As much as I hate it, I understand them perfectly. They’re both fascinated and frightened by my father and his family. We are the circus freaks in this charade. Maybe I should be better equipped to entertain them, but I’m not. I keep my appearance as generic as possible for every court appearance in the hopes that I can bore them into forgetting me. I wear large sunglasses even indoors, no earrings or hair accessories. I keep my dark hair straight and in a low ponytail. If I could find an outfit to blend in with the wooden bench I perch on, I probably would.
I can’t even bring myself to look at the people on the opposite side of the aisle. If the strangers in this room have hostile gazes, the glances from the families of the victims are downright hateful. I’m sad for them. I really wish they could find the justice they think they have, but it’s not here. I’ve never seen justice here.
In some ways, we’re the same. All bound together by a stranger who committed a few acts of senseless violence. I expected the families of the victims to go away once Daddy was found guilty, but that was na?ve of me. They’re here for every hearing, every appeal—just like us. None of us, on either side of this situation, have been able to move on.
Mama and I have been told to sit quietly, no matter what the result may be. And we’ve done our duty every time. We might as well be bound and gagged in this room. We’re helpless to do anything here, as we always have been. The fact that we are sure he’s innocent doesn’t matter, and it never will.
Daddy is here to play their games and guess at their questions. All in the vain hope that the correct answer might convince them of the innocence he has argued for almost twelve years. That he might someday earn his freedom.
I’m starting to believe that kind of freedom doesn’t exist—not for us. This holding pattern of a life may be all we ever know.
Mr. Masters and Stacia stop beside us on their way up to the front. Stacia used to be Daddy’s assistant. Daddy probably doesn’t need legal help as much as the other Polunsky inmates, being an excellent lawyer himself. But they’re the only other people in the world who believe Daddy is innocent besides our family, and we’ll take any help and positivity we can get.
Daddy says Mr. Masters has watched out for us over the years in ways that he couldn’t. All I need to know is that I can trust him, and I don’t trust anyone else but my parents. He is the exception, the one person I can go to anytime, anywhere, with anything, and he won’t judge or question me. That makes him family in my mind—and God knows I don’t have enough of that.
“How are you two holding up?” Mr. Masters crouches down in the aisle at the end of our row and studies us both with concern. Stacia stands beside him, her hands fluttering nervously as she straightens the edges of papers in the stack she’s holding.
Mama nods, her face a mask of confidence. “We’re just fine. Thank you, Ben.”
Masters searches my face and he seems to be checking to verify how much of what she’s saying is true. I give him a tiny shrug because I’m really not sure how we are. Maybe he should ask again after we get through this appeal hearing.
“What do you think our chances are?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
He puts on the same confident expression as Mama and nods. “I think we have a chance, which is what matters most right now.”
Stacia reaches one hand out to squeeze my shoulder. “We’re fighting our hardest for him. We won’t give up.”
“And we’re very grateful for that.” Mama swallows hard, and then all of us look to the front as the door they’ll bring Daddy through opens.
Mr. Masters reaches over and pats Mama’s hand before winking at me. Stacia gives me a nervous half smile before they both head to the front. I know they’re here to support Mama and me as much as Daddy, and I’m grateful. Theirs are the only friendly faces that have ever greeted our family in any courtroom.
Daddy is escorted in and joins the rest of his legal team. He’s less than ten feet in front of me, but I can’t reach him, I can’t touch him. I release Mama’s hand and clench both of mine tight in my lap. I don’t know why seeing him in a courtroom still shakes me in this way. I should be used to it. This is the perfect example of how we’ve lived almost all my life. He’s right here in front of me, but still just out of reach.
He’s told me a million times that he would be with us if he could. His wishes can’t overcome the steel and bars that have been placed between us by a broken system. My hopes can’t erase the words that were spoken in a different courtroom by Judge Reamers when I was only six years old.
Those words crushed my world. They haunt my dreams at night. I’ve even looked up the recording online to see if I was remembering it wrong—I’ve watched it more than once. Even so many years later, the words race through my head unbidden every time I sit in any courtroom.
This jury has found you, David Andrew Beckett, guilty of three counts of capital murder. In accordance with the laws of the state of Texas, this court hereby sets as your punishment: death. It is therefore the order of this court for you to be delivered by the sheriff of Harris County, Texas, to the director of the Polunsky Unit, where you shall be confined pending the carrying out of this sentence.