Ben sat upright, gasping for air.
What was that about? He was lying in bed, dripping with sweat, heaving like he was in the throes of a major heart attack.
He glanced at the clock on the cable box. Not quite four in the morning. This would be another mostly sleepless night.
This time, the dream had been different. There was no falling, drowning, or burning. This time, instead of being the victim, he was the victimizer.
He was somewhere in medieval England, deep within the Tower of London. An execution was in progress. Hordes of commoners surrounded the scaffold, hurling insults and rotten vegetables. Armed guards slowly marched the prisoner out of his cell and up the steps to the top. The condemned man took his position, then the executioner shoved him down onto his knees, forcing his head over the chopping block. Just before he swung the axe, the executioner pulled the white hood off the condemned man’s head.
Not Ben. Dennis.
Ben was the executioner.
Didn’t take Sigmund Freud to figure that one out.
Trials always wreaked havoc on a lawyer’s normal sleeping patterns, but this one had been worse than most. Part of it was the uncertainty, the feeling that every day brought a new surprise. Part of it was the gnawing suspense, especially now as they waited for the jury to reach a verdict. But part of it was also undoubtedly that Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing. It had consumed him the moment he first walked into the courtroom, and nothing had occurred since to change his mind.
Christina had told him this was an impossible case. He just hoped and prayed that this time she wasn’t right.
There was little chance he would fall back to sleep, and it might not be a good thing if he did, given that he had to be wide awake and getting ready at six. This part of the trial-waiting for the jury-was in many respects the worst. You still had to appear, even though the jury might not emerge from deliberations. There was nothing you could do to change what had gone before, nothing you could do to affect their decision. A lawyer could only toss about, worrying that he should have done something different, could have done it better, while biding time and waiting for the axe to fall. The insecure man’s nightmare.
He was all too aware that this time the axe could fall-on Dennis’s neck.
Since he wasn’t going back to sleep, he decided to get up. He stretched, cricked his back, and carefully eased off the bed. For once, he was not going to wake Christina. She had been working just as hard as he. She needed rest.
He passed silently out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Ben had moved into this boardinghouse not long after he got out of law school and moved to Tulsa. Many years later, he inherited the place from the landlady, Mrs. Marmelstein. After they married, Christina had moved in with him, and now they lived here together when they weren’t in Washington. It was a little cramped, since Ben still had tenants downstairs, but she didn’t complain. They both agreed it would be foolish to buy or rent something else, especially when they were still maintaining an apartment in D.C. Ben had many happy memories of this place, where so much had happened. Moments of sweet glory. Moments of great loneliness.
He had spent six months here trying to raise his nephew on his own. He still missed Joey. Hadn’t seen him for years. Julia kept saying she was going to come for a visit, but it never seemed to happen.
Since coffee was off-limits, Ben fixed himself a piping hot cup of Earl Grey tea. It had plenty of caffeine, but what he really liked was the sensation of hot water cascading down his throat, restoring his strength. Helping him imagine he could function for another day despite extreme sleep deprivation.
He passed the row of plants on a table next to a large window where they could get sun. The flora were all Christina’s work. Ben had tried to liven up the room on many occasions with greenery, but they’d never lasted long. Christina referred to the spot as Ben’s memorial garden-a memorial to all the plants that had died as soon as he brought them home.
He leaned forward and breathed deeply. She had a thriving lavender, a little bonsai. All full of life.
He loved her so much.
Playing the piano was not an option at this time of the morning, so he tiptoed back into the bedroom, opened the closet, and slowly ascended the ladder, carrying his tea with him. A rooftop portal opened up on a ledge between two gables on the roof. Ben and Christina had discovered it years ago. They both loved to come out here to relax, breathe in the night air, enjoy the cityscape. And on one occasion, this little nook had saved Christina’s life.
The sun was just beginning to rise in the east, toward the TU campus and beyond. There was a low-lying mist hugging the ground and the rays of the rising sun were just beginning to cast an orange corona over the horizon. Spectacular. The city was waking. Cars trickled onto the main arteries of traffic. A few lights were lit in the tall downtown skyscrapers. Shifting shadows played in the niches and corners of the rooftops, changing by the second in the rising light. A few muffled sounds of the city in springtime reached his ears, but it was still mostly quiet. Peaceful. Despite all the life he knew was teeming around him. All the good-hearted people. All the families, the lovers, the children, all involved in their own lives and all a part of one another’s, fitted together like glittering tiles in a huge beautiful mosaic. This was when he loved Tulsa best.
