THE SECOND TRIAL- THE NEVERENDING ACCUSATION

The DA took a deep breath and stood up after Hector went back to his seat beside Joe. He surveyed the jury, a painful expression on his face- an expression that was seeking justice.

"A boyfriend, impulsive, in rage. He had wanted to propose, yet, he lost it when he heard the victim’s confession. A crime of passion? Maybe it sounds a little unbelievable given that Joseph Hardy had been more than a model citizen, helping out our finest with cases and cracking quite a number of them at such a tender age. Commendable. Very commendable."

"Yet, consider the evidences presented. He was alone with the victim when the police found him, not crying, just staring blankly with the gun in his hands and blood on his shirt. A look of someone who had just committed a heinous crime? Very probable. The victim had allowed him to come to close for comfort. Scrapings of his skin were found under her nails. Her fingerprints got on the gun because she was struggling with him. He probably could not shoot her fast enough. She saw his intentions and she fought with him…" 

PRESENT

Frank was yet again disappointed with Joe. He had been looking forward to meeting up with Joe to pursue the passion that had slipped past their grasp for quite some time. But his little brother had not kept his promise. Frank had, after doing enough researching for his thesis from last night until three in the afternoon that day, with only four hours of sleep in between, called Joe up to arrange a time to pick him up and visit Chet, who was putting in long hours in Mr. Pizza.

"Joe, I’ll be there in half an hour’s time. I’ll drive us there."

"No thanks Frank. Can you do the questioning for me? I’m feeling a little sick."

"You coming down with a bug?"

"No. Just sick. I’ll do my part soon…just...well, thanks for the trouble."

"Yah, whatever. Bye."

Joe’s not sick. He just wants to sleep. But he’s the one to throw the case opened again.

But if the truth can help him heal, I’ll just have to seek it out. Seeker, that’s what I am. A seeker.

I’m seeking for my brother. He’s lost and I have no idea where is he.

He entered Mr. Pizza without much fuss, except bringing to live a still little bell. The lunch crowd had already dispersed and the only customers on that lazy Sunday afternoon were a group of girls, most likely seniors in high school, laughing among themselves. Frank eyed them with a slight envy. He missed laughing and just idling away on Sundays.

"I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance,
That I could make those people dance,
And maybe they'd be happy for a while."*

He missed being a teenager, filled with ambitions and dreams. Looking at the world with wide innocent eyes, thinking everything was beautiful.

"But February made me shiver,

With every paper I deliver,

Bad news on the doorstep...
I couldn't take one more step."*

Mr. Pizza was a relic from the sixties. Besides the plush red booth seats, catchy oldies was the music flavor and on the walls dangled some hippies’ jewelry. Posters of concerts from that era lined the walls. The soundtrack of that day was "Miss American Pie".

"I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride

But something touched me deep inside,
The day the music died."*

It used to our second home. We used to sit around at the corner, laughing away, eating sloppy pizzas without a care in the world. Sometimes, Joe would go crazy and pick up the electric guitar that’s being displayed on the wall, pretending he’s a rock star, torturing our ear drums. He’s good in music but he cannot play the guitar to save his life.

Sometimes, Chet would go crazy and eat up everyone’s pizza.

Sometimes, I went crazy and would drink more than 3 cups of espresso. And I would make Callie crazy by being hyper-energetic, shaking the table with what seemed to be bouts of fits from caffeine overdose.

We all went crazy sometimes, in those times…those WERE the times.

Frank strode up to the counter. A rotund fellow of his age- who wore on his head a mop of brown hair with bleached streaks and dressed his face with a happy veil- was wiping the counter table, humming to the tune of the enigmatic song, its poignant lyrics masked with a upbeat tempo.

Ah…one of my favorite song…the tribute to Buddy Holly. Disillusioned with the evoltiong of Rock N Roll masked with such an upbeat tempo that makes it even more heartrending.

And as I listen, I realize I too am disillusioned with something…and still trying to remain upbeat as well because there’s still some hope.

He had no idea how to begin the conversation. He had a funny feeling that Chet still dislike him intensely for his lack of honor. Chet could get judgmental. To Chet, everything had to be black and white. There were absolutely no grey areas. Upright and righteous with a deep sense of loyalty, Chet was quick to forgive but sometimes- slow to forget.

Chet looked up from wiping the counter table and saw him. He gave Frank a slight smile and Frank became even more uneasy than ever. But he had to do this. He had not prepared any questions that he could ask but maybe- just maybe- it would all come to him.

