Chapter Fifteen

Though Abigail had prepared him for this moment, Travis's stomach gurgled as the bailiff swore him in. The water pitcher next to him trembled. "Calm down," he told himself, taking a series of deep breaths. The water pitcher stilled, and he heaved a sigh of relief until DA Waterson started in on him.

"Travis--is it okay if I call you that?"

"Yes, sir."

"As I was saying, Travis, would you say you have an anger problem?"

He nibbled at his thumbnail as he thought about how to respond. "No more than anyone else."

DA Waterson smiled. "And does everyone get involved in brawls that lead to the hospitalization of . . ." He paused, flipping through his legal pad. "Ten people?"

"I don't suppose they do, but--"

"And do they have a lab where they can cook up all manner of explosives?"

Abigail shot from her seat. "Objection. Prejudicial and arguing facts not in evidence."

The judge looked at her but shook her head. "I'd like to hear his answer."

"One, it's not the mad-scientist lab you're making it out to be. Two, I've never created anything more harmful than a laser. Three, were I to carry out an attack on AP Prep, hypotactically speaking, I wouldn't use explosives. They're unreliable and would require access to the school after hours, which I don't have."

The DA stroked his chin. "You've given this a lot of thought, then?"

Abigail sighed. "Objection. Irrelevant. Mr. Watterson's whole line of questioning has no bearing on this case."

Travis looked to the judge, whose face was pinched. "Overruled. However, Mr. Waterson, get to the point or move on."

"Yes, Your Honor. Travis, is it true Joshua Giovanni and his friends have bullied you for years?"

He scowled. "Yes."

"Then would it be correct to say you've held a grudge against them and on the day in question had enough and struck back at them?"

Fists balled white-knuckle tight, Travis fought back his anger. "Giovanni started the fight, and when his friends joined in, I had no choice but defend myself."

Abigail smiled at him and mouthed, "You're doing great."  

   Mr. Waterson smirked, a glint in his eyes that Travis didn't like. "Were you defending yourself when you broke the ribs and leg of one David Green, or when you attacked a school resource officer? But perhaps, given the neighborhood you come from, violence is to be expected."

Travis didn't need to read Mr. Waterson's mind to catch what he was implying. His whole life, people made assumptions about him because of the color of his skin and where he lived. And now this asshole was trying to paint him as some thug? He wasn't having it.

"You weren't there. You didn't have fifteen savages surrounding you, stomping and punching every inch of you. I did what anyone in my situation would: I fought for my life. Did I go overboard? Maybe. But I dare you to say you wouldn't have done the same thing in my situation."

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile?"

 "Permission denied. Mr. Turner, I instruct you to stick to the questions asked of you and not digress."

Mr. Waterson nodded. "Travis, do you regret your actions?"

"I regret injuring people more than I'd intended to, but no. I don't regret my actions."

"Tell me, Travis, do you know who Helena Aurum is?"

Travis sat up in his seat, eyes narrowed to slits, his anger threatening to boil over; the water in the pitcher next to him steamed. "What does Grams have to do with this?"

"Then you admit Helena Aurum, the richest person in the world, is your grandmother?"

"Of course. But what does that--"

Then it hit him. Mr. Waterson was laying the groundwork for stiffer sentencing due to Travis having affluenza. Abigail had warned him the DA might go this route.

"Then, as the grandson of the heiress to the Cadmus Fortune, you have ample resources to flee the country if you so choose?"

"First off, I'm the heir to the Cadmus Fortune as of Grams' latest will. Second, I'm not like the rich kids that got to AP Prep. I don't have Mumsy and Daddy make a donation every time my grades slip because I'm too busy getting intoxicated every night to study. I never even wanted to matriculate that school and only do so because Grandfather's trust dictates it. Anything else you want to ask me, or are you done trying to pigeonhole me as some disaffected youth waiting for the right time to rain vengeance upon my tormentors?"

The water pitcher next to Travis sailed off the stand, shattering on impact with the floor. Everyone stared at Travis, not saying a word until Abigail asked for a five-minute recess.

***

Travis wandered to the restroom in a daze, his head spinning with a million thoughts.

Did I just screw myself royally? Did I move that pitcher? And if so, how? Stupid powers; they never work when I need them to and always work when I don't want them to. I'm probably missing some Freudian subtext here, but meh. Hopefully, Abigail can turn things around.

He urinated, washed his hands, and checked his eyes. The concealer ran, and with his sweating, it was useless to apply more, so he washed it off. He was drying his face when Oblivion spoke to him.

"Why do you endure this farce of a trial when you hold the power to bring nations to their knees?"

Sure, I could do that, but then I'd be no better than the rest of those scat-brained trilobites at AP Prep.

"You vex me. Why drag this out? You are stronger than them; therefore, you make the rules."

Power isn't everything. A wise man once said: `Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.'

