Time to Pay

"27 years, and 256 days ago, this man", the speaker pointed to the Defendant, "committed his first of many crimes." The speaker turned to, and addressed the audience and jury of the room. "Murder was his crime, but he didn't just murder his victims, he defiled them, made them into something they weren't. Ranging from the years 1990-1994, this man murdered and defiled 13 young women." The speaker turned and faced the Defendant once more, and spoke directly to him, "He is a sick, and twisted individual and deserves to be put away for life, that was his sentence in his previous life, why should it be changed now?". Once again the Speaker turned to the audience and jury; "As we all well know, resurrection is real, and there is nothing we can do to stop criminals deliberately killing themselves and being reborn into another life. The man before you, in this life is known as Dylan Featherstone, however in his previous life he was known as John Wittle, aka the serial killer, John Cutter." Although the audience and jury knew what and who this hearing was about, they still took the time to have another look at the Defendant. He looked so young and, quite honestly, innocent. However, no matter how innocent he looked in this life, he must pay for the crimes he committed in the past life, otherwise those crimes would go unpunished, which in the eyes of the victims family's, and in the eyes of the Speaker, was not in question.

The Speakers name is Marcus Grey, everyone he knows, knows him as Mr Grey apart from a select few people. Essentially he was a vigilante bounty hunter, well that's what he started off as, researching, biding his time, and catching criminals who deliberately resurrected to make them pay for their crimes. Eventually the police realised they could use a man like him, so instead of wasting their resources trying to catch him - which proved harder than trying to catch the criminals, instead they hired him, brought him onto their side, he'd be given a case and he'd do it, he didn't like to fail, so he never did. Mr Grey always got his man. He mainly did work in London, and around the UK, but very occasionally, his work took him abroad, sometimes these criminals sought out life in another country, and although it made it harder to catch them, he always succeeded.

Mr Grey was a tall man, just over 6 foot 2, and he was getting older, he knew that, he could feel it, just standing in front of this audience and walking around the courthouse his bones were weary and his muscles ached. It didn't help that this last case had been his hardest yet, Dylan Featherstone aka John Wittle, had been one of those that had moved abroad, he'd collected the cash from his hidden stash from his past life and used it to escape to Spain in an attempt to live out a nice life on the coast, away from his previous home. Unfortunately for him, unlike the police Mr Grey had no jurisdiction, he would follow a criminal anywhere and everywhere if it meant the slightest chance of catching them. Because obviously there was no point in catching them, unless there was proof that they were in fact the criminal he was looking for, and that's exactly what the defendant Dylan Featherstone was asking for now.

The judge banged his gavel onto the sound block and called for quiet in the room, a few people were still quietly murmuring about Dylan being the infamous John Cutter, so the judge banged his gavel again, and the murmuring stopped, but their was still a lot of glances Dylans way, but despite that he was smirking.

"You make all these claims that I am this John Cutter bloke, but other than the fact that I was born around the same time that he took his own life, you've got no proof." Again, Dylan smirked as he was speaking, and defiantly crossed his arms once he'd finished speaking. In his view, there was nothing that Mr Grey could say that would put him away. However, there was a trick up Mr Greys sleeve that Dylan hadn't forseen.

"Dylan, it is true that you now live in Spain is it not?" Mr Grey asked, knowing full well that the answer was yes and also that he might get an..

"Objection, your honour, we all know that Mr Featherstone does live in Spain, but it has no relevance" that was Dylans lawyer, a damn good one as well, no doubt he'd used some of his 'hard earned' cash to pay for him.

"Do you have a point Mr Grey?" The Judge knew Mr Grey, and so knew that it wasn't often, if ever that he spoke without having a point.

"I do your honour."

"Well then hurry to it, don't waste everyone's time, with questions we all know the answer to." Mr Grey nodded his acceptance and appreciation to the judge, other judges would have stopped his point of questioning there, before even getting to the point he was trying to make, which Mr Grey knew was a home run.

