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The Penalty Phase

By Ronald Brunsky

For a few minutes, they sat there quietly. Then despite his reluctance, John turned on the ignition. The engine turned over and idled smoothly. Although the car was going nowhere, the couple’s journey had just begun. That destination had always been man’s greatest enigma, and soon Bess and John would be a part of it.

Gazing at John, a look of understanding accompanied her smile. They hugged, as tears welled up in their eyes.

Smoke was filling the garage, and the initial scent was starting to penetrate the car’s interior. Exhaust fumes, at least in small doses, had always evoked fond memories for Bess.

She remembered the road trips when she was a young girl; mom and dad packing the car the night before, and a sleepless night would follow, as her anticipation overwhelmed any other thoughts. Rising early, they were on the road before dawn. They would play games like counting cars and first to spot a Burma Shave sign, to pass the time.

In her high-school years, the car brought new excitement. The outdoor movies and drive in restaurants made every weekend special. Her fondest memories were the trips down the lonely dirt roads where she and John would park, and the first time she knew they would always be together.

Later, their family’s station-wagon vacation trips, traveling to the kid’s soccer and baseball games, and the rides out into the country to get the perfect Christmas tree — yes, over the years, the car has brought much happiness to Bess and John. It was always such an integral part of their lives; ironically, it would now be their instrument of death.

It was a painless way to go, so everyone thought; you fell asleep and soon it was over. There was no longer any doubt; they were committed to this final act. But why were they giving up? They had their health. Was it an act of cowardice, or courage? How could mortal man judge their actions?

As the drowsiness began to overcome her, she reflected back — back to when everything seemed so perfect.

######

At long last, a Monday morning to look forward to — after 35 years, the Fullers had retired.

Lifting his coffee cup, John toasted their new carefree life.

“Happy retirement hon.”

“Amen,” said Bess.

“Art Kish, you know, the fund manager, said between our pension and social security we should be fine,” said John, as he knocked on the wooden kitchen table.

“That’s true, but a little extra wouldn’t hurt.”

“What do you mean?” said John.

“Duh … dance lessons dummy,” laughed Bess. “You know, we’ve been talking about giving them for over a year now. A lot of people have expressed an interest.”

“Let’s do it then; it’ll be fun,” said John.

######

Over the next few weeks, they prepared to get the dance lessons under way. After clearing an area in their basement for their dance studio, Bess called all the interested parties and setup the appointments. In no time, they were giving lessons once or twice a week.

“Bess, do we have any lessons scheduled this week?”

“Tomorrow night — Brad Langston, you remember the lawyer I was talking about.”

“Oh yeah, didn’t your boss, I mean former boss, give him our name?”

“Yes dear, he and his wife Carol will be here about seven.”

######

The Langston’s showed up right on time. Brad was about thirty-five, very plain looking with a little extra weight around the middle. Carol, a brunette, on the other hand was drop dead gorgeous.

“Well, are you ready to learn how to dance?” asked John.

“If you’re ready to teach us?” replied Brad. “Where’s the dance studio?”

“In the basement,” said Bess. “Follow us and please watch your step.”

Bess had lit a few pine scented candles to offset the damp dingy smell of their basement.

As the Fullers went to turn on more lights, Brad showed his obvious displeasure with the smell by making faces at his wife Carol. “Why does it have to be pine scent? I’m gonna puke.”

“Behave, they’ll hear you,” she whispered.

The Langstons were adept pupils and the lesson went smoothly. John and Bess were equally impressed by how friendly the couple was, especially Brad. For being a big-time defense attorney, he seemed like a nice down-to-earth guy.

They had an informal conversation throughout the evening. The Fullers didn’t pay much heed to the repeated questions about their retirement situation that Brad was asking. They were so happy to be retired, and, in a nice way, were almost bragging about it.

The Langstons asked if they could come for a second lesson the following week.

“Sure, same time.” said John.

“By the way, are these ok?” Brad said, as he pointed to his tennis shoes.

“They’re fine, especially for this concrete surface. Eventually, when you’re on a wooden dance floor, you’ll need leather soles,” said John.

“It was fun, see you next week,” said Carol.

######

Returning to the Fullers’ house for their second lesson, Brad whispered to his wife Carol.

“I don’t know if I can stand another hour of that putrid pine scent.”

“Be nice, dear.”

Brad came wearing leather-soled shoes. John noticed, and said, “Actually, I told you that the tennis shoes would be better on this floor. You’re going to have to be very careful tonight; I don’t want to see you fall.”

And, sure enough, shortly after the lesson started, while doing a simple box step, Brad slipped and fell in full view of the Fullers. It seemed minor — nothing that could have possibly caused any damage. Brad stood up. Grimacing, he limped over to a chair, and started complaining about his back and neck.