"Trust me when I say this. Power is the only thing that matters. The strong always prey upon the weak. You've experienced this yourself, and now you have the means to reverse the roles."

Perhaps you're right, but I was always taught that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

"And how well has that worked for you?"

Travis didn't reply.

"That's what I thought. We will talk more another time. Farewell, my child."

  That was weird. But maybe he's right. Why should certain rules apply to me and not others? Why should I get followed at every store I go to when I've never stolen a thing in my life? Why should I be held to a higher standard than my white peers? Why should I fear for my life every time a cop car passes? With these powers, I could . . .

 "Travis, are you in there?" Abigail said, sounding exasperated. "The recess ends in two minutes."

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he exited the restroom and headed to the courtroom with Abigail in tow.

After being sworn in again, Travis retook the witness stand.

"Travis, let me ask you a question: you don't like me very much, do you?"

"No, but then you've spent this entire day besmirching me. So, do you expect me to wash your feet and throw you a banquet?"

Mr. Waterson leaned in so close Travis could smell his toothpaste. He flinched back, and Mr. Waterson leaned in closer. "You want to punch me right now, don't you?"

"Yes, but there are many things I think about doing and never do."

"Any how's that?"

"I control my thoughts and emotions, not the other way around."

Tutting, Mr. Waterson said," Then you admit you intentionally injured those boys?"

Travis rolled his eyes. "No. As stated earlier, I feared for my life and acted with the force I deemed appropriate. Or does that defense only work for white cops who shoot unarmed Black people?"

The judge banged her gavel. "Mr. Turner, I will not have my courtroom become a battleground for your identity politics. I've already warned you once to stick to the questions asked of you. Disregard this warning, and I'll find you in contempt of court and fine you $300. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Honor." 

"You may continue, Mr. Waterson."

"Nothing further, Your Honor. But I reserve the right to re-examine the witness at a later time."

"So granted. Ms. Kurtzman, you're up."

She stood, her hair frazzled. "Travis, why don't we start by having you tell us about the real you."

Like they practice, he said, "My name's Travis Turner; I'm 12 years old and am the oldest child of Sara and Sampson Turner. I like video games, computers and other electronics, and reading. I go to AP prep, where I'm one of forty students of color and have been bullied by Joshua Giovanni and others since I started there five years ago."

Abigail mmhmmed. "Let me stop you right there. Did you tell anyone you were being bullied?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Many reasons. Chief among them, I wanted to handle it myself, and I'm no snitch."

"Right. Can you walk me through the events of the day in as much detail as possible, please?"

"Objection. Relevance," Mr. Waterson said.

"Overruled. I gave you some leeway, and now I'm giving Ms. Kurtzman some. You may answer the question."

Travis went over the day of the fight, leaving out the strange events.

"Good. Now remind me again, who instigated the fight?"

"Joshua Giovanni. I was minding my business, reading the book Ms. Martin assigned us when he came over, acting overly-familiar like he hadn't antagonized me at the bus that morning and every day at school."

She cupped her hand over her mouth. "Right, and you told him to go away, but he wouldn't leave you alone, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am. I told him I didn't want to be his partner, and he persisted until I told him off, and that's when he hit me."

"I want you to tell me about the fight. Do you remember who was involved?"

"Besides Giovanni, four: Jason Miller, David Green, Keith Maxwell, and Lance Hollister. The rest are a blank."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Taking down Green, and then the resource officer rushing in and tasering me."

"Right, and how did that make you feel?"

"I was afraid, more afraid than I'd been since The Fire. So many people hitting me, hurting in so many places."

"And you would have done anything to make that pain stop, right?"

"Objection. Leading the witness."

"Objection sustained. Either rephrase the question or move on."

"Travis, what would you have done to stop that pain?"

"Anything."

"Even if that meant hurting people?"

"I didn't mean to--" He looked to the judge who had cleared her throat and was giving him a dirty look. "What I meant to say is yes. It was me or them."

Abigail next questioned him about his injuries and the genetic disorder he was diagnosed with. He told her all he knew, emphasizing the novelty of the disorder and his impending death due to it. "Thank you, Travis. I have no further questions, Your Honor."

The judge looked to Mr. Watterson. "Any more questions?"

"No, Your Honor. The Prosecution rests."

"What say you, Ms. Kurtzman?"

"No more questions."

The judge adjourned the trial and told them closing arguments would begin tomorrow. Travis dreaded the ride home as his mother had been glaring at him since he mentioned being bullied.

***

"Why didn't you tell us you were being bullied?" she asked as they pulled onto their cul-de-sac. "And what's this about you dying?"

"Later," he said, going straight to his room to change and then play his favorite game, Street Fighter II.  He was halfway through a perfect match against M. Bison when Bobby barged into his room. "Family meeting in the kitchen. Something about you dying a bully."

