Mind Over Matter

Intermission 1: "que sera, sera"

Malcolm rubbed his hands on his trousers, and tried to swallow the lump that hand formed in the back of his throat. He didn't know what to do. The Judge had called for a break, so that he could review the evidence and deal with the press that had swarmed outside the High Court.

Malcolm didn't even care, which posed as a surprise to himself. At school, Secondary School in particular, he revelled in any attention. The thought of enrapturing people with your actions - and having them resort to what could be defined as stalking - enchanted Malcolm. Acting would have seemed to be a plausible career for him, but after participating in the school's rendition of Bugsy Malone, Malcolm knew it was not for him. Being restricted in what you said, felt like a form of dictatorship to Malcolm; not that he knew what the word meant, back then. He had no control over the thoughts and feelings of the crowd; the director and writers had that. In those situations Malcolm felt like a pawn - a fish out of water - commandeered by an invisible force that controlled people's perception of him. Rather like now.

When the previous CD had finished, no-one even spoke. He had received many looks of disgust from people that he didn't even know. People that had been randomly selected, and thus, he felt, didn't possess the intellectual prowess to judge him. Were they really as stupid to believe something on a CD? Just because the tone of voice was clear and the words longer than they were used to, does not mean that they were the truth. Also, he could have sworn that one of the women had come to Jury duty in a tracksuit.

Disgusted, he looked up at the bathroom mirror in front of him. He studied his reflection, wondering how it had come to this. He was supposed to be cleverer than this; better now. He grimaced at his reflection, studying the cold grey eyes and creases in his forehead. He noticed that his tie was loose, and raised a finger to tighten it. His hands brushed the side of his neck, and he felt a raised ridge. Malcolm twisted his neck to the left and pulled down his collar, exposing the beginning of a long scar, that he knew ended at his navel. His eyes softened when he saw it, and for the first time that day, he smiled.

The scar, unfortunately, wasn't something that he could boast about; its origins being embarrassing rather than the result of a bout of courage. It was long, thin and curved slightly around his waist. Malcolm deemed it to be rather hyperbolic for the circumstances in which he attained it. He was merely testing the flight of a glider he had created in a Design Technology lesson, and had climbed up the tree in his garden, when he slipped and grazed his side against a nail that was jutting out from the side of the tree. Malcolm's heart swelled in pride, as he remembered how he sat on the floor and didn't even cry - just lay there thinking about how his father and he had built a tree house years earlier, and that was the very nail that they couldn't get in.

The scar, to Malcolm, showed that pain is unnecessary, and can be avoided. It's just mind over matter. Thus, Malcolm straightened his back and walked towards the toilet door, with a smirk on his face as he vowed to apply that concept now.

As soon as he opened the door, he heard the clicking of a pen and the impatient tapping of a foot. It could only be one person, and sighing, Malcolm walked around the corridor corner to Miss Lyle.

She was slumping against the wall, knocking the folder against her head with one hand, clicking a pen with the other, all whilst tapping her shoe on the ground in a steady rhythm. Malcolm smiled, slightly impressed with her multi-tasking skills.

"Enna, that's quite a skill you've got there," the edges of his mouth pulling up into a smile, "How about you use your other skills, and tell me how we're doing?"

Enna Lyle straightened up sharply, and flicked her hair back in an attempt to assert an air of professionalism.

"Well, Malcolm, it's not looking very good. I spoke to a couple of people and they're all absolutely certain you did it, the women that is. The men are rather more cynical. And then there's the Judge...", Enna's voice hardening now, "He's impertinent. I have never met anyone so... cold. Won't disclose any of the evidence against you, or its nature. All he said was "Que sera, sera"! I almost think-"

"That there is none." Malcolm continued. He sighed and looked up from the hangnail that he had been trying to remove from his finger.

"Enna, Enna, Enna. Such a wonderful, expensive woman you are, yet it has taken you this long to figure it out? There is no evidence, apart from the tapes which are being played. My sources tell me that they were handed into the police anonymously. The charade with the disappearance of the Lanter has been going on too long, and they need someone to convict. It's very simple. But this Judge, he is a most enigmatic character. Curious, very curious..." Malcolm trailed off.

Disbelief was etched onto Enna's face, yet she knew that this was common. She was infinitely bored with this profession, yet she owed Malcolm a favour that she had every intention in fulfilling. But there was one thing that kept nagging her, at the back of her mind. A solution to this, a solution so painstakingly simple she was surprised that Malcolm had not seen it himself.

"Malcolm... what I don't understand is...that why you don't just go back and change what happened? You could easily just not take the Lanter child, and we wouldn't be in this situation now!" she exclaimed, her voice rising near the end.

"How can you be so simple?! If I change what happened then I lose the stimulus that made me want to change it! This whole court case is what causes me to go back, and when I have done so there is no case - right? Then, in the alternate present, I don't go back because I have no reason to, resulting in the Lanter child still being taken. Comprendez?!" Malcolm said his voice laced with distaste.

Enna bit down on her lip, suppressing what would have been a torrent of anger.

"Fine. Let's not waste time. If you want the Jury to deem you innocent, then you'd better go out and make a good impression," Enna started, pulling out a handheld tablet, trying to gain control of the conversation. By now she was used to Malcolm's arrogance, but she had to remind herself that she was supposed to be in charge. She used the end of her pen to tap, and informed Malcolm of the plan, whilst marching down the corridor.

"Okay, we're taking the "Mildly Amused, but Frustrated" card. Confidence is key, yet Lord knows you've got it in copious amounts. Good posture, facial expressions are integral, but your main flaw is you don't make it personal. Make them feel that they are being blessed with the truth. Small anecdotes are necessary, little memories. But don't make up them, or you won't be able to remember them. Now, go. I shall see you when we re-group in half an hour".

Not giving him time to object, Enna pushed Malcolm through the large doors at the end of the corridor. She smiled at the way everyone's head jerked toward him.

Don't get neck ache now, she thought scathingly.

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It has been so long since I last updated. Sorry. Uploads should be more frequent now.

This chapter is just so you get some backstory, and there are a couple of small things that will be important later on, so keep an eye out.

Oh, and dedication PurpleAwesome101 for her lovely comments.