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Territorial Bonds

Chapter nine

Jazz was rather rudely awoken by his alarm clock at an early hour of the morning and he rolled over in bed, reaching out to turn it off.

He had been dreaming...about Sam. He couldn’t remember much of it instantly- just touches, kisses, backs arched in passion. Jazz cursed himself for having the dream, for even thinking about the man.

He shook all thoughts of Sam out of his head as he started getting ready, having a quick shower and then dressing for court. It was the day of the final part of the trial, and the most important part – the judgement. Today, he would find out if Deacon Grady was going to walk free after slaughtering his family, get away with ruining his entire life.

Jazz dressed slowly, trying to ignore the sickly feeling in his stomach that he was sure was nerves. He already knew the answer, but he was dreading hearing it.

Just as he finished getting ready, there was a knock on the door and he opened it to find his uncle standing there, a serious look on his face. Jazz knew they were all as nervous as he was, worrying that Grady would get away with his crimes.

“It’s time to go Jazz,” he said softly, taking the young man by the arm by way of comfort. No matter how bad he was feeling on such a day, he knew Jazz was feeling a hundred times worse, caught up in thoughts and fears of the person who had stolen away his life going free with no punishment.

Jazz sat silently in the car on the way to the court house, staring out the window at the gloomy day. The skies were grey overhead as if they knew how he was feeling and threatened to pour down with rain at any moment, like great tears falling from above. A hand took his own as he stared out of the window and he turned to look into the kind eyes of his aunt. She had been there through everything to help him, but she couldn’t replace his mother, nobody could.

When they arrived, Jazz found Sam in the reception, leaning against the wall and drumming his manicured fingernails against the surface. He moved as Jazz entered the court house with his aunt and uncle, approaching them slowly as if waiting for a bad reaction.

“Good morning,” he ventured as they stopped before him, noting the looks the three of them gave him, “I was wondering if I could have a word with Jazz.”

Jazz’s uncle laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk to him, Jazz,” he began, but the young man shook his head, removing his uncle’s hand and turning towards Sam. His aunt bustled his uncle away, wanting to give the two of them some privacy.

“You already know the result,” Jazz stated flatly, refusing to look up properly at Sam, “You know that he’s going to get away with what he did.”

“Yes.” Sam didn’t try to deny the facts that everybody already knew. Yes Grady was going to get away with crimes he so clearly committed. “But he’s going to get punished, Jazz.”

The young man made an angry noise, finally raising his head to look at Sam.

“Punished? Is this your form of punishment? A slap on the wrist and no privileges for a week? He stole my entire life from me!”

“Calm down!” Sam grasped Jazz’s upper arms in an attempt to calm him, noting that people were beginning to look at them. The last thing he wanted at the court was to make a scene with Jazz.

“Please, let’s talk somewhere more private.”

Jazz shook himself free of Sam and stepped back, his eyes narrowed.

“I have nothing more to say to you.”

Sam didn’t see Jazz again until later when he was sat in the front row in court between his aunt and uncle. His aunt gripped his hand tightly, but Jazz sat there limply, staring up at the judge’s podium with blank eyes.

It perplexed Sam that he was feeling so awful about the result of the trial. Usually, he was able to win his cases and go to a party to celebrate with fine champagne and cigars, but there was a sick feeling in his stomach as he took his place next to Grady. He had a feeling that he would not celebrate the result of this trial, but return to his home and lock himself away with his thoughts.

“How are you feeling?”

Sam didn’t turn his gaze from Jazz as Blake leaned forward from the row behind him.

“I’m fine.”

Unlike Alexandra, he knew Sam better than the man thought he did, he could tell what the other was feeling. And for the first time in a long while, Sam Taylor felt guilty. And Sam Taylor was a man who never felt guilty, even when he looked into the eyes of women sobbing because their husband had been murdered, children crying for their father. He had been gifted with an ability to brush it all off, but that ability appeared to have failed him.

“I wish they would just get on with it,” Alexandra complained as Blake shifted back into his seat, “I have things to do. Everyone already knows the outcome of this trial.”

A few moments later, they all stood as the judge entered the court, taking his place. As he spoke, Sam didn’t really hear his words, he was too busy staring at Jazz across the room, noting his defeated stance and the hanging of his head. They had all known this day was coming, yet it seemed so much harder for them to accept it now that it was actually happening.

By the time it came to the verdict, Jazz had slumped down in his seat, barely watching the happenings of the court from beneath his bangs.

“We find the defendant…” Even though they knew what was coming, the pause seemed to last forever, “…not guilty.”

Immediately, a smirk crossed Grady’s face and across the court room, Jazz’s aunt burst into tears. As people filed out of the court room, Sam followed, walking slowly past the row where Jazz still sat with his uncle consoling his aunt. Their eyes met across the space between them and Sam found himself almost hurting at the pain in the young man’s eyes. He wanted to stop, to talk to Jazz, but found Deacon grabbing his arm, pulling him out of the room along with Blake and Alexandra.

“I knew I was going free,” he boasted, “No one’s going to convict me with you as my lawyer, Sam. I can do whatever I want. I can get that little bitch Monroe now, send him the same way as the rest of his family.”

At this comment, Sam stopped in his tracks, grasping Grady’s arm roughly, pulling him around to face him.

“You are mistaken, Deacon,” he began through gritted teeth, “You will not do whatever you want, kill whomever you please. From now on, you will do exactly as I tell you to do, is that clear? If you ever break my rules again, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

He let go of Grady suddenly, turning away from him.

“You are now confined to the house, Deacon,” he growled before stalking away ahead of the others.

