Whispered Words

Engraved above the doorway in Latin appeared the phrase, “Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem.” By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty.  Upon entering the room, the atmosphere seems stern and condemning as always.

Cherry wooden walls with heavy crown molding and low lighting prompt ominous suggestion. It smells of antiquities and pungent sweat from the moistened bodies rushing to get there in time before the doors close. It’s not something you’re likely to get used to.

The pews on either side of the room separate our beliefs and somewhere in the middle there’s a low wooden barrier that stretches the full length of the room, justified with margins forming aisles around its perimeter.

On the opposite side of that barrier a jury of your peers will listen to the evidence, the testimony and hand in a verdict. The defendant will plead their case, and the prosecution will try and poke holes in it.

It’s been three years since Milly Garner allegedly burned down her Delaware home with her family inside. She is the sole survivor.

Day 1: State of Massachusetts vs. Milly Garner

I took the prosecutor’s seat on behalf of the state as I’d done for the past twelve years, Jonathan Nathaniel Esquire, Senior council for the state of Massachusetts. By my side sat  junior council, David Halliburton.

Milly slowly hobbled into the courtroom from a side chamber door, bound and cloaked. It’s uncommon for a defendant to enter the courtroom in a cloak, but the logistics of such a  high-profile trial were taken into great account, as many thought it would be too disruptive and perhaps even too upsetting for spectators to observe the full extent of her disfigurement.

At the time, Milly Garner was twenty-six years of age; a mother, a wife, and an alleged murderer. As she took her seat alongside her defense attorney there was a chorus of whispers behind her. So, she turned her head slightly over her shoulder as only what remained of her nose peeked from underneath. She turned back forward, then after a moment of hesitation slowly removed her hood.

You could almost hear those silent gasps.

Almost immediately and completely unintentionally I began to hum the rhyme in my head. We all know it.

“One, two Freddy’s coming for you.

Three, four better lock your door.

Five, six grab your crucifix.

Seven, eight better stay awake.”

The shuffling of dull pencils gliding and rubbing across paper filled in the gaps of awkward silence as courtroom sketch artists curated eagerly with great interest in the recreation of Milly’s Mona Lisa.

David gave me a nudge and whispered, “I can’t wait to see her ugly mug in the paper.”

“All rise.”, the courtroom now dead silent.

Day 3: State of Massachusetts vs. Milly Garner

After two long days of opening remarks, evidence, witnessing testimony and cross-examinations by both the prosecution and defense, today is the day that Milly takes the stand and both sides deliver closing arguments.

Milly’s Testimony

I don’t have answers to rationalized questions because what happened to me isn’t rationale, so please don’t interrogate me.

Her speech is quite slurred and muffled as the result of the injuries she sustained to her face.

“Okay then Mrs. Garner, in your own words, tell us what happened during the moments leading up to the tragic events that occurred that night. Tell us about the whispered words.”

Of course, Jonathan. I was in the den that evening. I’d fallen asleep on the couch as I was exhausted. I was always exhausted. The triplets were upstairs asleep and were put down for the night. I had the baby monitor in the den with me. I always have it whenever I’m not near them.

Anyway, I was awakened from my slumber by sounds of whispers. My babies were only a few months old at the time, so I thought I was going crazy, but I ran upstairs to check on them anyway. There they were, fast asleep, but still, I could hear the whispers.

Frantically, I checked every room in the house looking for something, anything to explain what I was hearing, but I found nothing. I began to think it was all a nightmare and that if I could just go and lay back down for a minute, then I’d wake up. I went back to the den and laid back down on the couch.

The whispers could not be quelled. The sound of a trillion lower-case s’s relentlessly swarmed the room like a serpent’s hiss. Moments before, the air had turned frigid as I reached for my withered throw blanket. My airways became filled with the daunting smell of puss and placenta.

I could taste it, you know?

The rot.

I couldn’t breathe. I gasped and clutched my throat for air as I clung to the misery of life. I should have just let it end this time.

At the brink of it, I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness when I started choking up spoiled and lumpy milk. It gushed from my nose and throat as it and the breast milk from my raw haggard nipples drenched my house coat.

Still. The whispers could not be quelled. Something was there, there in the den with me.

“Is it your testimony that someone else was present that night?”

No, I never claimed that defense. You must listen carefully, very carefully to every word I say.

I said something, something was present there with me that day, an entity. There, in that  depressing room where the blackout curtains regularly cast terrorizing shadows upon the walls, but that night…that night shadows overtook the ceiling.

I raised my head slowly as the shadow towered aloft. In the way that a heretic would lift pleading eyes to the Lord and fall upon bent knees seeking sanctuary from the fear she could not even fathom.

Through the thick of the whispers, words began to form. They were coming from the baby monitor. I leaned closer.

I heard, “mama”. Repeatedly, “mama, mama, mama!”

The plea seemed desperate, then words faded away.

The ever-present whispers once again became incomprehensible. The sounds, driving me further away from my sanity and further down a rabbit hole of hysteria. I started squeezing my head tightly using  lots of pressure. I tried to knock the sounds out of my head with such force that I used my fists, and when that didn’t work, the glass coffee table.  

I was picking a shard of glass from the corner of my eye when I heard it, but this time the whispers weren’t just in the room with me. They weren’t coming from the baby monitor. It whispered into my ear…

“Do you see?”

My neck snapped back as I was jolted to the floor, arms and legs outstretched beside me as I lay there seized, in a puddle of regurgitation on carpet that had soured.

The things that I saw you wouldn’t believe. Oh, what far greater ruin lies ahead than the ruin following that first response.

Greater than suffering. Greater than suicidal impulses. Greater than tying a knot in a rope and hanging it from the ceiling.

Carnage followed. Starving spirits with insatiable appetites would possess my household like a 666 birthmark on the innocence of youth. I dare not speak it in this courtroom today. I couldn’t. You’ll have to take my word for it, okay?

It all made sense. There was no longer a question, only the answer. No reason to endure the torments of contemplation. They were evil and three times powerful.

Still. The whispers could not be quelled. They raged louder than even before with a deafening audible.

“Gather them.”

“Gather them.”

It sounded almost playful, though there was something about hearing those words that effectively made me lose control over my continence because deep down I knew what they were instructing me to do. What they were urging me to do. I shook uncontrollably while enduring that shame, but shame for what?

The pee smelled of kerosene, but it warmed us all.

“How does the jury find the defendant?”

“Not guilty your honor, by reason of insanity.”