Page 90 of Last Mile

Ansley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

“I sure did.”

“Hard to believe they made them way back then, huh? Like the dinosaurs might’ve had a pair,” Bishop teased.

When I playfully swatted his arm, Ansley giggled. I couldn’t imagine a sweeter sound in the world at that moment. I had to wonder after what had happened to her how she was able to laugh at all.

“Okay, it’s time to load up and head out,” the leader, whose name I learned was Bobby, said.

We waved good- bye to Ansley and headed back to Bishop’s bike. “Surprised?” Bishop asked as he handed me my helmet.

“That this was the meeting you were going to, or that you par- take in something like this?” I asked.

“Both, I guess.”

“I would have to say I’m very surprised. But at the same time, I’m relieved to see that this is what you and Rev were up to and not something bad.”

“There is no more bad stuff for us. I want you to understand that.”

Deep down, I wanted nothing more than for that to be the absolute truth. I wanted to be able to take what I had learned to Peterson and have any outstanding interest on the Raiders shut down. But I had to have more concrete evidence than just Bishop’s word. I had to know for sure they were no longer dealing in guns, and I wasn’t sure how in the hell I was supposed to find that out.

“I do . . . or I will. I promise,” I said as I climbed onto the back of his bike.

We left the neighborhood in a perfect formation just the way we had come in. Except this time, Ansley’s parents’ car was in the middle of the pack, which gave it the perfect protection. After winding our way through the town, we reached the courthouse. The expressions on the bystanders’ faces when we pulled up was priceless. I guess it wasn’t every day they saw a procession of bikers.

After the bikes were parked in a neat line, everyone startedgetting off. Ansley and her parents waited until we were all assembled outside the car. Then they got out, and we led them up the courthouse steps and into the building. It took a few minutes to get us all through security. Half of the guys had chains that set off the metal detector. It then took several elevator cars to get us all up to the fourth floor.

After we arrived in the courtroom, we settled in two rows close to the front. We were a somber group as we waited in reverent silence. As part of my job I had been in court too many times to count, but this was the first time I had seen this level of support and unified strength for a victim.

We hadn’t been seated long when the bailiff asked us to rise for the judge. Once the judge was seated, he asked the prosecution to call their first witness.

“We call Ansley Marie Butler.”

Ansley slowly rose out of her chair. Her legs shook violently like a newborn colt’s. As she started down the row, everyone patted heron the back. Some bumped fists and some of the women reached out to hug her. When she got to me, I smiled and patted her back.

Although words seemed totally inadequate in that moment, I bit back the tears as I whispered, “You’ve got this.”

After giving me a weak smile, she started up the aisle to the wit- ness box. As she took the stand, I suddenly became overwhelmed with a flashback so intense that I began shaking in my seat. When I stared ahead, it was no longer Ansley raising her right hand to swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth on the Bible.

Instead, I saw my nine-year-old self as I testified at the trial of the man who killed my father.

Feeling the bile rising in my throat, I clamped my hand over my mouth and bolted out of my seat. I ran down the aisle and burst through the courtroom doors. My gaze spun wildly around to find a restroom. When I saw the sign, I broke into a run. I barely made it into a stall before I emptied the contents of my stomach. Over and over again, I heaved until there was nothing left within me.

When I finally finished, I flushed the toilet and staggered outof the stall. I placed my palms on the sink basin and stared into the mirror. As I was transported back to that horrible place, tears overran my eyes, sending mascara- blackened tears down my cheeks.

The morning I was due in court, my mother had come into my room to dress me. She had put me in a simple black dress that had scratchy material and made my skin itch. My protests about the fabric

fell on deaf ears as my mother brushed my hair. She swept it back on the sides with black barrettes. She ignored me once again when I protested that I wanted to wear my usual ponytail. That morning she seemed to be in an almost trancelike state of going through the motions.

She didn’t talk to me or my brother or sister. We had exchanged looks between ourselves during the period of silence.

As I eased down onto the hard chair in the witness stand, I keptmy head tucked to my chest. I didn’t dare look across to the defendant’s table. I knew if I did I would lose all my nerve, and I wouldn’t be able to give the carefully rehearsed answers that the prosecutor had gone over with me. Earlier that week, I had spent several miserable afternoons reliving in horrific detail the night of my father’s murder.

My stomach twisted tighter and tighter into knots as Mr. Greenlyled me through the events of that night. I swallowed hard to keep down the bile rising in my throat. I didn’t want to do anything wrong, least of all throwing up. I knew everyone was counting on me to put Willie away. Most of all, I felt I couldn’t screw up because I owed it to my father to get him justice.

The questions seemed to go on and on. Finally, we got to the one I was dreading the most. Mr. Greenly approached the witness stand. He leaned on the railing and gave me a reassuring smile.

“Samantha, is the man you saw shoot your father present in the courtroom today?”