Spider Webs

Cully sat motionless except for his eyes. He glanced at the jury. They all were watching him, and this was, Donnelly had told him, a good sign. Jurors who had voted against the defendant seldom looked at him when it was time for the verdict to be read.

So they’re going to let me go, he thought. And the people out there will be waiting for me, waiting to lock me up in their lives, and I’ll never be a free man, never.

The sights and sounds and smells of people filled the room.

Judge Hazeltine tapped his gavel. “Order in the court. The jurors having reached a decision, their verdict will now be read by the foreman.”

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Cully Paul King, not guilty of the charges against him. That of murder with special circumstances.”

The room exploded with new sounds, but Cully sat in silence. He felt Donnelly’s hand on his arm, he saw Eva smiling, and Richie smiling and Harry waving at him, but he did nothing, said nothing, until the judge rose to leave and the jury began filing out. Then Cully got to his feet and started shouting.

“Wait! Listen to me. You’re wrong, you’re all wrong. I killed her. Change your verdict. Don’t let them get at me. I want to be free of them. Come back. Wait, listen to me. Come back!”

Nobody came back.

“The trial’s finished,” Donnelly said. “Nothing you do can start it over again.”

“I want to be free. Don’t let them get me. Come back!”

The judge closed the door behind him, and the last of the jurors departed.

Cully pulled away from Donnelly’s restraining hand. “Leave me alone.”

“Sit down and shut up, you crazy bastard,” Donnelly said.

“Don’t touch me.”

“All right, all right. Sit here quietly until you get hold of yourself. I’ll be waiting at the end of the hall near the stairs.”

The room emptied almost as quickly as it had filled, and Cully was left alone with the bailiff at the door getting ready to lock the place up until the next murder or the next robbery or embezzlement or assault. There would always be something to fill it again.

“Aren’t you going to go out and celebrate?” the bailiff said.

“No.”

“I know a young woman who’d be very happy to celebrate with you. I mean, I think she’s ready, real ready.”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to collect your thoughts. You’ve had a big day, a big week; in fact, I guess it’s been a big six months.”

“Yes.”

The bailiff went out into the corridor. Tyler Pherson was sitting on the bench where he’d sat all through the trial, wearing the same black suit and glasses, the same expression.