“Should we call 911?” John asked.

“No, I’ll be fine, but I better get home.”

######

The Fullers’ effort to contact Mr. Langston for the next few weeks was fruitless. Then in the mail, they received a summons to appear in municipal court. They were being sued by Mr. Brad Langston for injuries he received in their home.

A formal hearing was held and the judge ruled that there was sufficient evidence for a trial.

The Fullers had never broken the law before; Bess had never even received so much as a speeding ticket, and now they were to be defendants in a civil law suit.

######

Walking into the courtroom, the Fullers were struck by its enormity and pristine appearance. Although, they had both served on jury duty before and were not strangers to this courtroom, this time it was different — very different.

With finely polished oak desks and benches and twenty foot colored stained glass windows, the room was the jewel of the Franklin County Courthouse that was built in the late nineteenth century.

They knew they had done nothing wrong, but how could they defeat the high priced law firm that not only represented Brad Langston but employed him as well.

The Fullers’ were to be defended by their old family attorney and friend, while Mr. Langston had his firm’s senior partner.

Both sides agreed to a jury trial. The Fullers definitely thought it would be in their favor. Twelve people couldn’t possibly believe Mr. Langston’s phony story. They also had an ace up their sleeve. They could prove that he had been seen out partying on several occasions since the last lesson.

Brad Langston entered the courtroom. Moving with the aid of a walker and wearing a neck brace, he looked as though he had been in a major automobile accident. He moved slowly past the Fullers without saying a word.

The bailiff introduced the honorable Judge Foster and the proceedings were off and running.

The judge informed the court as to the nature of the case, and then said. “May I hear the opening statements?”

Brad’s lawyer spoke first.

“In a nutshell, we are claiming negligence on the part of the Fullers in conducting a business at their residence. Mr. Langston fell on their basement floor, while he and his wife were receiving dance lessons. His injuries are so severe that he can’t perform his normal professional duties. He is seeking compensation for his medical costs, as well as lost income, past and future.

He is in great pain, and it is very courageous of him to make this appearance today. The damages he is requesting are only fair and proper considering the ordeal he has gone through.”

“How would the defense answer these charges?”

The defense lawyer stood up. “They’re completely erroneous. We intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that not only is Mr. Langston in perfect health, but that he has concocted this entire scheme to bilk the Fullers out of all their assets.”

“Will the defense call its first witness,” said Judge Foster.

John Fuller was called and sworn in.

Mr. Fuller, did you encourage Mr. Langston on two occasions to wear tennis shoes instead of leather soled shoes on your basement floor?

“Yes, I did.”

“But did he wear leather soled shoes for the second lesson anyway? Did they contribute to his fall?”

“Yes, and I think the fall was planned.”

“No more questions,” the defense attorney went back to his bench.

The prosecutor walked over in front of John. “Did you not tell my client he would eventually need leather-soled shoes for dancing?”

“I told him …”

“Just a yes or no answer please.”

“Yes.”

“You’re twisting things.” said Bess.

“That’s quite enough, Mrs. Fuller,” said the judge.

“Mr. Fuller, do you have caution signs in your dance studio citing the possible danger of falling?”

“Well, no,” said John.

“Being a business establishment, has it been inspected by the city, and are you currently licensed by the state?”

“No, we’re not. I didn’t know it was a requirement.”

Things continued to go badly for the Fullers. A doctor called to the witness stand could not discount with absolute certainty the presence of a back injury in Mr. Langston.

They were now pinning all their hopes on the final witness for the defense.

“The defense calls private investigator Sam Balog to the stand.”

“Where were you on the nights of May 17th, and June 6th?”

“On those nights in question, I was at the Florida Club,” said Mr. Balog.

“Just where is the Florida Club?”

“It’s about fifty miles from here. It’s in Bridgeport.”

“What did you see in the Florida Club on those nights in question?”

“I saw Mr. Langston partying and dancing.”

While his wife Carol glared daggers at him, a sheepish look of surprise came upon his face.

“I have no more questions, your honor.”

“Does the prosecution wish to question the witness?”

“No, however, we wish to inform the court that this witness was not properly and legally introduced into these proceedings by the defense.”

“You may step down Mr. Balog,” said the judge. “I would like to see both attorneys in my chambers.”

After about ten minutes, they returned.

The judge then announced to the court, ”I must inform the jury that Mr. Balog’s testimony will be stricken from the records.

If there are no more witnesses the trial lawyers will present their final summations, before the jury is excused for deliberation.”

The Fullers’ couldn’t believe what they had just heard — their only chance taken away on a technicality.

The jury exited after the final words by the two trial lawyers. It wasn’t thirty minutes before they reentered the court room.

