WAKE (Wattpad edition)

4. Crown vs. Douglas.

{Pete}

Pete spent Monday morning trying to pray in his basement study. Lately, it felt like all he was doing in prayer was leaning on a locked door in an empty wall. He whispered his requests and waited there anyway, hoping Jesus could still hear him and would eventually open the door.

When the soft chime of his calendar alert sounded, he drew in his breath and opened his eyes, his stomach starting to churn. It settled a little when he remembered he didn't have to go into the church office today. He hated this feeling—that his church wasn't a safe place for him to be. Every day he prayed for healing from hurt and for the ability to forgive, and then he prayed armour on to head back into the office. The thing about God's armour was that it didn't protect you from people, exactly—not any more than Jesus protected himself from being hurt by people.

In a very secret corner of his mind, Pete tracked the growing tension with his board of Elders and guessed how much longer it would be before serving this church wrecked him. He hadn't decided what he would do when he could no longer armour up and wade back in.

Cary was at the kitchen table in an old T-shirt and jeans, his lunch bag stuffed with sandwiches and a bottle of water as if he was heading to work.

"You remember we have a meeting with the Crown prosecutor today?" Pete asked.

Cary looked at him, a little blank. "What's he want me for?"

"Trial starts in a week. He probably wants to go over your testimony."

Cary's eyebrows drew down, and he folded his hands and put them under the table. "I said everything...to the social worker. And the cops," he said slowly. "There's a video."

They had talked about this, Pete was almost sure. At least...he had talked about this. Cary had been pretty frozen then and hadn't said much back. He should have checked to make sure it had sunk in. "Cary, you have to testify at the trial. In person."

Cary drew back and his whole body went still, watching Pete. "What?"

Pete slowed down, his heart sinking as he realized that in spite of meeting with the prosecutor months ago, Cary hadn't processed this yet. "You have to take the stand and tell the judge what your father did. So they can make their verdict. That's just how it works."

Cary's eyes were dark with pupil in his white face. "With him there?"

Pete winced. "Yes. I'm sorry, Cary—it doesn't seem fair to me, either. But our justice system says your father is innocent until a trial proves his guilt. Your testimony is a big part of the case against him."

Cary looked away quickly and put his hand over his mouth. Pete didn't press it, and Cary followed him to the van, as white and silent as someone about to be strapped in for a lethal injection.

{Cary}

The Crown prosecutor's office was on the bottom floor of a concrete high rise downtown. The blinds were closed in the waiting room, but Cary could still hear traffic passing, and the midday sun made the room stuffy and hot. Pete was quiet beside him, reading something on his phone.

Cary was sweating and his mouth was dry. He had thought he was done. He had spent a whole day at the police station talking to them, and they had stripped him to his briefs and taken pictures of every scar, every bruise. He'd had nightmares for weeks after. He didn't even know if he could open his mouth about those things with his father in the room.

When the receptionist had waved them into his office, he'd stayed behind Pete, checking the room. It was cool inside, and darker than the waiting area. The desk and shelves were gleaming, and the furniture looked expensive. The man behind the desk glanced up from his screen and said, "I'll be with you in just a moment." He tapped a few more notes into his laptop, then turned his chair and folded his hands, glancing from Pete, who was seated in a leather chair across from him, to Cary, who was standing with his arms crossed next to the door.