you should've known that coming back to the US was a stupid thing. I mean, surely you would've realized they would be looking for you for murder."
"What?" She said, "Murder?"
"Yes, murder. Or should I say butchering. Remember what you did to Ralph Miller, or were you high when you killed the guy?"
Ralph Miller was dead. Bernard had gone into grotesque detail about how the man was brutally murdered—enough detail that Emma found herself throwing up again.
Emma was never one for horror stories. Apparently, Ralph had died in her old bedroom at the Miller's house. Found dead on the cot that the Millers had so graciously gave her.
Emma remembered how uncomfortable that cot had been. How she always tried not to think about where it had been before it was hers. It had smelt much like the Millers' house smelled—a mixture of alcohol, cigarette smoke, bad perfume, and something Emma didn't want to identify.
Not exactly the sort of place where a child should grow up, even a teenager who was almost near the age of exiting the system. But the state could only do so much, and with a number of bodies that needed beds and a severe backlog of cases it was easy how Emma had been put into the care of the Millers.
And to be fair, the Millers didn't seem that bad when you dealt with a crazy woman for a foster mother who almost killed you a few years earlier.
Though, that was until Ralph basically tried to threaten her into having sex with him.
God.
She always thought he was creepy. The way he looked at her, always made her feel on edge and Diana was no help.
Really, what was Emma supposed to say, you're husband is being a creep make him stop? She guessed she could've done that, but Diana always yelled at Emma for encouraging Ralph and any other man. She remembered that one time she wore her favorite t-shirt that actually sort of fit—unlike most of the grab bag donation shirts she owned. Diana had blown a coronary. She had practically torn the shirt off and ripped it into shreds.
Hence, another reason why Emma had never really felt comfortable in confiding in Diana.
This was why in the end the best option had been to run away, Emma could remember running to the airport, but how she got on an international flight was beyond her.
Much like the rest of this, like the fact she was being accused of killing Ralph. And Bernard had already made up his mind that she did it, even before she denied it.
"Don't bother, Ms. Swan." He said, "I really could care less about your supposed guilt or innocence."
She gasped.
"Yeah," He said. "Not like a TV show at all, is it? I'll be honest with you; you might want to start considering a plea deal. I might might be able to work something out with the district attorney, she is a good friend of mine."
Emma's eyes practically bulged.
"Oh, don't do that, Ms. Swan. You made the decision to kill Ralph Miller in cold blood; I'm only helping make the best of the situation."
"You haven't asked for my story."
"It's in your interest, I don't." He said. "The hearing's this morning. I suggest you try to do something to make yourself look presentable."
But how could you make yourself presentable when you were wearing a county issued orange jumpsuit and your complexion was paler than pale from vomiting the entire contents of your stomach out this morning?
Then there was the news that was sprung on her right before the hearing.
Bernard didn't even try to be gentle with the news, "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"
"Pregnant?" Emma said, "No. I'm a virgin."
She was. Emma had fooled around with a few guys, but had never gone all the way. Not because she particularly cared about those sorts of things, but she was overly cautious about those sorts of things.
"Well, that's not what the blood test showed. The tests also were inconclusive about drugs. Nothing that we can exactly pinpoint, but I'm sure the DA is going to try to make a case anyway. And God knows, Gamble is good at her job. After she shows the court what you've exposed that baby to you'll be lucky if you do twenty."
"Excuse me," Emma snapped. "I don't do drugs. And you just said the tests show that there was nothing illegal in my system. And I'm not pregnant."
Bernard laughed. "Sweetie, the results say otherwise. As I told you, the results were inconclusive. If shoed that something was there, maybe not illegal—but I'm sure the state will be able to make a case. They're good at their job. God, you're not making this easier for me."
"I want a new lawyer," Emma cried. Thinking that maybe she could get Bobby Donnell or someone like him since he's a fictional character.
"Good luck with that." Bernard said.
Well, he was right about that. Judge Doyle was not sympathetic to Emma's demands that she receive a new attorney.
"Ms. Swan," Judge Doyle said. "Why do you want another attorney?"
"Because I don't like him," Emma said stating the obvious.
It seemed as if her lawyer and the judge were giving each other a smug look, like Emma had said something extremely stupid. And maybe she had, she didn't know. She was, after all, seventeen –years old and her only exposure to the legal system had been TV shows and various Social Studies courses she was forced to take throughout the years.
"Ms. Swan," Judge Doyle said. "Do you believe that Attorney Bernard can't provide you with a proper defense?"