But I’m convinced somewhat that Joe and me are chasing after a lost cause. How do I search for something I have no confident in finding, much less know where to start looking?

"Hello Chet." He greeted his corpulent old friend and took a seat on one of the high stools. 

"So...Bye, bye miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And good ol' boys were drinking whisky and rye
Singing this will be the day that I die
this will be the day that I die" * 

***

Chet eyed the familiar brown hair guy who had stepped inside Mr. Pizza and was now sitting on one of the counter’s stools, dressed nondescriptly in a black No Fear T-shirt and faded stoned-washed blue jeans. Nonetheless, this young man had a commanding presence because of a certain aura about him.

How can he not have an aura? Smart people with IQ of 180 have auras.

The few girls in the corner booth had stopped chatting and were looking at Frank with lingering looks, not because he was the only male besides Chet to be in this lonely pizza house which would only come alive at lunch times and at night- but because he was a highly attractive one as well. Girls always chattered about how cute Frank and Joe were into Chet’s ears all the time in high school, trying to get him to introduce his two best friends to them.

Which I don’t really do. Because it depressed me sometimes to know that girls chat me up with ulterior motives.

If Frank could attract ladies by just sitting there and looking collected and calm, Joe, his younger brother could astound ladies just by breathing. Good looks ran in the Hardy family with most of the beauty genes manifesting in the three children of Laura and Fenton. Chet even had a slight crush on the adorable Maggie before- a long long time ago. but he knew it would never work out because Maggie would never be attracted to blokes.

Really. I think they got superior genes. It’s so unfair.

It was then that Chet was reminded of the words of wisdom that his dear mother spouted all the time. Words of wisdom that she would use to console herself, being saddened terribly by Iola’s sudden passing.

My sister. My beloved little sister. So cheerful, so full of joy. Impish black eyes with a naughty glint in them all the time..

"Not everyone in this world can have everything. Beautiful people tend to have the hardest life. Your sister was probably fortunate to go so early. I can imagine the hell she would go through with her beauty if she entered college, surrounded by swarms of boys all waiting to get into her pants."

His mother had been joking of course. A morbid joke in times of woes. But her words now rang true to his years, especially when he thought of Joe, his late sister’s first, only and last serious boyfriend.

Joe must had been terribly unlucky to be dealt all the bad lots in life. If only Fate was kinder to him. It seemed as if Fate was happily and gleefully torturing him, with no intention of ever throwing happy moments his way again.

And Frank as well. I have never noticed it before, but he does look tired and exhausted. Of course it must be because of Joe’s estrangement and his own choice to accelerate through college.

Frank gave Chet an uncomfortable smile and Chet knew why. The two best friends had not met up after the second trial privately because- in a way- Frank’s dishonorable claims to acquit his brother had left a bitter taste in Chet’s mouth. The gang all concurred that Vanessa would never have taken her own life, despite what she had went through before. Only Frank- only Frank had the coldness in him to be convinced otherwise.

"He looked so terribly sure in court. He ruined our good friend’s name."

"Frank had to do it Chet. There was not enough time and evidence to prove there’s a third party. If they had more time, I’m sure Frank would have looked into that perspective."

"Callie! He did not even try!"

"He did. He tried his best. His main concern was and still is Joe. Joe was beaten up very badly in prison Chet. Very badly. I think we can all guess how terrifying the place must be. How can Frank live with himself for the rest of his life knowing that he can probably deliver Joe from the clutches of hell but not do anything because of honor and integrity? So what if it would damn him? He cannot damn his brother.

Do you believe Joe will kill Vanessa, regardless of whatever nonsensical confession he had made?"

"No."

"And if it was…I’m sorry Chet. If it was Iola, holding Joe the way Joe held Vanessa and because of that, she was accused of murder. You’re sure of her innocence but Joe’s your best friend. What will you do?"

"I won’t have the brains to think of such a screwed angle."

"Chet! It’s logical."

"Alright. I admit. I will do what Frank had done. And Frank will hate me."

"Yes. Don’t be disgusted anymore Chet. I think Joe had never forgiven him for implicating Vanessa that way. Frank had his share of flake. Too much of it."

And I can finally sympathize. But I never had the chance to say sorry because we have drifted apart. Me and my best friend.

"Hello Chet." Frank muttered, avoiding some eye contact. Chet mustered up a huge smile for his friend, a smile that he wanted to mean, ‘let bygones be bygones.’