"How often would you say you come back home Mr Featherstone?" There was a pause, not long, but long enough for Dylan to come up with a time that suited him.

"Once a month or so." There it was, his eyes flickered to the top left when he spoke, Mr Grey had been doing this for enough time to know when the defendant was lying, and this was one of those times. If he kept pressing, there was a high possibility of Dylan crumbling under the pressure.

Mr Grey looked straight into Dylans eyes, he could see the defiance was starting to waver.

"So, not every Friday, to return on the Saturday?" Mr Grey had backed him into the corner, by asking him first how often he came home, the judge now knew that Dylan was lying. Mr Grey continued, "What do you do every Friday you come back Mr Featherstone?" Dylans confidence had gone, with 2 questions back to back, no time to make up an answer Dylan had all but lost this battle of to-ing and fro-ing, but it still proved nothing, he had the proof he needed, he just needed to keep on pressing, but he wanted an answer to his previous question so he waited.

The Judge was looking at Dylan expectantly now, and with some suspicion as well, as were the jury, it had been a full 20 seconds of silence since the question was asked by Mr Grey, and still no answer, the Judge decided to press matters further.

"Come on Mr Featherstone, we don't have all day, answer Mr Greys question." As if spurred into action, Dylan said the first thing that came to mind, "Visiting family." As an answer it made sense, as he'd moved to a different country all his family was still over here, back in the UK, but every weekend? Unlikely. Not only that, both Mr and Mrs Featherstone, Dylans parents looked confused by the answer, as if it wasn't them Dylan was visiting, they tried to hide it, but too late, the Judge had seen the faces they made and knew that he wasn't telling the complete truth. Mr Grey was carrying on.

"I'd like to call upon my first witness?" The Judge nodded and so Mr Grey gestured to the guard on the door to the left of the courtroom, the guard opened the door and in came an old lady using her walking stick to balance herself as she walked. She walked slowly, as any old person with a walking stick does, it took her a good minute to get to the witness block, and when she got there she sat and sighed, as if that walk was almost too much effort for her to handle. The judge allowed her a short time to catch her breath before nodding to Mr Grey, and allowing him to start asking questions.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" The old lady placed her right hand over her heart and looked straight ahead towards Mr Grey.

"I swear." She had an English accent, and her voice was sweet, you couldn't imagine her ever saying anything that would hurt anyone, but hopefully what she was going to say would help incriminate Dylan.

"State your name, please?" It only seemed right to be polite, after all, she wasn't the criminal in the room.

"Guinevere O'Donnell, but people call me Gwen." It was hard not to smile at her response, just from that you could tell she was a loving woman.

"Do you work or do any volunteer work at all, Gwen?" Mr Grey stole a quick glance Dylans way and saw that he'd gone very pale, the Judge had made the same connection but didn't have Mr Greys knowledge of who this woman was or what her relationship with Dylan was.

"I volunteer in a florist in St Albans every Thursday and Friday." Mr Grey started pacing up and down, in front of the audience and the judge, he put his right forefinger over his lips as if he were thinking, he knew exactly what his question was, this part was all partly for show, but also to make Dylan nerves tingle.

Almost as a side thought, Mr Grey turned to Gwen and asked if she ever had any regulars, or people she saw often. Gwen smiled and replied, "why yes I do, there are some people I see very often." The Judge, and everyone else in the room seemed to see where this was going now, but had no idea how it would connect Dylan to John Wittle.

"And the man sitting in that chair there," Mr Grey pointed to the defendant, "Dylan Featherstone, is he one of your regulars?"

"Yes he is," Gwen nodded as she answered.

"Out of interest what does he buy?"

"A bouquet of red roses.." Gwen would have continued, had it not been for the interruption of another

"Objection, your honour, the type of flower doesn't matter, so what if he buys flowers from a flower shop, it proves nothing." Dylans lawyer once again, unfortunately for him, the specific type of flower does matter. The Judge looked expectantly at Mr Grey, "Past warning Mr Grey, get to the point."