"Um, I'm sure he's qualified, but he doesn't like me and I don't like him."
"A legal defense isn't a popularity contest, Ms. Swan." The very impatient judge said. "Mr. Bernard is more qualified to handle your case."
Bail, then, was promptly denied.
Emma sighed heavily as she sat in the jail cell, thinking she had to puke again. Maybe she was pregnant.
But she couldn't be. She didn't imagine sleeping with anyone, and they said the first time was always memorable—good or bad. At least that's what those awful pamphlets in the nurse's office always said.
Emma more or less rolled her eyes at them, thinking they were stupid. It was just sex. She had seen enough shows on TV with enough coupling, decoupling, recoupling, and whatever to know that it wasn't a huge deal. Still though, she would remember taking off her clothes for someone.
And she didn't.
Unless, she really was strung up on something for the past three months. But she really didn't think she was. She had some vague recollections of the past three months, most of it was spent sight seeing and that sort of stuff. Nothing that memorable that involved a whirlwind love affair or whatever.
At the mere thought of that sort of thing, Emma wanted to roll her eyes but didn't instead she found herself barely able to breathe as scenarios flowed into her head. The likeliest made her want to puke again, and she could barely contain her stomach.
She didn't have a lock on her door at the Millers.
No.
And Ralph had been leering at her.
No.
It was possible.
No.
But it made more sense than randomly being with someone in England. Especially since the memories she could recollect showed nothing of being with anyone.
If she was pregnant.
God, maybe it was a false positive. That had to be it.
She needed to take another test that was it. It would prove Bernard and everyone wrong, because there was no way she was having a baby.
Because that couldn't have happened to her.
No.
No.
No.
At least the county allowed her to have a checkup when she begged. But the test confirmed her worst fears.
She was pregnant.
A little over three months, give or take a week or two. The time line was enough for Emma to know that she wasn't with anyone. Now that she had been sitting in a jail cell in and day out, she was pretty sure she was with no one in England.
Unless she had blocked it out, but she didn't think she did.
Sure, some things didn't make sense. But she knew herself. She had always been the type who wanted to be safe. She wouldn't have randomly slept with some stranger.
Which left the first and the more gruesome option, all Emma wanted to do was vomit.
Apparently, she had been losing weight rather than gaining weight like she was supposed to. The doctors had prescribed her something to calm down the nausea, but Emma really didn't know if she could stop throwing up.
She hadn't even realized she was pregnant.
After all, she had been bleeding. She told the doctor that.
"Spotting can occur in pregnancy," The doctor said. "Your first trimester symptoms are more severe than most people's. I'm surprised you didn't notice soon. Though if you were abusing substances, it's easy to see how you might've not noticed."
Emma shook her head. "I don't do drugs."
The doctor didn't say anything just muttered for Emma to lift up her shirt for the ultrasound that she would be performing.
"I can't be pregnant," Emma said as the goo was placed on her belly.
It was flat. Beyond flat since she had barely been able to keep her food down. She didn't even feel like herself these days. Then again, how could you when you were locked in jail.
The doctor frowned at her, "You really don't remember anything, do you, Emma?"
Finally, some compassion.
Emma sighed heavily. "I thought I was a virgin. I didn't sleep with anyone because I couldn't afford the pill, and I sort of wanted the first time to be special with no worries. I know they thought I was on drugs, but I wasn't. I swear. I think—"
"You think what?" The doctor said as she got out a utensil that she put on Emma's Bella.
"I think I might've been rape," Emma barely whispered,it was hard getting those words out. Admitting it. And then she could hear something.
A heartbeat.
It was real.
The doctor turned towards Emma and acted like she didn't hear her comment. "Hmm, heartbeat looks good. The baby is a good size, despite your condition. I'll make sure that they bring you proper fluids, prenatal vitamins, and something for the vomiting."
Emma sighed heavily. "No. No."
Seeing the tests results were bad enough, but seeing the baby on that screen. Hearing its heartbeat, Emma felt her heart beat go erratic as she struggled to breather, before she felt herself going to limp.
"Emma," The doctor said before she passed out.
She woke up minutes later. The doctor was holding out something for her, juice.
"Here, drink this, it will help." The woman said.
"I'm pregnant," Emma said. "This shouldn't be happening. This is like a freaking Lifetime movie."
The doctor's face became a little bit kinder, like she actually believed Emma. "You really think you were raped, Emma?"
"Think?" Emma said, "It's the only thing that makes sense. I, I, don't know how this happened. How can I possibly raise a baby from jail? I don't even know if I want to raise it."