"Hey buddy…you want something? Or you came especially to see me?" Chet threw the rag that he was using to wipe the counter into the corner wall-attached steel metal sink, giving Frank his full attention.

Frank smiled grimly as he scanned through the newer and brighter menu behind the counter. "I came to see you and also for an Espresso, double."

Letting out a slight, self- derisive laughter, he added, "I’m turning into a caffeine addict."

"Yah, I can understand. Papers? I have one due this Tuesday, something about Pharmaceutical Giants and Third World Countries. Economics. You know anything about it?" Chet teased Frank good-humoredly about his intelligence. He knew Frank would know something about everything and always had something critical to say. However, he also knew that Economics was not Frank’s cup of tea.

"I know nothing about Economics. I subscribe to Keynes theory that in the long run, we’re all dead, so I don’t bother. I have a meeting with my Thesis supervisor on Thursday and I have not gotten pass writing my name on the cover page. He’s already expecting the research topic confirmed and a brief outline." Frank was gradually loosening up with each additional word; the bond of friendship was still strong between the both them. Forgotten for a while maybe- but there still. It was easy to lapse into an easy banter after that initial brief and ill at ease start.

Chet was about to say something about the importance of Long Run trends in Economics when he saw Frank cocked his head towards the coffee maker behind before giving Chet a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. Chet grinned sheepishly before turning around to supply his friend with what he had ordered.

As the coffee maker churned and rocked, Chet saw from the corner of his eyes that one of the girls had finally mustered up enough courage to approach Frank. Very naturally, Frank- still unused to the desirable attentions of the opposite species- went all scarlet. Through his ‘hmms’ and ‘errs’, the bubbly female teenager got the idea and smiled a shade too brightly to camouflage her own embarrassment. Frank was generous though. He accepted her number with grace.

When will girls ever come up to me like that? I have lost 2 pounds over the past few months…and I think it shows.

"There you go." Chet placed the small cup of potent stimulus in front of Frank, who took it gratefully. "Don’t go too fast with that or you’ll be running for miles and miles, not knowing how to stop your limbs from twitching."

"Thanks." Frank sipped the bitter coffee slowly and deliberately. That was the way Frank conduct his affairs, never rushing. He did not need to ever hurry, especially with mental tasks. At his normal speed, Frank arrived at answers far quicker than anyone Chet knew.

And very likely, a dominantly correct answer with several others to skew the picture we thought was completed.

"So what’s your real deal in coming here? I’m sure it’s not for the coffee, there are those trendy coffee shops that served better ones…ah! It must be to see me." Chet brushed a lock of wavy brown hair away from his eyes. He had kept his fringe long because he was told it slimmed the face down.

"To stir the past." Frank spoke cryptically. Chet rolled his eyes. Frank was so influenced by his now melancholic brother who read too much dark fantasy novels.

"What do you mean?"

"Joe wants to search for Ness’ real killer and I’m doing all the work. Sounds familiar?" Frank’s tone lowered as he shook his glass of espresso and seemed fixated on the miniature whirlpool he had created in his cup.

Chet furrowed his brows. Though he never showed it, he was worried for Joe’s state of mind which the gang had- in those moments without Frank around censoring all they discussed about Joe- concluded was going mad. They had tried to reach the precarious soul only to be cast aside.

Mad with a fervor. Now I know the fervor.

"So…how can I help?"

Frank raised his palm to gesture to Chet to give him a moment. He finished his coffee and took a small pocket PC out of his pocket. Chet look on curiously as Frank started tapping on the screen with the pen.

"Are you showing off your Palm?"

"Of course. I’ve spent nine hundred on this baby. If I don’t show it off, what can I do with it?" Frank gave Chet that almost devilish smile, very much like the old Frank who, sometimes, could get a little condescending, but all in good humor.

Especially towards Joe. They would always argue over who was smarter and Frank would always win. Joe had gotten so used to Frank thinking for him all the time though I’m sure he’s smart as well.

Chet leaned over, intrigued by the gadget. He was not usually a technology savvy sort of person. His own mobile was already a couple of years old while his peers were all totting the latest designs by Nokia and Ericsson. Nevertheless, he was sufficiently curious enough about new inventions to not risk being an old stick in the mud.

"Cool…but isn’t it overpriced? It’s so… small…for something that costs nine hundred dollars…"

"When you get to a point when you can’t even read your own handwriting, this is a Godsend." Frank replied wryly, the humor gone from the brown eyes. "Alright Chet, I’m sorry but we’ll have to take that journey back again. Just try to remember, was there anything out of the blue during the party?"

