Valentine

The tall man stood in front of the camera that broadcasted his image over a closed circuit to a courtroom he could not see. All he could do was imagine the turn out of people in that room who saw blood at the mention of his name. His clear blue eyes, described in local newspapers as “haunting,” wanted so badly to cry—but, he knew better than to let that unknown room see him become emotional. All of those people felt victimized by the turn of events that he had been accused of. In certain seats there were actual victims of the assaults sitting there, crying, as they did their best to recognize the man who entered their apartments on hot summer nights and did unmentionable things to them—things that they couldn’t or would not tell their fathers. What the man couldn’t understand is how he got pulled into this mess; how they could accuse him of such things, a man who had followed the law his whole life.
As these thoughts passed through his mind, the judge had begun his hearing. The honorable Terrence S. Mead had a few smaller cases to deal with before he could arraign the man present on the closed circuit screen. Drug addicts, drunk drivers, speeding tickets—every day hubbub that Mead didn’t exactly enjoy dealing with. On most days, these cases were as big as it got in this small town. Other days, he sat in his chambers reading novels and watching day time TV. This was a sleepy town he lived in, and he liked it this way. It was the man who stood stone faced and ridged that made his day interesting. He, like many others in the community, was out raged at the thought that this man could come into their town and cause such a giant wave of fear. And now, Mead had his chance to begin the healing process for a community that had been left in limbo for the past year.
“Case 3579, the city of Mayfield vs. Mr. Rory Valentine,” Mead called out from his case list. Now, he thought, we can get this ball rolling. He mustered up the sternest voice he could and said, “Mr. Valentine, this is your arraignment. Do you understand what is going to happen here today?”
“Yes sir.”
“I am sitting here reading over your case Mr. Valentine and as I look over this sheet I count over twenty counts the prosecution is filling against you. I plan on reading every one to you and all that is present here in the court house. Do you understand, son?”
“Yes sir.”
“There are eight counts of sexual assault, nine of aggravated assaults, six counts of breaking and entering and four of burglary. Because of these counts we are planning on holding you with out bail until your pre-trial hearing this Monday. You will be present in my courtroom Monday where we will go over the trial process for this case. Any questions Mr. Valentine?”
“No sir.”
“Monday you have to opportunity to plead for either your guilt or innocence, if you choose to do so,” Mead felt proud to evoke such a response from this man who appeared to be the cause of all evil present in Mayfield.
The screen turned off, and the haunting figure of Rory disappeared from the court room. He was lead back to the tiny cell in the city jail house, where he would remain until further notice from the judge or perhaps his lawyer. Once the guard left, it was then that Rory felt he could cry.

Joanne was the one who turned Rory in. The man was weird. He kept odd hours and went for walks in the pre-dawn hours—the time when most people should have been sleeping. Why anyone would voluntarily walk places was beyond Joanne. She had always been a little over weight, but never looked bad—until Vinnie died. She was pregnant at the time, which was weight she knew she would never lose; however, she gained a little more after Brian was born and had been adding pounds as the months went on and Vinnie’s death buried itself further into her past.
She probably wouldn’t have ever noticed his odd habits if she did not get up every two hours to feed both her newborn son, and Roxy’s puppies—the dog her late husband and she bought when they moved into their first apartment together.
She did her best not to act like the nosy neighbor, but with a neighbor as weird as Rory it’s hard not to watch his every move. The man lived alone, and appeared to be in his early thirties—but, not once had she seen him bring a woman home. He went places, but was satisfied coming home and working in his garden or on his truck. That’s not normal. Men his age should be throwing parties, getting drunk, bringing random women home—not acting responsible like Rory. Or so Joanne thought, that’s what Vinnie did even while they were married.
“Turning him in was her civic duty,” she rationalized to herself every night before putting her son to bed. Rory looked similar to the composite drawings posted all over the city. True, she disrupted a quite man’s life who had never bothered her—in fact, he had been helpful enough to watch Brian on Saturday nights when she went to visit friends—but, she was protecting her community, neighborhood and all of womankind. Isn’t that worth something?

