Trial of the Century - 7th part

Author’s Foreword:
Even thought the following short story does contain elements of reality, it is still a product of imagination therefore, it does not reflects actual events. The situations and dialogues described in this story might cause some stress or unpleasant moments for some readers, therefore discretion is recommended.
If you would like to leave a comment please contact: gitana82@gmail.com

*Author’s comment:
„Kids, please stop, go and ask Daddy before reading any further. Thanks”*

First part

1.
Jackson was still getting exhausted relatively quickly and felt week but he still did not want to miss the bedtime story with his children. All three of them gathered around him and they drifted into the fairytale world of a story. He would always read to his kids with great aspriation to make the story alive. After the bedtime story he would have done some work: finish a melody, write some lyrics or dance a while for his own fun, but this time he was also getting ready for bed. He went up his room and watched the ceiling from his bed. Don't be bothered they said/ It's just childish fantasies/ Turning your head He couldn’t go to sleep, but he was too weak to put his toughts on paper, let alone to convey them into song; but he could hardly control his racing mind. He did not cry: he had no tears left. He wasn’t seen smiling either; it seemed his sould was clowded with eternal sorrow. This time around thought, he fought with his nightmares alone and dumb.

2.
Susan turned to her partner in the car:
- Did you mean what you just asked Basheer for?
- Yes. Why don’t you think it would do him good?
- Well, I fear he would end up at the hospital…
- That wouldn’t hurt him either.
They both fell silent for the rest of the journey.

Mez decided to take a long shower to try and wash away the intense stress of recent months. Leaning against the cold tiles, he allowed the hot warm water refresh his body. Water dropping from his hair, strong muscles tremble as his skin shiverred under the contrast of hot and cold.. He punched into the wall. He could finally allow his grief to overcome him. He didn’t do it when his sister passed away, the media was scrutinizing his every move. He was afraid that his sadness would be interpreted as worry and fear over the outcome of the trail. His client then classified as guilty. But, whenever did worry because of his client, he attributed it to his grief – keep the media low and quiet. His feelings were messed up. He did feel a bit more relaxed after the dinner last evening, and was hoping that Basheer would live up to his promise. They were not friends, but he trusted the bodyguards’s honesty, and thought they got on well.

His feverish nightmare ended midday. He did not shout, did not cry or scream any more thought. But it was still minutes passing until he realized his whereabouts…what day of the week it is, or that he is not late from anywhere. „At least, I can still get the century right” he tought ironically to himself. He walked to the lake under the securing shade of a black umbrella – no he did not care to change out from his PJs, they will do.. Having considered all pros and contras he decided where to relocate after he got his passport back. The invite from the Royal Family will enable him to gather strength at a remote location, where the palace and luxury will cut his hurting soul away from the noise of daily life, scrutinizing eyes and ever-demanding reporters. The kids will have fun, they can do horseriding and stuff; the nanny will feel at home, as she has ties in the region. He can easily disguise himself –thanks to the unique dress code of the country. His bodyguards might not fancy guarding someone who is dressed like an arab woman, but honestly he did not give a damn. This was on the list of pros too: a place which is barely know for his team of bodyguards as well. Not as he would have thought them betraying him, but the did not want to risk anything; especially not on the front of trusting people: not after this painful experience. He kinda got hooked on the idea, began to like the name of the country, it reminded him of a melody: Bahrain
Watching the quiet waves of the lake, he was thinking about his next step. Should he undertake some damage-mitigation activities? He felt that as even the smallest detail of his personal life was put on display during this trial, the magic was gone. The magic he always wanted to spare. He just wanted to share music, he was only the instrument. He liked to feel that way. He liked to think of his work as individual beings. He breathed them into life to bring joy and happiness. To get people on the dancefloor, sometimes to think. and Maybe they'd be happy for a while Would there be anyone willing to listen to the music, and to the music only. To its melody and meaning?

His children were his only source of joy. He tried to calm his nervousness about the passport issue with bearing in mind that it had only been two days after the end of the trial. He was still getting very tired by evening, but oddly, not tired enough to have an troubless sleep. He was unsure what he should be more afraid of: the nightmare or the next day. He gave a sigh: An other day has gone Dawn of an other uneasy night.

Basheer was keeping eye on his boss from a distance. He did not feel at ease about his special assignment. He wished his boss would get his fitness back soon. His appetiate has started to come back, but he definately needed rest and peace, being sorrounded by the ranch’s staff and the memories of hell, did not help much. Leaving the country as soon as possible is the best for everyone. Basheer knew he has to face his task tomorrow. He did not forget the promise he made to the lawyer.

Mez was thinking about Basheer, is it over yet? The sooner the better it is. It was a question of dare, himself would have dared to do it, but the did not want it to happen front of Susan let alone of the children.
Arriving home, he left the worries at the doorstep. She was at home. Her presence filledthe house. Light smell of her parfume. Couple of moleculas enough to block his thoughts: he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He looked at her. come here girl What a pair they were! Him tall, strong; she small and skinny. Him white haired and light skinned; she ebony. Ebony and Ivory He grabbed her hand. feel the touch of your body cling to mine Lifted her up and enterred the bedroom. Kiss and touch He looked into her eyes. Oh, I'll never let you go And read the respone in hers: touch me/ Don't hide our love/ Woman to man * I won't stop 'til break of dawn

The nightmare came again, this time in the middle of the night. Days, confessions and charges messed up in his dream. Lies, dirty lies echoing in his mind.
- Lie! - he wants to shout but he is not allowed to. He can not distrub the judge. All his lawyers have warned him strongly about that.
- Lie! - he wants to scream out loud but his voice is gone. Feels like everyone in the courtroom scrutinizing if he is capable of such a shameful crime. His mother sadness weights a ton on his soul. He could sense the anger of his siblings. The audience – like it were a show or something not his freedom – whispered among themselves during each break, behind his back of course. His lawyers he should not care. It is only the opinon of those 12jurors matter. Sure, to them. It is not them who have to spend the rest of their lives with this stigma. He still couldn’t grasp how this could had happened? The question was troubling his heart: Oh why ? (why ?),( why ?), (why ?) He woke up, breathing hard. He was almost sick. Took him couple of minutes to understand place and time. He stared into darkness. Felt painfully lonely again. Someone put your hand out/ Begging for your love

Basheer has never felt a task to be so difficult to manage. He was watching the Boss, who seemed to have relaxed a bit, only the stress about the passport remained.
- Boss, can we talk? - he asked when enterring his room.
- Of course, Is there anything wrong? – boss has responded and you could not have noticed that sudden blink of fear in his eyes
- No. Everything is OK. – he stood right opposite him. Just a stretch o fan arm away. The boss was still very weak, eyes reflecting of the sorrow and tiredness of all the past months – expression like not being here …like still being far far away.
- I just wanted to ask…you know..how long will we be gone?
- I don’t know yet. But for long.
- OK - he paused and hesitated - OK, then ….then I will just bring this glass to the kitchen. Good night!
He almost ran out of the room. Leaned against the wall, took a deep breath and walked downstairs. Arriving to the kitchen, he stopped by the fridge, opened it; then turned around and slammed the glass against the wall. God and Meseareau forgive him, but he couldn’t do it. He could not lay hand on his friend.

The end


Author’s Thank You-s:
Thank you to main charachter of this story for the music, the lyrics and the inspiration.
Thank you to Ms. Yu and Mr. Mesereau, without whom this story would have never been born.
Thank you to VargaK, who has not only translated my words into English but also my thoughts.

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