123 Trial Pt.1

Dr. Wright spits the rag that blocks him from speaking. It plops against the floor, and his brows furrow as he shouts, "Of course, I'm not guilty of any of that." His gaze darts toward me. "It was you who caused everything in the first place!

I smile, raising my gavel and banging it against the desk. "Dr. Wright! This court reminds you to…" I pause, trying to remember all the court shows Robert liked to watch in the past. I shrug and, I continue, "This court reminds you to shut up and know your place, fool. It was you who took two of my people and tried only to give one back! Then when it was time to pay the piper for your actions, what did you do?"

"What I had to do!"

"That's such a cliché thing to say that I'm actually a bit disappointed." Disapproving, my attention turns toward the people in the room. "Who here wants to be the prosecutor against Dr. Wight. I can't be both the judge and the prosecutor, so someone needs to volunteer for this part."

A large man in business attire for some reason begins to stand; his armpits are stained with perspiration. As he stands, his eyes move to a busty woman's chest, and a look of pure and unadulterated determination plasterers itself upon his face.

He fixes the tie around his neck, making certain the woman notices him standing. Clearing his throat to grab the room's attention he, says, "I'll handle th—"

I interrupt him. "No. Not you dumbo. Someone who actually looks the part and has some kind of especially apparent chip on their shoulder." I point my gavel at dumbo's sweaty pits. "More importantly, someone who doesn't look like they ran a marathon when sitting in an air-conditioned room. You might have to actually stand for a while; I'm new here and don't know where the mops are to mop up your sweat."

He blinks a few times. A few researchers stifle a laugh while everyone else stares off into space from second-hand embarrassment. Without a word, he sits down: his gaze straight and his face red.

The room stays quiet as my gaze sweeps across the room. The few that haven't turned away from second-hand embarrassment do so after our eyes meet. "Now, someone out there who is qualified and is disconcerted by Dr. Wright's actions come forward. You've all been together for a while now; it's impossible that someone like him hasn't spurred animosity."

It stays quiet for another moment until a chair in the back of the room squeaks as someone stands, pushing it away. My eyes shift in the direction of a tall old man who slowly limps toward the front of the room. He wears an aged, faded white lab coat, baggy white pants that match the coat, a big pair of glasses, and a gold watch on his wrist.

His eyes are sunken from what looks to be years of stress.

Dr. Wright simply grunts at the sight of the man.

He walks to my desk and then looks at Dr. Wright. "You don't look so good, old man," he says with a grunt.

Dr. Wright scowls. "Frasier, are you really going to participate in this?"

"You bet your ass I am," the man, Frasier, snaps back.

"Alright!" I wack the gavel one good time. "This is perfect! I can see Frasier's here has a chip so enormous that he developed a limp after carrying it around for so long. Just the man I was looking for."

Frasier doesn't speak anything, just turns toward me to see if I have more to add.

I smile, exposing my fangs. "Frasier, the only thing I ask is you assume that no one here knows anything. No offhanded comments and such that no one here will understand."

He turns, looks at all the people watching, and nods. "Fine, I can do that."

"Good. Good." I point toward the twelve people that will be the jury. "As you may have already noticed, these people are the jury. Each person is someone from a different department with a totally different background. In other words, they represent everyone here in at least some way." I drop my hand, bring it back to the desk. "Since I am the only one here who knows the questions, I'll let you know what they are, and then you'll try to drag it out of him. If I have to, I'll step in."

"Yeah. I'll get him to spill the beans. I've known for years that he's been hiding things," he responds.

"Great!" I look toward Eden and motion for her to come forward. "As is the tradition of our people, a short hymn before the trial. Once concluded, I'll let you know what the first topic shall be."

Everyone looks bewildered by my mention of a hymn, but they all straighten their backs as Eden's footsteps echo on the tile floor. I notice many of the men... and women watch Eden's figure closely. She takes her place directly in front of the desk. Her long golden hair that runs to her lower back sways apart as she prepares to begin. My gaze turns downwards onto the backside of the pants I gave her earlier. As Eden said, when I gave them to her, they do indeed seem to be rather tight.

My face turns a bit hot. '...Okay. Let's get on with this.'

Similar to what occurred in the hospital, the veins on the back of Eden's neck glow as she begins to sing. I observe closely since we still haven't had many opportunities to figure out how Eden's voice or singing affects people's faith. A few people fall into a trance, but nothing like the hospital where she managed to sway most of the room.

'Maybe, it has something to do with intelligence? Or it could just be that we didn't have any sermon or anything beforehand. Besides, those people in the hospital were specially selected after a lot of trial and error.'

As in the hospital, she sings the 'Melody for the Lost Young Blood.' While she does so, I notice her glancing back to see if I'm paying attention to her song. I don't know why she would think I wouldn't be; where exactly would I go right now?

I look at the filing cabinet. 'Oh. Actually, I need Frasier's file.'

Motioning to Carl, or more specifically, hitting him with a pebble I found on the ground. The bailiff, Carl, opens the file with a loud screeching noise. Eden glances back and glares at him as a few people seemingly break from their trance due to the ear-piercing sound. He smiles and silently infers a "sorry" with his lips. Eden turns away.