The foreman of the jury was told to announce the verdict. It came as no surprise. The Fullers were found guilty of conducting an unlicensed business in an unsafe establishment, causing a debilitating injury to a paying patron.

The judge then said. “We will all return in one week’s time for the Penalty Phase portion of these proceedings.”

######

Judge Foster addressed the court room. “Basically, the penalty phase is the second part of a bifurcated trial, in which the jury hears evidence and then votes on what penalty or damages to impose.

Although only God knows what the fair punishment should be, and as imperfect as our justice system is, still it is all we have and we will abide by it. Twelve men and women have already decided on your guilt,” looking at the Fullers, “and now they will decide your penalty.”

Brad Langston claimed loss of income, particularly his inability to represent a millionaire client. He also claimed medical bills. His total settlement request was one and a half million dollars. The judge on the jury’s recommendation awarded a sum of 900 thousand dollars to the plaintiff. What wasn’t covered by insurance and assets would be taken from the Fullers future income.

John couldn’t believe it. What a mockery of justice this whole trial had been. Bess, being comforted by her daughter, was sobbing uncontrollably! She gathered herself to scream at Brad.

“You bastard, you’re faking, there’s nothing wrong with you! God will give us justice. You’ll see.”

Brad was all smiles as he hugged his attorney and looked over at Carol. She just looked down and shook her head in disgust.

######

The Fullers had nothing. All their assets, including their house, were seized. They couldn’t get their old jobs back. They had to move into a small apartment in a poor section of town.

Their kids helped them out some, but they couldn’t do much. They had their own families to take care of.

The Fullers had worked and saved all their lives for retirement and now a scheming lawyer had taken everything. They tried, but they were just too old to start over.

######

It was a Saturday morning when the Fullers’ son found them. He called 911 but it was apparent that they had been dead for several hours. The coroner ruled suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning.

Upon hearing the news, Carol Langston confronted her husband. Brad, who had recently made a miraculous recovery and was now walking without the aid of a cane, merely said, “Am I supposed to feel responsible?”

“Yes! There was never anything wrong with you. You were at the Florida Club. All those nights you came home late or not at all, you were out partying weren’t you?”

“So what if I was — don’t get any ideas. Remember, a wife can’t testify against her husband.”

“What you and your attorney did to those poor innocent people is beyond belief. I hope you rot in hell!”

Oh, lighten up — those old people only had a few years left anyway. You’re rich now. Why don’t you shut up and enjoy it.”

“You enjoy it. You know, what goes around comes around. I’m out of here. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

He didn’t need Carol. He had a prenuptial agreement. He wasn’t worried. There were too many women out there and he had plenty of money to spend. It was party, party, party every night of the week.

But on one particular night, he came home early. He wasn’t feeling well. He entered his house and just for an instance thought he detected a whiff of pine scent.

“Where did that come from? I don’t have any pine room- fresheners, I hate that smell.”

He forgot about it — took a shower, and went to bed. In the morning he felt unusually stiff in his neck and back. As the day wore on, it only got worse — aspirins seemed to have no effect.

He slept most of the day. When he arose, he found that he could barely walk, and only with his cane. And as the days progressed, his condition worsened.

His doctor gave him a thorough physical.

“I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good. Brad you have an accelerated case of rheumatoid arthritis. I have never seen a case quite like this before. About all I can do is to prescribe a pain killer.”

“But doctor I’ve always been healthy … “I mean except for that fall — you know.”

“Yes I do, and I also know what happened to those poor people.”

“That was their choice … there’s something else, though. I smell pine scent. I mean all the time, everywhere — constantly. Why?”

“Probably has a connection … you know smell is the number one sense for triggering a memory. Maybe a past quilt?”

“That sounds like a lot of crap to me, doc. What have I got to feel guilty about? Twelve men and women agreed with me — didn’t they?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time justice fell through the cracks.

“I don’t need your two cents. I’m out of here.”

######

Eventually, Brad was bed ridden. He couldn’t do the simplest of things. He required a full time nurse. As the smell of pine scent became stronger, his other senses weakened.

His condition continued to deteriorate. Soon, he was completely paralyzed. By all appearances he had become a vegetable. Although his mind remained as sharp as ever, he could no longer communicate.

Doctors told his parents that he was in good health —considering. He didn’t require life support and should live for a very long time. However, there was no chance for a recovery.

Lying there motionless, Brad Langston was to have plenty of time to reflect on his selfish, greed-inspired young life, and with every breath of air he would be reminded of the two lives he had destroyed.

“This soundless, black world — complete nothingness — is this to be my remaining existence? I have lost all of my senses, save one. Smell — cursed smell! The 24-7, sickening, ever strengthening stench of pine scent — I can’t stand it! Oh God, please help me, please, please…”