Lucie was a student; a student trying her best to become a writer. She worked hard for the college paper—slowly depleting any thoughts toward a social life, but she didn’t mind. Her plan was to get out of small town living, and implant herself into a big city where the news really happened. Until then, she was satisfied with her life. Becoming a star reporter as a young student didn’t seem to be that tough for her—it was getting the editorship opening up at the end of the spring semester that she viewed as a tougher goal.
Lucie was celebrating her first day off in over a year by celebrating her birthday with her two best friends, Rheannon and Beth. She was finally turning 20, not that she was looking forward to getting older she was just tired of still being considered a teenager while Rhea and Beth went to the bars on Friday nights. While Rhea has been seriously committed to her boyfriend for almost two years now, she had a philosophy about people who went to bars. “They only go to the bars to meet skuzzy people or if they are drug there by a good friend,” she was saying over a margarita at a local Mexican food restaurant. She had deep brown eyes and matching hair with a smile that could light up an entire room. It was that smile that kept the margarita glasses full, and allowed under-aged Lucie to be drinking with the girls as well.
“Ohh, shut up ho!” Beth replied to Rhea’s philosophy—everyone at the table knowing full well that the use of “ho” was with love. “If you hate it so much, just know that in a year from now Lucie will take your place. Huh kiddo?”
“Hell yeah!”
Beth was on a quest to find her soul mate, someone who would treat her nicely and return the unending love that filled her heart for everyone in her life—therefore, she tried the bars. She would come home on Friday nights and immediately call Lucie to talk about whatever happened at the bars that night.
“Luc, I swear there isn’t anyone left out there.”
“There has to be Beth. Otherwise I am in big trouble,” Lucie replied with a sigh.
Beth was beautiful. Lucie couldn’t understand why she was still single. With deep brown eyes and long beautiful blonde hair she seemed to have an almost perfect combination of beauty. She was tall and very thin—she had been a dancer in high school before she got sucked into the world of Journalism in college. She swears she misses the dancing, but Rhea and Lucie knew deep down she loves the journalism a little bit more.
“Luc, you aren’t still tripping over that asshole from New Hampshire, are you?” Beth asked, her eyes burning into Lucie.
“No, of course not,” she lied. But both Rhea and Beth saw right through her lies. Gabe had been her first real love. He was tall, had messy blonde hair that had a bit of curl to it—just the way Lucie liked it—with emerald green eyes that could melt her like ice on a scorching day.
“Goddamnit Luc!!” Rhea said. “He fucked you by moving away and pretty much insinuating that he couldn’t trust you in a long distance relationship, and almost a year later you are still broken hearted. That is not the Luc I know.”
“Don’t you think it is time to get back out in the field and play a few guys?” Beth asked, moving closer to Lucie to give her a huge sympathetic hug.
Lucie hadn’t thought much about getting out there to meet someone new. She had pretty much buried herself in work and writing—fighting against anything that could get in the way of building a protective wall around her broken heart. “I don’t know if I am ready to find someone else just yet, girls.”
The girls left it at that. They knew better than to argue with Lucie about this matter. She would get back out into the dating world in due time—and they knew she would knock every guy out there on his ass. She had shoulder length hair that she dyed a slight auburn color and sky blue eyes. Beth has been known to describe her as having a china doll face—Lucie never saw that when she looked into the mirror.
It was during the gag gifts and the embarrassing song that waiter’s came to sing to her that Lucie’s cell phone rang. Most of the time she won’t answer the phone when she was out to eat with Rhea and Beth; however, it was her desk number at the paper, and she knew something had to be up. “Excuse me for just one minute girls,” she said as she got up and walked towards the front door of the restaurant.
“Josh, what’s going on?”
“Lucie, they just arrested a man who they are accusing with the assaults that have been going on in town all year,” he said rather excitedly. “I was wondering if you wanted to write the story—I will go to the press conference with you as your photographer, but you have to meet me there in about a half hour.”
“Josh, you know I am there. Could you bring my tape recorder from my desk for me?”
They hung up, and Lucie skipped into the restaurant. Beth was supposed to stay with Lucie that night at her apartment because she was visiting from San Francisco. Lucie knew Rhea would take her home until Lucie could get back—and she knew even better that the girls would understand her need to take the story and run. They all knew what was important to one another, and they vowed to never get in the way of something that wasn’t hurting the other.
“Let me guess,” Rhea said as she saw the huge smile on Lucie’s face when she returned to the table. “You just got the story of your life, and have to run to a press conference leaving your best friends here to fend for themselves until you return for Bacardi, Pepsi, Lime and a Lucky Strike on my back porch?”
“You read me like a fucking book; I don’t understand how you do it!! I love you for it though.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Luc,” Rhea said. “Beth and I will go to the mall and kill a few hours, give me a call when you are through. Good luck.”
Rhea and Beth had been Lucie’s editors in high school. They taught her everything they knew, and were proud of the progress she had made over the years since high school.
Beth got up and gave her a huge hug. “I am so proud of you. Knock ‘em dead.”