"Are you just asking questions for the sake of asking questions?" Chet’s expression was dubious. Frank’s tone was so flat, devoid of the intensity that he used to have while questioning suspects or witnesses from any of his cases- the powerful, calm and steady approach.

Realization then dawned in Chet’s eyes after a moment’s pause. "You’ve already believed Vanessa killed herself and won’t consider otherwise!"

Frank gave Chet a weary look, probably sick of answering such accusations. "Chet. I, more than anyone, maybe with the exception of Joe, really want Vanessa to be innocent of suicide. If in the end, we established that Vanessa really took her own life, no reasonable doubt at all, how do you think Joe will feel? He’s riding on that hope…no…he’s riding on the hope that she’s actually still alive that it was all a bad dream! You…" Frank closed his eyes painfully, making Chet feel a little guilty.

He could understand. They were all having guilt trips from Vanessa’s possible suicide, questioning if they should have done more for her by being a better friend to her. Brian had the guilt trip so bad that he had to transfer out of UB and move all the way to Arizona to avoid any remnants from the horror.

In one night, in just one night we have all changed or are being forced to accept the changes.

He shuddered a little as Frank’s eyes opened again, revealing lethal resolution. Those eyes, those intelligent scourging eyes, beheld Chet who was dreadfully unnerved and yet, unable to move or even look away.

"But I can’t think of anyone else who might have any reasons to attack her, or want her silenced. If it comes down to Joe or Vanessa, you know where my conviction lies. I made it very clear in court and I’ll never change any of my answers."

It’s in times like these that I’m glad Joe’s the one who had gone mad…I mean, it’s like the lesser of two evils. If Frank became mad, I’m sure…well…maybe the end of the world was coming.

The world is blessed that someone as smart as my friend here is on the good side and have so much love in him.

 

When Chet could finally tear himself from the magnetic, enigmatic gaze that was flashing with naked anger, he glanced around ineptly for something to do, something that could distract him from the tension that was just being born. Finally, he saw a small little coffee stain on the counter table, took the dish cloth from the sink and started to industriously wipe it away, almost as if he wanted to polish the table surface with the rag as well.

Frank had gone back to creating swirls in his cup, sipping from it at various intervals.

Only after Frank’s eyes lost that deadliness completely and settled down into the good old, unassuming Frank again, could Chet muster up enough courage to break the awkward silence.

Alright, so…unassuming is not too good a word to describe my buddy…he can never be unnoticeable.

"How is Joe?"

It was simple question but it looked like Frank was punched in the guts. He compressed his lips and Chet thought he saw Frank’s eyes brimmed for a moment. Frank then lowered his head and stared at the floor, probably to avoid the increasing scrutiny. A few seconds later, when he looked up at Chet again, the watery shine was gone. Chet thought he had imagined it.

"He’ll be alright. I’m going to make sure he’ll be alright." His friend’s voice was abnormally soft.

Chet nodded, unsure of what else to say. "Ah…Hmm…Frank…"

"It’s ok not to know what to say Chet. Just…I don’t know…try to understand. It can get unbearable sometimes, hanging out you with you guys and yet, knowing that I am despised…"

"You’re not despised. We just could not see what was so obvious. I’m sorry alright? Best friends?"

Frank smiled with cheer finally at Chet, "Best friends buddy. Never thought otherwise."

If we are girls, we’ll go through all the icky hugging, tearing stuff. But we’re blokes. We treat each other to a drink and start talking about football after a reconciliation.

"Coffee’s on me Frank. And…I hope you find that third party. There’s always a possibility. Vanessa died a horrible death. A broken neck, a messed up face…they had to cover the coffin. It’s terrible."

The mysterious dark brown eyes gazed upon Chet’s face for a while, turning a shade darker. They grew wider and wider until a lightning flashed across the twin, sparkling night skies, disguised as Frank’s eyes.

"Chet…you’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of it before?" Frank’s intelligent eyes blazed, leaving Chet baffled. "I sometimes wonder about my own IQ results…you…you should be in Mensa instead of me…you gave me a whole new angle…" he started scribbling furiously onto the tiny palm computer.

"Ah…"

"Thanks Chet. Thanks a lot. It’s not much…but it’s something for me to work on…at least for a while…maybe even crack it…."

"No problem buddy…" Chet smiled smugly, claiming the credit for something clever that he must had done or said. All he had to next was to repeat every single word he said mentally to seek out what’s the award winning phrase later.