The doctor sighed heavily, "There are options. You still have time."
Emma sighed heavily, "I'm still not over the fact that I'm pregnant. That someone—"
It wasn't someone; she knew who her baby's father likely was—Ralph.
"You really think accusing Ralph Miller of rape will help your case?" Bernard said when Emma informed him of what she thought occurred.
"I don't think it would hurt," Emma said. "I wasn't with anyone before, and it would damage his character."
"And in the process give you even more of a motive than raiding the petty cash jar." Bernard hissed. "Plus, once the prosecution calls for a DNA test to be done on that poor child in your womb, your credibility will be shot. Not that I'd allow you on the witness stand anyway."
"Isn't that my choice?" Emma spat out remembering something about this on an episode of The Practice where Bobby had to make do with disastrous testimony from a client.
Actually, that happened in like every other episode.
Again, why couldn't she have gotten a Bobby Donnell for a lawyer? Purvis Bernard was just horrible.
But apparently competent, according to Judge Doyle.
"No," Bernard said. "It isn't. What you're going to do, sweetie, is to take a plea deal. If you're lucky you can have a semblance of a life after you do your time."
"Do my time?" Emma asked. "But I'm not guilty, I swear. I didn't kill Ralph. Blood grosses me out, I wouldn't do that."
"He was found in your bedroom, on your bed." Bernard said. "If you make accusations that he raped you, accusations which will likely be proven false, I think a jury would be very unsympathetic."
"That's not true," Emma said practically sobbing.
"Think about it," Bernard said. "You don't only have yourself to think about, Ms. Swan. Then again, with the state you were found in you haven't really thought about your baby, have you?"
"Get. Out." Emma growled.
She was left alone, in her cell. At least the medication that Dr. Lee had given her, had somewhat settled down her stomach.
Not that it was helping much, she was having a baby.
A baby that she wasn't even sure she could look at.
The fact was something happened. The most likely factor, given the timeline was that Ralph had gotten what he wanted. He sneaked into her bedroom and violated her while she was asleep.
That thought alone made Emma want to hurl every time she even thought about it. What was even worse that a part of her blamed herself that she wasn't more alert. She was a foster kid, she knew the stories. She thought she had taken proper precautions too. She had put a chair by the door, she remembered as much. But obviously that didn't work.
The other scenario was just as messed up. She knew she wouldn't willingly do drugs, it wasn't like her. Hell, she didn't have the money. If someone had touched her when she was the UK, they must have given her a roofie or something.
Although, that made no sense to Emma since a roofie didn't last for almost three months which seemed to sort of be the fog she had been in.
She really didn't think it was drugs, and neither did Dr. Lee when Emma explained what happened mentioning something called post-traumatic stress disorder.
"It can affect people in different ways," The OBGYN said. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but it would explain a lot about your behavior. I looked at your blood work, and while there was something off about it didn't match any illegal drugs or substances that would give you memory loss. Honestly, I don't even know if it is drugs."
"I told you I don't use." Emma said.
The doctor nodded. "You should tell your lawyer you want to see a therapist; it might help with your case. Let me know what you want to do about the baby, you have time, but your first trimester is almost over."
She sighed heavily as she put her hand on her belly, trying to figure out how she didn't realize she was three months pregnant. She guessed looks wise, she wouldn't be able to tell save for her breasts. They were pretty swollen (okay, ridiculously swollen).
She sat there as she looked at the jail; this was no place for a child. She was not fit for a child, she didn't want any reminder of Ralph, but at the same time the baby was a part of her.
And that gave her strength, strength to fight for the baby.
She didn't know what she was doing.
Emma had told herself she was going to fight for her baby, but here she was in a snug blue suit that Bernard had hastily bought for her—the baby it seemed was finally growing—about to make a plea deal.
Yes, she was pleading guilty.
She still didn't believed it, but weeks after pleading with Bernard to help her case and him stone walling her, in a way she felt like she had no choice.
Plus, he also started to talk about the trial.
"You won't be able to handle it," He said in one of his many just sign a deal already talks.
"I told you, I'm innocent. I'll prove to the court that I am." Emma said.
"Yes, post traumatic stress will explain your three month absence after you murdered your supposed lover."
"That scum was not my lover," Emma hissed. "He raped me."
Bernard rolled his beady eyes at her. He didn't believe her story, he thought it was ludicrous and told her as much. Actually, he told her he could care less who her child's father was.
"It's not relevant."
However, that day was different.
"You know, Ms. Swan, you're actually starting to look pregnant now."
