An hour, hah! It may as well have been a century, or an evening in Jersey, but it wrenched at me as everything else had, twisting my insides on themselves and squeezing them to the point of bursting. There was an undeniable lurching in my stomach, making me feel that I was going to be sick and the heat wasn't helping matters much. Meyers and Malloy tried to talk to me, but I hushed them and sent them away harshly, more for their own good than my selfishness. When everyone had finally reconvened and I felt as if a mardi gras celebration was occurring in my torso, I realized that I hated the judicial system. I could bet my life that they would hear a confession as just happened and rule against it, and I'll tell ya something, I'd still be livin'. In this case, however, I'd bet my life and well, you wouldn't be hearin this story from me... They all filed in and sat down again, the judge stood ominously, overpowering all of us little people who were gawking and gaping like oxygen-deprived fish waiting for his words of exaltation or damnation.
"It has been decided," someone was talking, but for the life of me, I couldn't see or tell who, I hoped it was the judge or a jury member and not the crazy little voices that sounded now and again in my head. "That Greyson Marconi, owing to recent events and confessions is deemed not guilty in this case."
And that was all I heard, or thought I heard before I was pulled out of my seat by Greyson and swept up into the tightest embrace I've ever felt. I remember nothing else of that experience except that afterwards, Monkey McCartney was dragging me down the street, followed by a band of her friends. I didn't even ask where we were going, I just went.
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