Trick of the Mind — 27 & 28 by Maeryn Lamonte Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Written From The Heart Thanks to Wren Erendae Phoenix for editing/proofing. The courtroom scene depicted in this chapter is fictional and bears little or no resemblance to genuine legal proceedings (as far as I'm aware). Sensing something wrong I looked up to see three very grim faces looking at me from over where Mr Talbot was holding a rather official looking piece of paper. “What’s the matter?” I asked. Paul held up the letter in his hand. “This is I’m afraid Richard. It’s an injunction instructing me to deliver you to the county court nearest your home town, where your parents have dictated that you should undergo an assessment to ascertain the state of your mental health. The court appearance is for tomorrow at noon.”

-oOo-

“Can they do that?” I asked.

“It’s about the only thing they can do.” Mr T responded. “Since you are legally an adult, the only way in which your parents can claim any control over you is if they can prove you to be mentally incompetent. If they succeed in doing that, then your parents would become your legal guardians again with a right to decide what’s best for you.”

“We can’t let them Daddy, we have to fight this.”

“I’m sorry Jennifer, but right now we have no choice. Richard I’m going to have to ask you to pack your things. I’ll take an extra few days off and stay with you until a decision is reached.”

“Sir I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve been more than generous, these past two weeks, but this is my problem and I can’t ask you to disrupt your lives over something that doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Much as I appreciate your sense of responsibility young man, I can’t get out of this even if I wanted to. The injunction is addressed to me and I am responsible for getting you to the courthouse. Beyond that when you came to us two weeks ago asking for help we agreed to give you whatever you needed. It would be a poor show indeed if we pulled the plug on it now when your need was greatest. I wouldn’t be able to sleep nights if I did that, not least because my daughter wouldn’t let me.”

His smile was infectious.

“Now I’m not going to tell you everything’s going to work out alright, you’re big enough now to know that the good guy doesn’t always come out on top, but what I will guarantee you is that we will stand by you, wherever this goes.

“I suggest that you and Jennifer go and pack Richard's things together. Rachael is welcome to leave her belongings here until she comes next time.”

We left Mr T making whatever calls he needed to to cover whatever he had been planning to do the next day, and lugged my bags up to my room. Once there, we packed up all my guy clothes, except the ones I’d be wearing the next day, into one bag. When we were done, we sat together on the bed disconsolately and held hands.

“It’s not fair!” Jen said to whoever would listen. Since that was pretty much me and I agreed with her it seemed like a bit of a waste of breath, but I nodded my agreement.

“No it isn’t, but then my Dad did tell me that life isn’t fair and you just have to suck it up and deal with it. A bit ironic that he happens to be the source of what’s unfair in my life.”

Jen laughed then burst into tears and buried her head in my shoulder.

I held her close and said, “You’d better not get mascara all over this dress.” At which point she really did laugh and pulled herself away wiping tears from her eyes.

“How can you be so strong?” She asked me.

“I guess I’m used to things going wrong in my life, especially where my family is concerned. Besides as long as you’re with me I’m strong enough for anything.”

Eventually I kissed her and told her I needed to sleep if I was to be up early the next morning. I brushed my teeth and changed into a nightdress determined to make the most of what I suspected would be my last good night’s sleep for a while.

I was nearly asleep when I heard the door open and close and a moment later Jen slid under the covers next to me.

All too early the next morning there was a loud rap on my door. I looked at my watch to see that it was five o’clock and I could still feel Jennifer huddled into my back.

“OK I’m up,” I called, in the hope of stopping anyone from sticking their head round the door.

I roused Jennifer and slipped out of bed heading for the bathroom where I met Mr T in the hallway.

“Have you seen Jennifer?” He asked.

I decided to bend the truth a little. “She snuck into my room earlier this morning. I guess we both had trouble sleeping.”

He thought for a second then made up his mind to accept my explanation without looking too much deeper into the matter.

