Sample chapter #3

To Bear Witness

“So, it is your belief that Timothy Monroe was murdered?”

I gazed out from the witness stand towards Mr. Monroe and his haunted eyes. I sighed, wishing I had a better answer. “The autopsy showed that the cause of death was drowning. But I cannot classify that as murder.” I had seen animals take human form. As I looked at the smug expression on the defense attorney’s face, I would not be shocked to learn that he occasionally scurried around on four feet with a long bare tale. “Judging by the many breaks and spiral fractures I found, I think it’s clear this little boy had been abused.”

“But that is not what we are here to determine.” Elias Quinn, attorney at law and perpetuator of stereotypes paced before me. “We are here to determine if my client, Timothy’s mother, killed him. Which is what the state is alleging and what you, Dr. Katsaros, said you could prove.”

“I never said I could prove that she killed Timothy.” I frowned. “I said that I could determine the cause of death. Which I did. You asked for my expert opinion. Which I gave. It is not up to me to either convict or exonerate your client.” I was getting annoyed. A sizzle of energy danced down my spine. It had been happening a lot lately. I would be a fool to pretend that nothing had changed and that my life would carry on. I was many things. But I wasn’t a fool. Taking a deep breath I forced myself to calm down. “Timothy Monroe had clearly suffered multiple breaks, including a recent concussion. There was a spiral fracture to his arm. Those types of fractures do not just occur, they are inflicted.”

“Are you saying that my client abused her son?” Mr. Quinn asked. “She is a Sunday school teacher and a member of the PTA.” He gestured towards the petite brunet. She was gazing at her ex-husband with desperation in her eyes. Mr. Monroe was too grief stricken to see the obsession burning there, but I saw it. I was willing to bet Mr. Quinn did too.

“As I said, it is not my job to determine guilt. I performed the autopsy. These are the facts.”

“You seem rather aloof.” Mr. Quinn squinted at me. “We are talking about the death of a four-year-old boy. I should think you would be a little more affected by that.”

And just like that, I was pissed. “Mr. Quinn, I realize you are trying to bait me. I’m not sure why. I’ve told you several times now it’s not my job to determine who is guilty and who isn’t. The facts tell me that this little boy drowned. They also tell me that he was mistreated frequently during his very short life. I can’t tell you who did that to him. I’ll leave that to the police and the judge to decide.” I inclined my head towards Judge Anderson. I had testified before her many times. I liked her; she had a no-nonsense air about her. “In many cases I am the last advocate for those who show up on my table. I speak for them when they can no longer speak for themselves. Timothy’s little body has a story to tell. It’s not my job to interpret that story, but simply to relay it in the form of medical evidence. Which I have done. And yet, considering all that the thing you find most interesting is that I’m not sitting here crying while I testify. But that Mr. Quinn is your problem. Not mine.”

“If you have a point, counselor,” Judge Anderson said, “I suggest you make it.”

“No, your honor.” He smirked at me. “I just wanted to make it clear that Dr. Katsaros, in her expert opinion, does not classify this as murder.”

Sadly, I had to admit that I couldn’t. I answered a few more questions, the judge released me, and I left the courtroom feeling more than a little annoyed. Mr. Monroe was convinced his ex-wife was hurting their son so that she could take him to the hospital. Officially it was called Munchausen by Proxy. Caregivers would exaggerate a child’s illness for attention. In this case, I was convinced that Heather Monroe wanted attention from her ex-husband, and this was how she was getting it. Did she drown Timothy? I couldn’t prove that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did but there wasn’t any proof that she had. That small voice in the back of my head was whispering to me. I was missing something.

I wandered across the street, ordered a coffee and a bagel from the corner shop and made my way towards the park. I could feel the calming effect as soon as I passed under the shade of a weeping willow. The long fronds danced in the breeze like a maiden’s hair.

I sat down on a wrought iron bench, the coolness of the metal seeping through the thin material of my professional suit. Kicking off my shoes, I closed my eyes and exhaled. I had been practicing, yet I was still unprepared for the wave that crashed over me.

I spent most of my days trying to concentrate on the here and now. And not on the symphony of sound that followed me around. I tried to tone it down so that I could focus. Erato had taught me some techniques but what came naturally for her, didn’t come so easily for me.

I could hear conversations from across the park, rodents scurrying in a nearby alley. The sap as it moved through the nearby pine tree. It was sensory overload. I had tried to tell myself that this was all new. But if I was being honest, I’d admit that this chorus had been with me my entire life. It had been a constant hum in the background. White noise. Something had turned up the volume. I was trying desperately to figure out how to turn it back down. I couldn’t live this way.

