Elizabeth

The Murder Trial of a man chased by guilt

      His eyes faced the floor. They were pale green, a pretty color like Elizabeth's favorite sundress. The one she wore to the party on that cool August night. That terrible night. They were rimmed in red that was stark against his dead-pale face. His voice was broken and his head rested in his hands. A voice infiltrated his personal horror to drag him further into his hell.

     "I Find Andrew Courter guilty of murder in the first degree, the murder of Elizabeth Gardiner." The ringing voice exclaimed.

No.

No. It couldn't be, he couldn't have.

No. He didn't poison the water.

Elizabeth. His Elizabeth.

No motive.

It wasn't right.

No.

No.

"No..."

      Around him was a blur of color and motion. Elizabeth's parents were crying. But they were proud. They'd won their case. He never would have believed it if it didn't happen. Things were so different then...in August.

It was her parents’ anniversary. Thirty years of marriage. Elizabeth looked more beautiful than ever, dark hair done up in waves, long silver earrings that swayed with her fluid gait, graceful in stilettos. Her makeup was done with a perfect set of strokes, black and long like ravens wings resting on her eyelids, framing a sweet hazel. A picture of sophistication in that dress that matched his eyes perfectly. He had never loved her more.

They came to the restaurant. It was August 20th and the days were getting shorter, and it was a bit cool. Not to cool to eat outside. He was working a late shift, but since he could make their dinner, they brought it to him. They loved him. They didn't even consider dinner without him.

If only, he thought, if only they had.

He brought them drinks. Elizabeth was allergic to champagne. He poured her water, clear as the gaudy strand of the diamonds around Mrs. Gardiner's neck. The pitcher of water was where it always was,a white cloth napkin creating a band across the lip. The pitcher was metal, cold and covered with crystal drops of water. Right on the counter by the kitchen door. He placed it in front of her, gave her a kiss on the cheek and returned to the kitchen to reset the pitcher. Then he returned to the table...

The memory made him sink. It joined him in every nightmare and loomed over him, familiar and present as his very shadow.

She was flat on the table, water drawing her hair in to limp strings that fanned around her head, like streamers. The glass was shattered and stained with blood-red lipstick. Her hands were cold. Mr. Gardiner was on the phone with the Police. He sat next to her and held her hands until the ambulance came for her. She was gone. Mrs. Gardiner sobbed into his shoulder, and he too was wracked with sobs.

Grief. Like an endless glass, smeared with lipstick crashing across his face.

Guilt. Why didn't he make them go to a different place? Why didn't he take the night off? Why didn't he insist she drink something else? Why hadn't he saved her?

But he didn't poison her.

He loved her. Everyone knew he did. Even Mrs. and Mr. Gardiner. They had loved him. He missed her. The handcuffs were wrapped around him. They didn't feel remorse. His lawyer scowled at the loss of a case. His family didn't even show up. The jury looked proud. He didn't think to mourn himself. So much guilt.

He was neither innocent nor guilty. But it was a futile fight. The verdict was law, and so was fate. His Elizabeth was gone.