It was as if they were lepers as they left the courtroom. People stepped back away from them, knowing how what had just happened had affected them, telling themselves it was because they wanted to give them space but knowing it was because they didn’t know what to say to them. They bore sympathetic glances as if saying ‘I’m sorry, I understand’, but they didn’t understand.

Sam and Deacon had long since gone by the time Jazz could muster enough energy to stand, trailing out of the court room with his head hanging low. His aunt and uncle - who had been waiting for him to stand, unwilling to rush him - followed him silently, hands clasped together so tightly it almost hurt. But Jazz walked alone, as he did so often.

At the bottom of the court house stairs, Jazz’s uncle gave a deep sigh, finally releasing his wife’s hand.

“I’ll bring the car round.”

As he walked off, the two remaining stood in silence, each unwilling to say anything, to try and speak through the air of hurt that lay between them. They had all known it was coming, but now that it was official it hurt so much more than they could have imagined.

As Jazz’s aunt finally opened her mouth to speak, the young man suddenly took off, darting down the street without a word. She called after him, but her cries fell on deaf ears as he ran, unsure of where he was going. By the time her husband pulled up in the car, she was standing with worry on her face.

“He just ran off,” she told her husband, climbing quickly into the car, “Let’s go after him.”

The man laid a hand on her arm, shaking his head slowly.

“Let him go. He’s dealing with his grief, he’ll return when he’s ready.”

Jazz ran until his legs burned with pain and his chest ached, his heart pounding so hard it felt it would burst. It was only when he couldn’t run anymore that he finally stopped, collapsing to his knees on the grass on which he stood. The tears streamed from his eyes, leaving wet trails down his face that made his hair stick to his skin, catch on his lashes. He pounded the ground with his fist, chest hurting as his body was wracked with uncontrollable sobs, but none of it made him feel any better, not one little bit.

When he couldn’t cry any longer, Jazz finally pushed himself to sit back on his feet, his body weak and aching. Through long bangs, he could see the name of the street on the sign a short way ahead of him. It was the street he had once lived on. In his hurt, his feet had brought him back…home.

It took a great effort to force himself to stand and he moved down the street slowly, his mind remembering every detail. It was only three years ago, but it felt like a lifetime. His feet walked the pathway they had walked thousands of times before, leading around the road to the house at the end of the block that was separated from the others by a small collection of trees. The house, once a beautiful home, now stood dark and neglected. The yard was overgrown, filled with rubbish people had thrown there over the years. There was still police tape circling the premises, supposedly in the event that Grady would not be found guilty and the case would need to be re-opened.

Jazz felt sick as he lifted the tape to step under it, making his way up the overgrown path to the front door. It was locked, but the spare key was still where they had always left it, hidden behind a loose brick that slid out of position and Jazz let himself into the place he had once called home.

Stepping into the house, he could almost feel himself moving back in time, to before it had happened. He could almost hear the television in the front room blasting some sort of sports that his dad and brothers would sit down to watch. He could almost smell his mother’s cooking from the kitchen. Almost.

In the kitchen, everything had been cleaned up and aside from the layers of dust, it almost looked as if people lived in the house still. On the fridge were still photographs of the family and a few of Ethan’s drawings. He took the top one from the fridge, staring down at the crayon shapes of their family standing together holding hands. ‘My Family’ Ethan had written at the bottom in his childish handwriting along with a drawing of a misshapen heart.

It was the first time Jazz had found himself back in the house since it had happened. He had thought it would hurt too much, but as he stood staring at Ethan’s drawing he couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t hurt anymore inside than he already did.

Jazz lay the drawing down on the kitchen table before stepping out into the hall, approaching the door to the front room. He stood in the doorway, staring at his father’s armchair and the blank television screen that lay across from it. It had been on so much before, but now it grew dusty with neglect. Jazz could remember many a night when he was younger gathered around the television, watching some of the family’s old favourite shows, or arguing about what to put on. They were the typical family, just average people killed ...for what reason? Just to satisfy the manic workings of someone's mind?

The young man bypassed his own room when he had climbed the stairs, unsure if he could face the place where he had lived so contentedly. While his aunt had visited the house and taken a lot of his things in preparation for his new life, there would still be the bed he had slept in every night, the posters on the walls of his favourite bands, the photos of his friends and family sitting on his nightstand.

Instead, he entered the guest bedroom where his sister had been staying with her husband. The sheets upon which they died had been stripped away and the mattress had been cleaned but it still bore a faint bloodstain where the two had lain sleeping when they died so suddenly. His sister’s handbag sat on the floor next to the bed amidst a small pile of clothing. She had never been good at tidying up after herself. Her handbag was large as she had always felt the need to carry so many things around with her. Many of them were gone now – her purse, keys, mobile phone – but there were a few letters, a notebook and her diary.

Jazz pulled the diary from the bag, sitting down slowly on the floor as he opened it, turning to the week she had died. There were a few things noted, meetings, lunch dates with friends and on the first day of the week, she had had a doctor’s appointment. As he turned the page, he found an envelope she had opened and out of curiosity, he took out the letter, unfolding it to read.

It was from the doctor. She had visited him on the Monday to pick up some test results. The test was positive. On the day that she had died, his sister had been pregnant.

Jazz dropped the diary and stood up, wondering why he didn’t know that. Obviously, they would have known she was pregnant from her autopsy, but no one had passed along the information to her grieving family.

The young man sat down on the bed. He wanted to cry, but there were no more tears. He had run out of tears that he could shed for his lost family and now for the loss of his unborn niece or nephew. He couldn’t cry anymore, he was…numb.

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