A moment later, Carl approaches, placing a thick file upon my desk. The hymn concludes right after I open it.

With the hymn over, I start to try to move things along. "Okay. Fraiser, we're going to start with the most basic thing first, who did Dr. Wright owe his loyalty and services to before he found his way to me?"

Fraiser doesn't even flinch; he instantly moves into questioning. "Now, listen, I know you're a stubborn sonofabitch, but it seems obvious to everyone here you aren't going anywhere. So do you or do you not work for The Two Palm Society?"

'Oh. This guy's good.' I stifle a laugh and turn my attention toward the man's file. 'Let's see. His full name is Doctor Fraiser Reynolds. One of the oldest employees here, I assume.'

As I flip through the thick file, the two continue arguing in the background. It's basically a back and forth of one saying he works for The Two Palms and the other calling him out on it.

Coming across his disciplinary record, I stop noticing Doctor Wright's name. It reads simply:

"On 24th of December, Doctor Fraiser Reynolds discovered Doctor Drake Wright with his wife Doctor Lisa Reynolds exposed in Lab Room #129. Fraiser went into a rage, claiming his wife appeared to be in some kind of inebriated state. However, upon launching an investigation, researchers in the neighboring labs said they frequently heard the vocal 'moans' with a voice similar to that of Lisa Reynolds."

'Old people romantic drama, not something I care to visualize.' I skip ahead and resume.

"Fraiser Reynolds, who once worked directly under Doctor Drake Wright, was moved to Doctor Falenoz's office. Lisa Reynolds passed away before the internal investigation was complete."

'Doctor Falenoz was the one that we found the manilla envelope a while ago. Head of the God's Doppelgänger project. Eden and I never could get those papers to dry out right after they were covered in that gray goo.'

Shrugging, I return my attention to the bickering men. Fraiser isn't doing bad, but he is sort of just yelling in an attempt to get Dr. Wright to fold. I shift my gaze to the room full of researchers who all have a tiny awkward smile. Their eyes look between one another, wondering what is happening.

'This won't do. Besides, I'm already fairly certain who it is he's working for.'

I set my gavel on top of the file, cut my palm, and rub my hand on the smooth inside of the desk.

"Drake, stop trying to hide who it is you work for! Those mercenaries, where did they come from?" Fraiser asks.

Meanwhile, I am focusing on manipulating the blood toward Dr. Wright using the gaps in the floor tile. It's hard to control so skillfully, but if someone notices, they won't know what they're looking at more than likely. Like this, the blood runs up the wheel of the computer chair and then upward until it reaches the opening of Dr. Wright's shirt.

"I've already told yo—" He freezes, feeling the syrupy blood running along the spine of his back. I turn the blood thin, like needles, and push the ends into his back.

Picking up and banging my gavel against the desk, everyone's gaze shifts to me. "Dr. Wright, this court advises you to answer the questions truthfully. Please, realize the…" I pause, resisting the urge to use air quotes. "...thorny situation you currently find yourself in and tell Fraiser and your researchers how you work for… The Consortium, is it?"

"The Consortium?" Fraiser's gaze fixes upon Dr. Wright. "That explains why the higher-ups always defended you."

I push the needles just a bit deeper. He grits his teeth, thinking hard. "...Of course, I'm associated with The Consortium. Do you think they'd allow their own Researchers to work underneath Two Palm Society management? Hell no, obviously not!"

The room bursts into hushed whispers, though, some look unsurprised, others look totally taken aback.

Banging the gavel once more, I ask, "So is that why you abandoned your people? Because they weren't Consortium employees?"

He rolls his eyes. "No. It's because it wouldn't have made a difference, and… Well, if anything, you should all thank Dr. Falenoz."

Fraiser seems to have a realization as his eyes light up. "Dr. Falenoz, where is he? Did you kill him?"

"The fool killed himself when he… when he woke that abomination up."

"You mean the Doppelgänger?"

"The conceded sycophant sure did." Dr. Wright scoffs. "The worst part is I was on my way out with the other Consortium researchers before he did it. Then we were told to remain, observe, and exterminate. They wouldn't even send any damn Solicitors from Chicago to advise us either."

Seeing Fraiser about to move on, I raise my hand, stopping him.

"Solicitors?" I question Dr. Wright.

"They're specially trained agents that handle or advise on this type of garbage, but thanks to what's happened on the surface and the fact this isn't one of our facilities, they don't particularly care to send anyone." He rolls his eyes. "Solicitors aren't the best they have to offer, but it would have at least been something. But no. They basically sent me those mercenaries and then told me to act as an alarm if something did happen."

As if in his own little world, Dr. Wright begins going on and on about The Consortium. Complaint after complaint spews from his mouth. Most of it is minor things, like poor communication and other ordinary work complaints.

I sigh. 'This guy has a bad habit of saying too much when he starts talking. May just be narcissistic and can't control himself when he starts hearing the sound of his own voice.'

Banging the gavel and shutting the man up, I try to push to the next topic. "Fraiser, tell this court everything you know about the Doppelgänger, and then we'll have Dr. Wright fill in any blanks."