“No mama, I swear to you that I didn’t do what they are accusing me of doing,” Rory cried into the phone. He was in a fix, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not even his lawyer knew how to get him out of it. All the evidence pointed directly at him.
“Rory, you see what happens when you leave home?” Rory had grown up in the Bronx. His mom had the stereotypical New Yorker accent that brought Rory’s back whenever he called home. All of Rory’s brothers stayed in the Bronx and had supper with their mom every Sunday after church—Rory, however wanted to see the world.
He left home when he was 19, the youngest of five he was the last to leave the house. He remembered the fight he and his mama had while he packed his bag to leave; she stood on the front porch with her hands on her hips, pulling in her mumu-like attire showing her intimidating, pear shape: You’ll be sorry Rory Valentine. You will either live to regret the day you left your mother alone in the Bronx or you will find yourself in jail!
Finding himself in jail, calling home was the hardest thing he had to do. “You know your face is all over the news. You have brought shame to me and your brothers.”
“You know mama, I didn’t call home to be made to feel worse. I am looking for help from my family.”
“Well, Rory Valentine, you are going to have to look for help from someone else.”

Lucie pulled into the court house parking lot and almost jumped out of her car before putting it in park or turning it off. She was very excited that Josh chose her for the story-- she had been writing for the paper for a little over a year now; however, Lucie was a second year student-- still a rookie in a lot of people’s eyes. First and second year students hardly ever got the good stories. They typically walked into the newsroom and were handed a press release about this club or that club and were told to bring a story back by 4 p.m.; they wrote the stuff that filled the spaces around the ads.
“Lucie! Court is just letting out. I have a couple names of victims, but Judge Mead would like to have a press conference in his office in five minutes to discuss coverage of the case,” Josh said as he ran through the crowd toward Lucie’s car.
They walked up three flights of stairs to the judge’s chambers and when they turned to corner they saw Arnie Ardella and Lindy Ormsbee sitting outside the office. Ardella was the field correspondent for the local new channel. “I am surprised he could get his big head through the door,” Lucie whispered to her editor as they rounded the corner.
Ormsbee was a different case. With her strawberry blonde hair and a meek smile, she covered the crime beat for the small town paper; plus, she was always willing to take a college student under her wing when her story load was small. “Looks like a busy day waiting for you at the Mayfield Correspondent,” Josh said smiling as Lindy stood to shake his hand.
“What is the news editor for the college paper doing out on the field? Don’t you have a desk full of young people chomping the bit to make a difference with the written word?”
“A have a desk full of young people alright, none of them motivated longer than it takes to make a bowl of Top Ramen,” Josh said with a mischievous smile. “However, this young person just might be the next Hunter S. Thompson or Tom Wolfe.”
“Hi, my name is Lucie Gray,” she said, extending her hand to shake Ormsbee’s hand. She admired her work, and was trilled to meet a fellow female-reporter working the field.
“Lucie, I have read your stuff in the paper. You have an eye for the news.”
Lucie felt her face flush. This angered her because she wanted to look smooth, she wanted to look like a professional despite her age. “I appreciate your admiration. I love what I get to do each day.”


... to be continued