Prologue

A Chapter by queenbattyliv

PROLOGUE

I step up onto the wooden platform with difficulty, steadying my crutches, as the judge bangs her gravel. I sigh, and massage the place where the bullet entered my leg 26 days ago. The judge yells, "Silence in the court! Silence in the court!" My mind is beginning to go fuzzy from the pain. I teeter, and am brought a chair. I sit heavily. The crowd is quiet. The trial starts with the prosecutors, Jason and Hariett Silver. My fiancee's parents. They accuse me of murdering my boyfriend, Jonathan Silver. I didn't do it! But the evidence overrides my plea.

I was found lying, bleeding from my thigh and shoulder, with a gun in my right hand and Johnny at my side, dead. They say this is overwhelming evidence. No fingerprints on the gun, but my own. No sign of anyone outside. I know better. I am right handed. The gun was in my right hand, but I also had a bullet wound in my right shoulder. How could I shoot myself with my right hand in my right shoulder. They say I used my left. Bull s**t. I can use my left hand for anything, let alone shoot a gun with it.

The simple thought makes a shooting pain fly through my heart, as sharp as a piece of glass. Johnny, so wonderful and sweet. Always too good to me. The one person I could connect to. He's gone. Forever gone. I still haven't wrapped my head around the idea that I'll never hear his deep, calming voice again, or feel his weightless hands wrap themselves around me to keep me warm. I am broken, heart, soul, and body.

The judge peers at me inquisitively over her wire-rimmed glasses. I cannot meet her gaze. I hang my head and rub circles on my barely bloated belly. I am 32 weeks pregnant, but it doesn't show much. A single tear worms its way down my cheek and drips off my chin. My poor baby. He will never know his daddy.

I am dimly aware that all talking has ceased. I glance up. The judge is staring at me expectantly with her ice cold eyes. The soften a little in sympathy at my bedraggled state.

"Name?" she asks again. I tuck a stray auburn curl behind my ear and answer defiantly, "Eleanor Silver."

"Age?"

"18."

"Vocation?"

I don't reply, fingering the diamond engagement ring on my finger. I have no job, and am utterly broke. Instead I whisper,"I would like to tell my story."

Before I go.