“See you downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes; I’d like to be on the road by five thirty.” He said it loud enough that anyone listening on the other side of my door could hear.

I showered as quickly as I could making sure that any shape and body in my hair was washed out of it and made it downstairs with my bag and my laptop by six fifteen. I was wearing my chinos and a white long sleeved shirt, which my reprogrammed brain had turned into a silver grey pencil dress with a broad black belt.

Mr T nodded approvingly at me as I entered. “Not bad and on time too. Do you want to borrow a tie?”

“No thanks,” I said. “I never wear a tie if I can help it; it cuts off oxygen supply to the brain.”

He smiled and poured me a coffee. “I know what you mean,” he said indicating his own corporate noose. “I hate the things, but they go with the territory."

The toaster popped and I spread butter liberally onto my breakfast before biting out a quarter of it in one mouthful. I notice Paul’s smile.

“What?” I asked.

“Just seems a bit odd after seeing you nibbling away daintily all this past week. I missed Richard on the boat.”

I smiled back and took another man sized bite out of the toast. I saw no point in spoiling the moment by mentioning the dress I still saw myself wearing.

He checked his watch and said in a loud voice, “Well I guess we have to be on our way.” And as if by magic the door burst open and Jen came in wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Funny how silly things like that can make you envious sometimes.

“I’m coming too Dad,” she stated slinging a bag over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry Jenny, not this time.”

“Why not?” She sounded just a little petulant.

“Jennifer, don’t make this any harder than it already is. For one thing I need you to stay here and keep your mother company. For another, Richard is going to need his wits about him over the next few days and I’m worried that you’ll distract him. For yet another it’ll be a lot more difficult finding a place to stay if you come along as well.

“We’ll let you know what’s happening as soon we can.”

Jen looked at me and I said, “Your Dad’s right. This will be easier — no make that less difficult — if I do it on my own.”

She threw her arms around me and kissed me hard. “You’d better come back Richard Baxter, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

“As soon as I can love.”

I picked up my bags and followed Mr T to the car. Jen was gazing out of the window as we backed off the drive just five minutes later than planned.

I must have been too used to driving with my Dad; we were only five minutes out and still driving through largely deserted streets when Mr T looked across at me.

“You’re a little quiet this morning.”

“I was thinking about what’s going to happen this afternoon.”

“Hush, Scout,” he said with an exaggerated American accent. “It ain't time to worry yet. I'll let you know when.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Harper Lee,” he explained, or rather didn’t. “To Kill a Mocking Bird? You’ve never read it?”

“Not really my thing.”

“You should try it sometime, it may surprise you. I must have ready it three or four times now. Enjoyed it as much the last time as I did the first.”

We drove on in silence for a few minutes.

“So what do you read Richard?”

“Oh you know. Physics books, science magazines, science fiction stories for inspiration.”

He laughed. “You don’t have to try so hard to impress all the time, we all like you already.”

“OK,” I said smiling ruefully, “I like sci-fi for the escapism, the concept of a different, better future. I’ve studied enough about science to know that it’s not going to give miraculous answers to the world’s problems, but in a good sci-fi story there’s a glimpse at what could be good in years to come.”

“It may help to define the future as well.” Mr T glanced across at the look of surprise on my face. Sci-fi was something of a guilty secret, like the whole dressing up as a girl thing, but here was a grown and sensible adult telling me it was OK.

“Arthur C Clarke wrote about satellites, space stations and shuttles decades before they were conceived in reality. What are the chances that some of the engineers who worked on those problems read his books?”

I nodded thoughtfully and looked out at the rather dull countryside zipping past.

“Jenny didn’t sleep in her bed last night.”

All of a sudden the passing scenery seemed worthy of deeper scrutiny.

“I know. She was with me.”

The silence deepened so I continued.

“I’m sorry sir; I took advantage of your hospitality and your trust.”

I looked across at Mt Talbot who was staring straight ahead with an unreadable expression on his face.