With a sigh I opened my eyes, forcing the chaos back into a dark corner in my mind. A shimmer, like heat off a summer baked road, detached itself from the willow tree. Dryad was really just a general term. Different types of trees had different spirits. The flowering trees were tended by the Kraneiai. Meliai inhabited ash trees and so on.

Erato had explained this when I referred to her as a dryad. She thought it was funny. “Not all humans are the same.” She laughed. “Some are male, some are female. Human is a very broad stroke to paint one with. As is dryad.” 

I couldn’t call her on the phone to ask her questions. Instead I dreamed. I would lay down to sleep and wake in some prehistoric garden that no human had ever seen. Those times were peaceful. The noise in my head would fade. I didn’t have to concentrate to dampen it. “You fight too hard, Sophia.” She smiled at me. “It will go much easier if you flow with it instead of against it.” I had no idea what it was. I sighed and rubbed my temples. I just wanted to get rid of my constant headache.

The spirit of the willow across from me smiled. I glanced around to see if anyone else noticed. A woman jogged by. A man stopped to watch her. His phone rang, he grinned before answering it and then wandered off down the path. An older woman was walking a decrepit bulldog. The ancient hound paused to look at the willow and the spirit there. His tongue lolled out of his mouth in a doggy grin. He gave a happy bark and sat down with a huff of exhaustion.

She had not taken a corporeal form yet. I could see the tree through her. Even though she was diaphanous I could still see her plainly and it amazed me that no one else could. Clearly, the dog saw her and was enchanted. No matter how much the old woman tugged and pulled on the leash the dog wasn’t moving.

“Chandler.” The old woman scolded “You are going to make me miss my shows. Get up right now!”

The dryad danced before the dog, winked at me and took off in a run. The dog barked merrily and ran off after her dragging his owner behind him who now screamed at him to slow down.

I laughed and let the tensions of the morning slip away. If I was missing something with Timothy’s case, I’d find it. I owed him that much. In the meantime, I needed to get back to work.

Tossing my empty coffee cup in the bin I swallowed my last bite of bagel and walked back towards the hospital. Spring was in the air. It had rained the night before and everything smelled wet. I knew if I listened, I’d hear the water droplets sliding along the leaves on the trees. And even the worms burrowing through the soil. But I couldn’t afford to be distracted.

The scent of disinfectant assaulted me as the doors to the hospital whooshed open. I allowed it to wash over me. This was familiar. This was home. I raised an eyebrow. Interesting I thought. Erato had been right. It was easier to go with it instead of fighting it. As I walked down the hallway, I saw the glint off the newly scrubbed tile floors. Heard the snap of a crisp sheet as a nurse made the bed.

The whimper of a patient as the needle pierced the skin and the moan of something… other. That gave me pause. I shivered as a dozen different thoughts swirled in my head. I was comfortable with the dead but as the hair on my arms stood up, I decided that I had had enough. Forcing the volume down I entered the morgue to find Arthur perched on the edge of an examination table watching TV. A long rope of licorice trailed from his mouth.

“Hey Dr. Kat.” He grinned. “How was court?” I gave him a look. “Oh, that good huh?”

“Quinn was the defense lawyer.”

“That guy is a rat,” Arthur said.

I grinned having thought the same thing not too long ago. “How does the day look?” I stripped off my jacket and reached for a pair of scrubs.

“Sloooow.” Arthur turned back to the TV. “Have you seen this?”

“What?” I smoothed my hair back into a ponytail.

“This lady says she is a psychic and plans to film her new TV show here”

I paused to stare at the screen as a news crew interviewed a pretty dark-haired lady. She certainly had the mysterious look going for her. Long dark hair and almond shaped brown eyes. Her voice held the hint of an accent though I couldn’t place it.

“She says her name is Erica.” Arthur snorted. “Shouldn’t a psychic have cool name or something?”

“What is wrong with Erica?” I sat down to slip off my high heels in favor of my comfortable sneakers.

“I dunno know… how about Clara Voyant?”

“Really?” I asked tying my shoes. “That’s the best you can do?” I was laughing when I answered the phone. “Dr. Katsaros speaking.”

“Hello, this is special agent Hawthorne,” an authoritative male voice said. “Would it be possible for you visit a crime scene tomorrow?”

I listened as he gave me the details, making notes on a yellow pad that I kept on my desk. “Yes, I can meet you there.” I gently placed the phone back in its cradle.

“What was that about?” Arthur asked seeing the expression on my face.

 I could feel the pull of a new case. A story waiting to be told. “It seems we have serial killer in the area.”

Watch for Selene: Book 3 of the Sophia Katsaros series on sale in hard copy or digital download Halloween 2019!