"Am I?" Emma said.
She certainly didn't feel any more pregnant than she had a few weeks ago. Though, since her vomiting had finally subsided she did seem to notice that her belly wasn't as flat as it had been before. But it certainly wasn't a baby bump, by any means.
He nodded. "Yes, by trial I imagine you'll have quite the bump to show off. I can only imagine how the press will say about that. You know, so far, I've been able to keep you out of the attention of the media. Things could get a lot worse for you."
"I don't care," Emma said. "I'm innocent."
"Maybe you don't care, but think about your baby. I know you've already had difficulties with this pregnancy, you wouldn't want to make things worse for your child."
And she did think about the baby, which was why when he said that the prosecution was offering her a deal for five years she decided to take it.
At least it would allow her to have some sort of life, she put her hand on her slightly bulging baby and it would keep her baby from all of this mess.
She had, obviously, decided to keep the child. At least finish the pregnancy to term. She wasn't sure if she could keep it. While the child was hers, it would also be Ralph's. She didn't know how she'd be able to look at it and not see Ralph—especially if he shared Ralph's swarthy complexion, dark eyes, and coarse dark hair.
She knew she wanted to love her child, but thinking that the baby could remind her of Ralph still made her feels sick, even though for the most part the morning sickness had been replaced with a craving for cheeseburgers. Something that the jail had not been that accommodating to.
"Ms. Swan," Judge Doyle said. "Did Mr. Bernard explain everything?"
"Yes," Emma said.
Five years. Five years was a lot better than the alternative, she thought. She could be a part of her child's life if she wanted, after she got out. That's what she told herself.
"You're changing your plea to guilty then?"
"Yes, your honor." Emma said.
Then the judge did something Emma did not expect, "The murder of Ralph Miller was a tragedy. Mr. Miller was a pillar of the community."
"That is a lie," Emma heard herself saying.
"Mr. Bernard, get a control of your client. Surely, she knows not to interrupt a judge in her courtroom that is contempt."
Bernard gave her a harsh look, "Don't interrupt the judge, Ms. Swan, you're going to ruin everything."
Emma rolled her eyes and continued, "Ralph Miller was a monster."
"Ms. Swan," The judge said. "It would not be in your favor to interrupt me. As I was saying, five years is not enough for such a crime, especially when factoring in the mitigating factors—the petty theft, the evading arrest, not to mention the passport fraud. Ms. Swan you are only seventeen. I know that you're still a teenager, but you have made several mistakes."
Emma noticed that the judge's eyes flickered only for a moment on her belly which Emma put her hands on.
"Oh, please." The judge said. "Believe me, I considered all the circumstances. Do you know that I received a very detailed and poignant letter from Diana Miller? You left her without a husband, Ms. Swan. She and Mr. Miller, whose life you so carelessly took, were pillars of the community. They took in children, like you, who didn't have anywhere else to go. And you repay them, Ms. Swan, which you just admitted by killing the man on your bed savagely then running off to a foreign country doing God knows what."
Emma wanted to say something, but she found she couldn't open her mouth. It wouldn't have done any good anyway. She just hoped that whatever the judge decided her sentence would be, it wouldn't be harsh.
However, given the way that Judge Doyle was addressing her, she knew she didn't have much hope.
She didn't.
"I looked at your file, Ms. Swan," The judge continued. "I've seen your grades, comments from your teachers, there was potential there. Potential that you squandered, I usually try to be lenient with younger offenders. But this is a murder. A murder that you willingly admitted to committing, not to mention your lack of accepting that there are consequences to your actions. I am afraid that if you were to be released it wouldn't be a matter if you would reoffend, but when. That is why I have no choice but to sentence you to life in prison without a parole.
She had been in jail for over six months now—if you counted the time they locked her up in county to now. She had given birth to her baby, and they took it away. She wasn't even allowed to hold him. For that matter, she didn't even get to see him. The delivery was easier said than done. She had to get a c-section. That was all she had left of him, a thin scar and the leftover postpartum weight that seemed to settle around her now empty stomach. A little empty deflated pooch. Not that it really mattered, especially since she wore a shapeless orange jumpsuit-a jumpsuit she would wear the rest of her life. They gave her pills to make the milk that she was producing stop, and her breasts were slowly but surely returning to their normal size.
Other than that, they asked her if she had a name for him. She mumbled James still half way drugged from the procedure. Something about the name felt right, she wasn't sure what it was about it, but she thought it fit. Child services said that his new family might change it, and they left her with nothing.