“If it makes any difference at all sir, all we did was sleep. Jen was upset; I was upset; we felt the need to be close.”

Jen’s Dad still didn’t say anything.

“I’m not trying to justify what we did sir, but you didn’t seem to mind that night last week after the meal out, when Jen and I ended up in the same bed.”

He seemed taken aback by that.

“Isn’t that strange?” He seemed to be talking to no-one in particular. “There didn’t seem to be anything wrong about Jenny sleeping in the same bed with Rachael.”

“Rachael only goes as deep as the clothes and the makeup sir.”

He shook his head. “No I think she goes a lot deeper than that Richard, but I do take your meaning.

“It looks like I owe you an apology in return Richard. I haven’t been clear in my expectations, nor have I been consistent in the way I’ve been treating you. What say we chalk this one up to experience and a father’s over-protectiveness towards his daughter eh?”

I couldn’t quite believe that Jen’s Dad was actually apologising to me after what I had done, but I wasn’t going to argue — gift horses and teeth and all that.

“I promise I won’t let anything like this happen again sir.”

He let out a short bark of a laugh. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep son. My daughter has something of a wilful head on her and I suspect that a good deal of what went on last night was her idea.”

I kept my peace, which Mr T seemed to take as confirmation of his suspicions.

The brittle mood faded and we drove on in silence for a while longer, though not too long. it seemed that Mr Talbot liked to talk while he was driving; certainly the trip to and from the boat hadn’t been made in silence.

He asked me what my plans were for the future, and I gave him the typical vague teenager response. He pressed me on the matter though, and after some thought and discussion, I surprised us both by suggesting technical or scientific journalism.

“You know, I can see you doing well at that,” he told me.

“How come?”

“Well you’re well spoken for one thing. You give some thought to what you want to say and present your ideas with clarity. With a bit of practise anyone can write as well as they speak, so I would say that given your grasp of scientific matters and your ability to communicate, you will do a considerably better job than a lot of the people who are already doing that job.

“You may want to practice putting a few words down on paper though. It takes a bit of time to get into the swing of writing, and you’ll need to show you have some skills in that area before anyone will consider you for that sort of post.

“Are there any journals or magazines published by the student body at your university? If you had a go at writing for something like that it would help to build some skills as well as give you an idea as to whether or not you actually want to do something like that for a living.”

The conversations bounced about from one topic to the next. We discussed music, art, politics, just about everything as we drove, and the miles melted away. I fell back into a less talkative mood as we entered the familiar roads around my childhood home though. A knot formed in my stomach as apprehension about the impending proceedings grew.

Mr T left me to my brooding for the last half hour for which I was grateful, and apart from a giving him a few directions as we entered the city, we completed the journey in silence.

We found a multi-story car park close to the courthouse and made our way through the front entrance with fifteen minutes to spare.

-oOo-

At the reception desk, Mr T handed over the letter he'd received and, after a brief consultation of ledgers and the like, the receptionist gave us directions which led us down oak panelled corridors to an unassuming door hidden amongst all the other woodwork.

“How do you find your way around in a place like this?” I asked.

Mr T smiled as he knocked on the door. “You get used to the environment.” The door was opened by an unfortunately plain looking woman in a wool skirt and plain white blouse. Mr T showed her the letter and we were ushered into a small but opulently appointed courtroom.

The woman took her seat behind a stenography machine in a quiet corner of the room and left us to find our own place.

Dad, Uncle Stan — Mum's brother — and Dr Finster were sitting in a wooden cubicle near the front of the room. They stopped talking as we entered and looked over at us in silence, as though willing us to move on so they could continue their private conversation. Mr T nodded at my dad but received no acknowledgement so, keeping a placid expression, he guided me to a separate cubical where we sat and waited in a silence that was disturbed only be the continued low murmuring between my dad and the doctor.

Time crept by and eventually reached the appointed hour. In response to some unseen signal, the stenographer, who it seemed was also acting as court clerk, stood up.