Frank, having forgotten about Chet’s offer to treat him, place a five dollar bill on the counter. "You can put the change on my credit. I owe Mr. Pizza some money." He stood up and gave his friend a warm smile.

"Once again, thanks. I’ve got to go. I have an important dinner to attend."

Must be the caffeine kicking in…he doesn’t know it but his hands are shaking from hyperactivity.

"With who? Callie?"

"Nope. With my parents and my sister. Hopefully, with my brother as well."

***

Dinner was friendly and warm, yet, it was incomplete. Someone was missing, but they took it in their stride, used to his running away from anything that could get him remotely closer to the people who loved him.

Frank had tried to reach Joe on his mobile for the longest time. He had gotten the ringing tone for the first few tries yet, they were all abruptly cut off. Joe must had disconnected the calls. When he tried again for the fifth time, he was led to the voice operator immediately- Joe had switched off his mobile.

After the dinner which had Laura almost bursting in tears after nine when it was clear that Joe was never going to show, Frank sent Maggie back to her dorm and wanted to confront Joe. However, he was tired. Coffee only kept him awake, but it did nothing to replenish his energy.

Thus he left campus and went back home and found his parents watching television, or rather, trying to. Laura’s face was tears-streaked and Fenton was holding on tightly to her.

At least our tragedy did not break them. In any case, it made them stronger. Callie and I will have this kind of love. Love that endures.

He bade them goodnight and they gave him a goodnight kiss each, like he was still their precocious little boy. He accepted the kisses with no complaints and pecked his mother’s cheeks.

Going back to his room which offered him comfort with its soothing blue tones against splashes of white and purple, he switched on his CD player immediately and allowed the ethereal music of Canon March to flow through him. He could not play the piano as well as Joe, but he appreciated the complicated pieces from eras ago more than his brother. To him, classical music was exciting in an unexplainable way. It had more chords, more variations and the fact that the musician had no words- just melodies strung together to form movements- to convey a certain idea, thought or atmosphere made it extremely fascinating and provocative.

The peaceful music calmed him and he set to work on the sudden thought he had while talking to Chet. It was not so much what Chet said- it was the order of words, and the fact that Chet actually paid some attention to what they had taken for granted.

Broke her neck, a messed up face.

The tiny screen repeated Chet’s words to him. Frank started jotting things down in his faithful companion. Chet had mistaken it for a Palm Pilot. It was actually an IPAD, much more powerful than a Palm.

Broke her neck. If she fell first before someone shot her…used the gun she brought to the party to shoot her, make it seem like a suicide…

Joe? No…if he did it, he would not have stayed behind.

The someone, if there is someone, would be wearing gloves. No other prints were found on the gun.

I need to check out the tree house when I’m free…I’ll be busy for a while…should I check it out tomorrow? What about my thesis and papers?

I’ll tell Joe tomorrow if I see him in campus. It will boost his spirits.

Why am I jotting all my thoughts into you? Hey…why…stop…hey!

He flung the pen away, laughing at himself softly for being so absorbed in his thoughts that he was actually scribbling every little thing that came to his mind. He had not established the motive. But he could established another cause of death.

If it was true, then Joe’s theory of a third person would definitely hold.

And they call me the smart Hardy.

***

He heard his mobile ringing and ringing and ringing. It was not that he did not want to accompany his brother on the investigation. He wanted to. He even, in that hidden corner of his mind, wanted to join his family for dinner but something was stopping him. Something extremely agonizing, something he had kept hidden even from himself, though a part of him was crying inside everyday.

For something lost and gone…lost and gone…

What am I doing? Searching for a phantom murderer? I know what transpired…

I don’t want to let go of Vanessa’s horrifying death. I don’t want to.

Joe switched his mobile off and went to the common toilet to take a shower because he just felt like it. He had just finished sleeping and dreaming.

For the first time, he allowed himself to think those dark thoughts that made him feel extremely damned. In actual fact, it was more of the failure to suppress it as it was like water, slipping past cracks in his mental defenses. Now, a healthy river had formed and there was no way he could stop the flow.

 

And the other hell…the one I can’t talk about it…I can’t even think about it… it tears at me, it makes me sick.

The water, it’s so hot…so very hot.

He stared at his hands and remembered. The disfigured limbs trembled uncontrollably.

So very punishing.

 

*Copyright ©1995-2002 Alan Howard, Don McLean