A part of her was glad she was left with nothing; it would be easier for her and the child, but another part of her cried. Cried at what could've been, and what was.
Emma was in prison, with no chance of ever getting out. Bernard said it was her own fault for talking back to the judge, that if she had kept her trap shut she might've gotten parole.
"You said the deal was for five years." Emma hissed.
"That's the deal the DA and I agreed to, Judge Doyle can do whatever she wants. You know that."
"You need to get me out of here," Emma said. "I need to get out of here for my child. File an appeal or something."
Bernard shook her head. "Can't do that with a plea."
"You didn't tell that to me." Emma hissed as she felt the guards cuffing her.
Bernard shrugged and mentioned something about having to attend some other hearing for some other thug before leading Emma to be dragged back to jail.
And so here she was now at her new lifelong home. She was about to be entering the general population. They had been waiting for her to give birth, and now to remove her stitches. It was odd how that was the only thing keeping her intermixing with the other prisoners.
She dreaded what she would have to endure. She had spent some times in group homes, she could only imagine just how much worst they were in prisons.
"Swan, you have a visitor." One of the guards—Debra said.
Emma gave her a weird look, "A visitor?"
"Yes, a visitor." Debra said, "I was surprised too. I didn't think anyone cared about you."
"They don't," Emma said. "Is it my lawyer?"
That's the only one she thought I could be. Though given the lack of attention Bernard had paid her since she was sentenced, she doubted it. A part of her hoped it was her son, even though she knew that was impossible too. She knew by now the baby was deeply entrenched in the foster system. She'd never see him again, not that she'd want her son to see her behind bars for the death of his father.
Even though his father was a filthy rapist.
Not that anyone, save for maybe Dr. Lee believed her.
Debra of course didn't answer Emma, instead she told Emma to stand there to put on the shackles that the guards thought were necessary when it came transporting prisoners to and from their cell. They even made her do that when she went into labor with Jaime—as she started calling him in her head
His name wasn't Jaime, she thought. Hopefully, he had a new home and a mother who gave him a name that was not related to any of this mess. Hopefully, he had someone who loved him.
"Really, are those necessary? I doubt that Ms. Swan is going to go all Hannibal on you. Though, that would be amusing." A man said.
He had a Scottish accent, Emma thought as she took in the figure that was looking at her. He was about average height with graying brown hair that was about shoulder length. The man's slim figure was draped in a ridiculously expensive looking suit, one that would have had Bernard envious and telling Emma that she should be grateful that he wasn't charging her like those blood suckers. Odd enough, the man seemed to carry a cane with him, despite no obvious sign of being disabled.
"It's proper protocol, sir." Debra said.
"Well, I'm sure that a decent lawyer could make an argument that it violated the eighth amendment, dearie."
Dearie? That seemed familiar. Though, the thought quickly left her mind as Debra sighed and said something about checking with the warden as she led Emma to the chair to face the man.
Debra left mumbling about how she'd give them some privacy. The two of them studied each other for awhile, and Emma was the first to speak, "Did Bernard speak to you? Because I don't know you, we've never met."
"No, we haven't met. And I don' t know Purvis Bernard. I'm taking that's who your public defender was, correct?"
She nodded. "So who are you? I'm assuming you're a lawyer since you're wearing a fancy suit and you mentioned the eighth amendment.
The man nodded. "Yes, my name is Ford Gold. I'll put it bluntly; I like to take interesting cases."
"My case is hardly interesting," Emma said to Ford Gold. "In fact, Bernard told me it was open shut and now sealed shut."
"Oh, but it's not." Ford Gold said, "I hardly believe that you killed Ralph Miller."
"You'd be the first," Emma said.
She sometimes wondered about her innocence. While she didn't remember killing Ralph, she didn't have that strong of recollections of what had happened after she left the Millers. She had assumed it was from PTSD, but it made her question if there were other gaps in her memory that she didn't know about. Like, killing Ralph. Like maybe she woke up when he was touching her and she snapped.
She couldn't think about it.
"Your case has several holes in it," Gold said. "Not to mention that Purvis Bernard is a complete hack. I want to take over."
"Really," Emma said. "It won't do you any good, I mean, Bernard told me that because I took a plea deal I'm not entitled to an appeal. I checked the prison's law library, seems like old Purvis was actually right about something for once."
"Generally speaking you're right," Ford said. "But there are other ways of getting a conviction turned over, love, and I'd be happy to work for you if you want. So, is it a deal?'
What the heck, Emma shook Ford's hand. At least she now had something to hope for—freedom.