“All rise, this court is now in session. The honourable Derek Priestly presiding.” We stood up as the judge entered through a hidden door behind his large desk. He wasn't wearing a wig or robe and as such was easily recognisable as one of Dad’s golfing partners. My apprehension grew as we were all invited to reseat ourselves.

“The next matter is a closed civil proceeding between Mr Raymond Baxter and his son Richard regarding the state of the son’s mental health. This will be an informal hearing presenting preliminary arguments in order to decide whether a full enquiry is called for and what provisions need to be made for the welfare of the young man in question. Raymond Baxter please stand forward.”

My Dad stepped forward. Mr T also stood and addressed the judge.

“Your honour, may I ask if Richard has need of legal counsel for these proceedings?”

“Might I ask who you are sir?”

“Paul Talbot your honour, I’m a friend of Richard’s.”

“Mr Talbot these proceedings are closed; limited to those directly involved. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Paul looked at me as if trying to say something. I twigged.

“Your honour Mr Talbot is here at my request.”

The judge looked at me with distaste. “I see. Richard, are you aware of the reasons why you’ve been brought to this court?”

“I have a fair idea sir, and if it’s as I suspect, then Mr Talbot is already aware of those reasons.”

“We are here to ascertain whether you are competent to make decisions in your best interests Richard, until we are, I’m afraid I shall have to overrule you.”

Mr T spoke up again. “Your honour, doesn’t the law require such matters to be proven before such rulings apply?”

“There is a certain amount of leeway in mental health cases Mr Talbot.”

“And in the opinion of the court does Richard’s present state of mind or the nature of his request dictate that such discretion is appropriate in this case?”

The judge found himself off balance and obviously didn’t like it. He looked at my father who gave a little shrug.

“Very well Mr Talbot you may remain, but you will be required to stay silent during the proceedings, and you are instructed not to repeat anything that is said during these proceedings outside of this room.”

“As you wish your honour.”

Mr T sat down and gave me a nudge. I was a bit slow on the uptake so he had to nudge me again and tilt his head towards the judge.

I stood up, “Your honour, do I need legal representation for this hearing?”

I’d just interrupted my father as he was about to speak and both looked at me with irritation.

“Richard,” the judge said with exaggerated patience, “this is a preliminary hearing and all present have your best interests at heart. No-one is under oath here, and no-one is going to make any firm long term decisions at this point.”
I opened my mouth to speak again, the judge pre-empted me.

“So no you don’t need legal counsel for these proceedings.”

I sat down and whispered to Mr T, “What are you doing.”

“Trust me,” he said under his breath as the judge glared at us, daring any further outbursts.

“Mr Baxter, I believe you are concerned over the mental health of your son.”

“Yes your honour.”

“Please tell me your reason for these concerns.”

My Dad gave a somewhat biased account of what we had said on the way back from uni. Some of it was outright fabrication and I couldn’t sit and listen to it.

I jumped to my feet and yelled. “That’s a lie and you know it is.”

The judge’s baleful eye turned towards me again. “Sit down Richard. Your presence in this courtroom is not essential to the proceedings, and if you do not conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum, I will have you removed to a holding cell.”

I sat fuming and felt Mr Talbot’s hand on my forearm. I looked up at him and he shook his head very slightly.

My Dad went on to explain how he had set up a meeting with a psychiatrist to investigate the matter further.

“Is the psychiatrist in question here?”

“Yes,” Dad said and indicated Dr Finster who was sitting nearby.

Dr Finster gave his testimony next, listing a number of things I was sure my Dad had told him, because I knew I certainly hadn’t. Mr T’s hand on my arm was all that stopped me from another outburst. The doctor finished by saying how I had become aggressive towards the end of the session and had stormed out of his clinic.

“Your son is legally an adult is he not Mr Baxter?”

“Yes,” my father replied.

“Then surely this is a state matter since you are no longer his legal guardian?”