Travis groaned and shut off his Xbox. I'll whoop that ass another day.  Upon entering the dining room, Travis suppressed the urge to scream. Get it over with quickly and only give as much information as needed.

"Something you need to tell us, son?" Mr. Turner said in his gruff voice.

"Joshua Giovanni and his friends, the boys I got in a fight with several weeks back, have been bullying me basically since I started AP Prep. Also, I might have left out that my genetic disorder is slowly killing me. That's it, bye."

He turned to leave, but his mother called him back to the table. "When Jenny called us, she made it sound like you'd be fine with treatment. Come to find out you're dying? Your father and I want to know why you hid this from us."

Because I knew you'd overreact and play nice like you cared about me. "I didn't want to worry you."

His mother cut him a scathing look. "Right, and is there anything else you're hiding from us?"

 Being the devil's vessel and having powers. You know, nothing major. "Nope," he said. "Can I go now?"

His mother looked at his father, who nodded. "Yes, you may. And you won't be going to court again until the judge renders her verdict. You've missed enough school this year."

"But there's only like a week left in the term."

His mother scoffed. "All the more reason you should go."

"What's the point? I'm dying, remember?"

"We don't know that for sure," his dad said. "Best to stick to routines. Now go to your room while we talk with the twins in private."

He stalked away, beyond pissed.

Stupid parents. Why bother going when all the teachers will do is show us movies or have us write idiotic essays on what we plan to do this summer. It's not as if my answer has changed since first grade: read, stay up late playing video games and watching cheesy horror and sci-fi movies, and visit Grams. But thanks to Giovanni, I might be spending my last summer ever in juvy. 

He threw himself on his bed, booted up his laptop, popped on his headphones, and listened to music on YouTube for the rest of the night. And when he finally drifted off, Prometheus visited him in his dreams. 

***

They were on the plateau overlooking the river and forest.

"What's up with you and Devil McDevilson being tight all of a sudden?" 

"One, the phrase is `all of a sudden.' Two, we're not tight. And three, he's been straight with me from the beginning, unlike some people."

Prometheus sucked in his bottom lip and wiped his nose. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't BS me. I know you're hiding things from me, like why I can't remember certain things or why I wake up feeling tired even when I get over ten hours of sleep."

"A'ight, maybe I have been keeping things from you."

"I knew it!"

"Hold up, cuzo. I'm just tryna help ya."

"Did I ask for your help?" The ground around Travis quaked then cracked as white energy radiated from him. "I'm sick of people thinking they know what's best for me."

Prometheus backed up. "Chill, before I have to put a hurting on ya."

Travis, angrier than ever, pumped all his rage into a ball of flames and blasted Prometheus with it, knocking him off the plateau and into the water below.

***

Then the scene changed to Oblivion's domain. He rose from his throne, clapping. "Well done, Travis. You're learning fast. But may I make one suggestion: If you could somehow find a way to separate yourself from your emotions, it could grant you the control you want."

"That makes sense, but how do I go about doing that?"

"Something tells me you'll figure it out with time and practice. Sweet dreams."

"Wait, how are you able to visit me in my dreams and when I'm awake?"

Oblivion's laughter echoed throughout the land. "Darkness exists in the hearts of all, and through it, I can enter their dreams and influence them. As for my visiting you in your waking hours, our souls and fates intertwined. Goodnight, my child."   

***

Travis had a dreamless sleep that night and awoke feeling better than he had in a while. At school, Giovanni tried approaching him several times throughout the day, but Travis turned around and walked away each time, as Abigail had advised him, and the week passed without event. On the final day of school, Ms. Martin returned the grades for their papers on Frankenstein. They'd gotten an A+, and in a postscript, she'd written to him:

"Your and Josh's ideas worked well together. I also loved your use of the quotation, `The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.' Have a great summer." 

He shoved the slip in his messenger bag and carried on to his next class. In their last class, their teacher left them out thirty minutes early so they could clean out their lockers if they hadn't already done so. He was in the process of tossing candy wrappers and chip bags into a trash can when Giovanni approached him.

"Hey," he said, "you wanna hang this summer?"

"Under advisement from my lawyer, I've been told not to interact with you, so please leave me alone."

"Fine, but can I help you with your locker?"

Travis thought a moment. "If you're quiet."

Giovanni nodded, and they set to work.

"Thanks," Travis said when they were done. As he walked to the bus, he turned back to look at the school. A wave of melancholia hit him. This could be the last time he'd ever be here, and he was both happy that he'd never have to deal with Giovanni or Keith Maxwell again and sad that he might never graduate to high school.

The honking of a horn drew his attention, and Travis continued to his bus, looking out the windows as they hurtled toward summer and the unknown.

 

Author's Note: Next chapter, Travis starts anger management classes and sees a familiar face there.

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