Chapter 4
Two long,
exhausting months passed slowly,
while the legal teams prepared for the highly publicized trial.
Hunter was finally released from the hospital,
though his physical and mental recovery was only just beginning.
He walked with a slight,
noticeable limp,
and the terrible night terrors kept us all awake for most of the night.
David and I took turns sleeping directly on the floor beside his bed,
holding his small hand whenever he woke up screaming in the dark.
One rainy Tuesday afternoon,
the prosecutor called me with an unexpected,
urgent update regarding the upcoming case.
"Your sister wants to make a formal deal,"
the lawyer told me over the phone,
sounding slightly surprised by the sudden,
dramatic turn of events.
"Bertha is completely breaking down in solitary confinement,
and she is offering to testify fully against your mother."
I felt a strange,
cold shiver run down my spine at the mention of her name.
"What exactly does she want in return,"
I asked cautiously,
knowing that my sister never did anything without a selfish,
ulterior motive.
"She wants a reduced sentence,
and a transfer to a minimum-security psychiatric facility,"
he explained quietly.
"But before we agree to anything,
she requested to speak with you directly,
face to face."
I hesitated for a long,
painful moment,
not wanting to ever see her pathetic,
lying face again.
But I needed to know the complete truth,
I needed to know exactly how they justified torturing my sweet,
innocent son.
The next morning,
I drove alone to the heavily guarded county detention center.
I was escorted into a small,
cold visitation room,
separated by a thick wall of bulletproof,
smudged glass.
Bertha was brought out a few minutes later,
looking incredibly thin,
pale,
and completely stripped of her former arrogance.
She picked up the heavy black telephone receiver on her side,
her hand shaking violently as she pressed it against her ear.
I picked up my own receiver,
staring at her coldly,
offering absolutely no sympathy or forgiveness.
"Why did you do it,
Bertha,"
I asked bluntly,
getting straight to the point without any polite greetings.
Tears immediately spilled from her hollow,
dark eyes,
running down her dirty cheeks.
"Mom made me believe it was necessary,"
Bertha cried weakly,
her voice sounding like a pathetic,
whining child.
"She said Hunter carried the devil's bl00d,
because David's family had a history of terrible sins,
and she convinced me that the pain would purify his soul."
I gripped the plastic phone so tightly that my knuckles turned completely white.
"You are a grown woman,"
I spat back angrily,
"you knew exactly what you were doing when you locked him in that shed."
"I was scared of her too,
Abigail,"
she pleaded desperately,
pressing her free hand flat against the cold glass.
"If I did not help her punish him,
she promised to lock me in the shed instead."
I stared at her for a long time,
realizing that she was just as sick,
weak,
and manipulative as the monster who raised us.
"You are not a victim,"
I told her firmly,
my voice completely devoid of any emotion or warmth.
"You watched my baby bleed,
and you told me over the phone that he got exactly what he deserved."
She sobbed louder,
realizing that her pathetic excuses were completely failing to move me.
"I will testify to everything,"
she begged softly,
"I will tell the jury about the chains,
the starvation,
and the cruel things she whispered to him in the dark."
"Do it,"
I commanded sharply,
preparing to hang up the heavy phone and walk away forever.
"But do not expect my forgiveness,
May you like
because you are going to die alone in a cage,
just like you tried to do to my son."