"Yes, your honour. Now I know for a fact that Dylan Featherstone's mother, Sally is allergic to red roses, and is also in this room, so I took the liberty of buying a bouquet of red roses from Gwen here, exactly as she would prepare them for Dylan." He nodded again to the guard at the door, who opened it, and in came a man who obviously worked for the florist, he brought in a beautiful big bouquet, Mr Grey could smell the flowers from where he stood, and they smelled like victory. He asked the florist to give the flowers to Sally Featherstone, and with the Judges permission, he took them to the lady sitting directly behind Dylan. As soon as the flowers were handed to Sally, she sneezed, and then again, a third time she realised she couldn't have these flowers near her, and passed them back. Mr Grey could see Dylans lawyer about to object so he started talking. "Now, obviously the only thing that this proves is that Sally Featherstone is allergic to roses. So if Dylans mother is allergic to these flowers, it begs the question, where was he taking them, or who was he taking them to? A lover perhaps? Doubtful if he returns to the country every week for 1 day. Perhaps another member of family? Unlikely, who in your family would you buy flowers for, if not your mother? A sister? Grandmother perhaps? Plausible yes, until you see that Dylan has neither of these. No, I'd like to call my second witness to the stand please, your Honor?" Again, the Judge nodded, and in came a man, who at a glance, looked as if he was in his sixties. He was average height and build for his age, with grey hair. His hands were dirty and worn, the sign of a working man, and he walked comfortably unaided, more than likely he worked outside, he probably looked like a gardener to anyone watching. To which there were plenty of people, even Dylan was watching, trying to work out who he was, and why he was testifying. The man sat at the stand, to the left of the Judge, and stared straight forward, with his hands crossed on his lap. Mr Grey said the lines he'd said a thousand times, and the man swore to tell the truth, and the audience, jury, Judge and Dylan all simultaneously found out his name at the same time, Peter Sheeran. Dylan looked confused, still trying to work out who this man was. Mr Grey was professional enough to keep his smile within, knowing he'd won.

"Would you please state your occupation to the audience please Mr Sheeran?" It seemed right to speak to him formally, unlike Gwen this man wasn't as friendly and approachable, and that was apparent in his job as well.

"I'm a groundskeeper, for the London Road Cemetery." His voice was rough, like he smoked 40 a day, and he probably did. Mr Grey stole a quick glance towards Dylan and saw his face drop in a sudden realisation of what this man represented.

"And how long have you worked at the cemetery for?" "Roughly 35 years."

"Do you recognise this man?" Mr Grey pointed to Dylan as he asked the question.

"I do Mr Grey, I didn't know his name for years, but for almost 5 years, every Friday afternoon, without fail, he has brought a bouquet of red roses to one specific grave in the cemetery." Some of the audience seemed to understand where this was going by now, it wasn't rocket science, but there was still a few people who didn't seem to be in the know, and as with all cases, it had to be spelt out, so there could be no question about it. "Did you ever get curious about who's name was on the grave, and why did you if you did?"

"I did, I see a lot of people come and go, a lot of people start coming when they're around the age of 17 or 18, when they've fully remembered their past lives and the people that mattered. But never have I seen someone return every week at the same time, consistently for 5 years. So I got curious."

"So you read the inscription on the gravestone, could you recite it for us please?"

"I did, the inscription read 'In loving memory of Fiona Wittle, wonderful mother and wife, January 7th 1941 - May 14th 1997'." The 12 members of the jury almost simultaneously did a double take on Dylan Featherstone, almost as if it couldn't be, he couldn't be him. Those 3 years where John the Cutter was 'active' he dominated the news feeds all over the world. 13 murders in 3 years, if this was him, it was about time he got the justice he deserved, and the jury was definitely leaning towards the side of the fence that was shouting guilty.