I felt a moment’s hope; maybe the law would see me through this.

“That is true your honour, however this is a matter that has been going on for some time now. We first discovered Richard cross-dressing some years ago when he was fifteen years old.

“We dealt with it as we saw fit at the time and thought the matter closed. It was only when Richard raised the subject again two weeks ago as I was driving him home from university that I realised the issue was still ongoing.”

“I see, is there anyone here to corroborate this?”

My uncle Stan stood up next and described finding me parading about in his daughter’s bridesmaid’s dress.

“I was not parading,” I ground out from between gritted teeth. Mr T squeezed my arm and the comment went unnoticed.

“And what evidence do you have that the condition is still ongoing.”

My father passed across what looked like my sister’s phone. There would be several photos of Rachael from the previous week’s holiday. The judge pressed a few buttons and looked over at me before handing the phone back.

“Dr Finster, in your opinion is Richard Baxter mentally competent?”

“No your honour, I believe he has a condition that requires treatment in an institution.”

“Do you consider that he should be remanded attending a fuller enquiry?”

“Yes your honour, he is in denial about his condition and the last time he was confronted with it he ran away.”

“Very well,” said the judge, “in light of the testimony I have received I recommend that a further enquiry be made into the mental health of Richard Baxter, hearing to be held in this courtroom at noon in two weeks time. In the meantime he will be remanded in the mental wing of Grace Hospital.”

It was too much. I jumped to my feet for a second time.

“Don’t I get a chance to defend myself?”

“Richard,” the judge tried to put a patient tone into his voice, but it was obvious that he was annoyed at my outburst, “you have not been accused of anything, so you don’t have anything to defend. The matter here is the question of your mental health, and your testimony would be inadmissible.

“Bailiff, take young Mr Baxter into custody until such time as arrangements can be made to move him to the hospital.”

I couldn’t believe it. In this day and age, a kangaroo court bouncing me into the purgatory of a lunatic asylum. If Dr Finster had his way, I’d be dosed up with drugs and so disoriented I wouldn’t know I had something to fight for. Even Mr T who I thought was a friend had betrayed me, telling me to keep quiet when I should have protested more. Was this his way at getting back at me for last night?

As the bailiff led me away I looked over at him. The expression in his face was unreadable but seemed to be hiding a sense of satisfaction.

The Baliff shared certain physical characteristics with a side of beef. He kept a hand on my shoulder with just enough force to convince me that neither running nor fighting would be a good option, even if I were considering them; I mean in these shoes and this skirt? Get real. He led me down a flight of stairs to a short corridor lined with steel doors.

“You have to be kidding me,” I said. “I'm not a criminal.”

“I'm sorry son, but the judge designated you a flight risk. It won't be for long.”

He opened a door and gave me his best Ross Kemp impression; chin in his chest, lips pressed into a thin, grim line, eyes wide and staring. There was no point objecting; everything had gone down the toilet anyway. My shoulders slumped and I stepped into a six by eight space with a small barred window. I turned to the guard who gave me a sympathetic nod, possibly appreciation for not causing trouble.

“Don't you want my belt and shoe laces too?” I'm not sure what I would have done had he said yes, there being no indication to my eyes of laces on my patent leather heels. The belt would have been a problem too, seeming to me to be broad enough to reach from my hips to my ribs when I was sitting. As it was he laughed good naturedly and closed the door on me.

I sat helplessly, legs together — no other way in this skirt — and head in hands. I wanted to think, to examine my options and try and find some way out of this mess, but my mind was numb. There wasn't time in any case.

Barely ten minutes after being locked up, the key turned again and I was led out of the cell and the courthouse, and handed up into the back of an ambulance, where I was made to lie down on the stretcher. A couple of burly male nurses sat in with me, intimidating enough to keep me in my place simply by looking at me, and we drove off for destination unknown. There was no urgency so we shuffled through the lunchtime traffic at the same frustratingly slow pace as everyone else.

-oOo-