“Boo.”
It had barely been more than a whisper, but he still jumped almost a foot into the air.
He turned to see Christina in her pink nightie, smiling at him, wriggling her fingers.
Ben took a deep breath. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“I don’t know. Have you paid the life insurance premiums?”
“I could have fallen off the edge of the roof!”
“I would’ve caught you.”
And she probably would have, too.
“Having trouble sleeping?” she asked.
“Good work, Miss Marple. You shouldn’t be up. You need your sleep.”
“Like you don’t? I’m pretty sure even Daniel Webster occasionally got a good night’s snooze.”
“Not during a trial.”
“He did. Regularly. Never missed a wink. Snored through the night. And he went up against the devil.”
“I know the feeling.”
“So come back to bed.”
“It’s pointless. I won’t sleep.”
She scooted closer and put her arm around him. “You’re worried, aren’t you?”
“I think I have good reason.”
“It won’t help anything. The trial is over. There’s nothing more you can do. It’s in the jury’s hands.”
“That’s a terrifying thought.”
“Only because you start to panic anytime you have to rely on someone else.”
He gave her a dismissive frown, even though he knew she was mostly right. “You yourself have many times said that juries are unpredictable.”
“All the more reason not to beat yourself up worrying about it.”
“You think Dennis feels the same way?”
Christina sighed heavily. “I think that just because one person is undoubtedly in misery doesn’t mean we all have to be.”
“He’s suffered enough.”
“I agree, Ben. But there’s still nothing we can do. You should learn to meditate. It would be good for you.”
“Ugh.”
“It’s not healthy, the way you take these impossible cases and obsess over them. I know you’re trying to help other people but… honestly, sometimes I wonder if it’s a good thing. For you.” She sighed. “Come with me to my class tomorrow night.”
“I don’t need to meditate.”
“No. Clearly you already have achieved nirvana.”
“It won’t help.”
“You’ll learn how to breathe.”
“Been doing it for years.”
“You’ll learn how to clear your mind. See things in perspective. Improve your life.”
“Sitting cross-legged on a mat is not going to improve my life.”
“You can’t know that until you’ve given it a try.”
“I can.” Ben watched as the municipal garbage trucks pulled away from their central station and dispersed into the city. He saw joggers huffing and puffing down the street, the air still so cold they could see their breath. He spotted teachers pulling into the neighborhood school parking lot, embarking on another day of molding young minds. There were so many good people in this town, so many who genuinely cared about one another, who would go the extra mile to help someone in need.
That was why he had gone to law school. Why he’d chosen the life he now led. He had made enemies and seen many negative headlines, but he had also made many friends and seen so much kindness. He had a wonderful life and he knew it. He should be able to focus on that. That should be enough.
But no matter how much he tried to convince himself, his mind always moved in another direction.
“Have you ever thought about it?” he asked.
“Thought about what?”
“You know. What you would do in a similar situation. If something happened to me.”
“You mean if you were left trapped and suffering in a car for seven days because the police wouldn’t get up off their butts?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t have to think. I know. I’d do the exact same thing, except I’d do it the first day and I’d use a bazooka.”
Ben smiled. “And then claim temporary insanity?”
“And then claim justifiable homicide.”
“You’d go to prison.”
“It would be worth it.” She grinned a little. “What about you, you hopeless romantic, you? What would you do?”
“I-certainly wouldn’t be happy.”
“Oh, not so much emotion, Ben. I’m going to swoon.”
“But murder? I don’t think I could ever do that. Under any circumstances.”
She wrapped herself around his arm and pulled him close. “I know that, sweetie. I wouldn’t want you to.”
“I know that, too.”
They both fell silent. They stared out for a long while, watching the city arise.
“We have a good life,” she said.
“It’s because of you.”
“It’s because of us, you silly.” She kicked open the portal door. “Come back to bed.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleep?”
His head tilted to one side. “Scrabble?”
She gave him a long look. “Yes, that’s it. Scrabble. You goat.” She rolled her eyes and descended the ladder. “The things a woman has to put up with…”