"Thank you Mr Sheeran, you are dismissed." Mr Grey was speaking again, "It also appeared in the news, that after John the Cutter committed suicide to escape his sentence on the 3rd April 1994, that his mother Fiona Wittle, slowly drove herself drove herself to madness, not quite able to understand how her son was able to turn into the man he did, and she died of alcohol poisoning on John Wittle's birthday, the 14th May 1997." Mr Grey could see the man was angry at what he was saying, one final statement could make him erupt, he clearly cared for his mother when he was alive.

"Through his actions, he killed his own mother." Before his lawyer could tell him not to, Dylan erupted, and it was bigger than Mr Grey expected.

"YOU LIAR, YOU FUCKING LIAR. HOW DARE YOU SAY I KILLED HER. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU." Tears were in his eyes after that outburst, he realised what he'd just done, slowly Mr Grey had been winning the jury over, and with that final statement, something had ticked in Dylan's head, and he wasn't able to control it. He was John Wittle, he'd just confirmed it, he didn't just confirm it, he shouted it out, nice and loud for everyone to hear. And now he was sitting there in tears, he realised what he did, and he sat there defeated. Mr Grey went and took his seat and the Judge had made his decision without needing the jury.

"Mr Featherstone, you are hear by sentenced to 3 life sentences in high security prison, for the crimes accused. Court adjourned."

It was another win for Mr Grey, but the part he hated the most was watching the parents' reactions, he always tried to avoid it. They had done nothing wrong, and neither, in their eyes, had their son. The man being arrested at the moment was Dylan Featherstone, the son of Sally and Paul Featherstone, who hadn't committed a single crime in his 24 years of life but was paying for another man's crimes. It was unfair, Mr Grey knew that but if he didn't get put away, the crimes that were committed would go unpunished, and in Mr Grey's eyes, that couldn't happen. Not to mention, he could start all over again, and the cycle begins again. No, it has to happen this way, however crude it may seem, these girls had to get justice for what happened, and they finally have.

Mr Grey walked out of the courthouse and down the stairs, from the inside left pocket of his grey suit jacket, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes, he bought them this morning before the hearing, but his pack of 20 was already down to 14, and it was only 11am, at this rate, he'd probably have to get another pack before the end of the day. He pulled one out, and put it in his mouth while he placed the pack neatly back in his pocket, he then pulled a lighter from the right outside pocket and stood still on the second to bottom step while he attempted to light the tar and nicotine filled smoke stick. There was a bit of a breeze, so he had to protect the flame with his left hand, while he flicked the top end of the lighter with his thumb a few times, with that familiar clicking sound of the mechanism trying to create a spark calling out, before the flame caught, and he held it close to the tip of the cigarette for a second, letting it catch, and then took his thumb off the lighter, took a deep breath in through the cigarette, and sighed as he let the smoke escape out through his mouth. He placed the lighter back in his front right jacket pocket, grabbed the cigarette in between his first and middle finger, took another deep breath in, and took the cigarette out of his mouth for the first time since he put it in, and he let out another long sigh, as the smoke escaped his lungs. After that first deep breath, he could already feel the stress and tension be released, almost as if the smoke he was blowing out was the stress inside of him. He took another long drag, before taking the last couple of steps down onto the pavement below the courthouse, and without so much as a look back, he turned left, and walked away from the courthouse, towards the bus stop where he'd catch his favoured number 52 bus, that would drop him close to the off-license, where he'd buy a 6 pack of beer, a microwave meal, and another pack of cigarettes.

Before he'd reached the bus stop he'd finished the cigarette he lit on the Courthouse steps, found an ashtray on top of a bin, and stubbed his cigarette out. He reached the bus stop, and immediately pulled out another cigarette and lit it, trying to take his mind off the sounds of Sally Featherstone's screaming, and Paul Featherstone's insults, that were etched into his mind as he left the courtroom, he knew he would never forget that, and it was always the worst part about the job.