Hello? Anyone remember me?

Well, I remember all of you and a recent trip to jury duty mixed with pleas from long ago to attempt a modern tale has inspired me to write a new story! (There might have also been a personal challenge thrown in by the prosecuting attorney when she was quizzing me on my profession. I told her if she made the case interesting enough I'd see about making it into a novel like she requested).

But okay, okay, I also am writing an actual novel that will simply be published (a companion piece to A Nymph Without Mercy) and let's face it, I can't seem to go very long without hearing from all of you... so I hope you enjoy! Oh yes, but first...

DISCLAIMER: I am not a lawyer. I am not a judge. I am not a police officer. I am not a criminal. I am an avid watcher of many courtroom dramas and while I have done my best to research so as to maintain a degree of reality, please accept any mistakes with grace. Or if you have any of the above professions (hopefully not the criminal one) and would like to let me know how to improve things, feel free to do so! Just please do so kindly :)

I

The judge had told them that a jury was selected at random. No name was more likely to be called than another, yet since coming of age three years ago, Christine had been asked to appear twice. From the murmurs of the other people milling about in the tile and plaster waiting room, it seemed as if many were far older and were experiencing this particular courthouse for the very first time. Despite having already been through the process before, Christine could not help but feel nervous. A sheriff sidestepped an overweight gentleman, his gun and Taser prominently displayed on his belt.

Christine suppressed a shudder.

She smoothed her hands along her wool skirt, trying to calm her nerves. She had never had any particular dealings with the law, yet somehow being in the courthouse made her anxious. An elderly woman beside her placidly worked her wooden knitting needles, pink yarn perfectly interlocking into what appeared to be the beginnings of a cap for an infant.

A young man across from her jostled his leg impatiently; cell phone in hand, dinging obnoxiously as he evidently gathered points from his incessant tapping.

Christine glanced down at her watch. It was already half an hour passed their appointed time to appear, and in her mind she once again rehearsed her explanation why she should be dismissed. She could not postpone, not again, but she needed to be able to work. While her job might be secure, she barely earned enough waitressing to keep her small apartment, not to mention her reliance on a few of her meals each week coming from the sympathetic cooks who didn't seem to mind sneaking her tidbits on her break…

The little pamphlet in the mail had said that hardships were reason enough to be dismissed and she had to believe that the judge would be sympathetic. She had been relieved the last time when at the last moment the prosecution had thanked her for her service and allowed her to leave, her legs shaky and lip abused from the amount she had nibbled it while answering the questions the attorneys and judge had put forth.

A rather haggard looking woman appeared, a well-used clipboard in her hands with a thick stack of papers haphazardly contained by the straining metal.

Christine's winced when her name was called only third, but she tried to remind herself that all the sooner she would be heard and dismissed. Her stomach growled and she purposefully ignored it, meekly nodding at the bailiff who ushered her into the courtroom and pointed to the open seat in the jury box.

This courtroom was much larger than the one she had seen previously. The face of the prosecutor was grim, his desk kept impeccably neat, his stack of manila folders carefully aligned aside from one opened with twelve large sticky-notes empty and waiting to be used.

The judge was equally stern. Her previous experience had been with a cheerful woman, whose disposition and casual demeanor had at least managed to settle Christine's nerves to some degree, if not soothe them entirely.

This man exuded judicial authority, and she feared if she at all misspoke that the bailiff and his gun would be turned on her.

She swallowed.

She was being silly and she knew it, but that did not quiet her racing heart even as she watched the jury box fill with other people, wishing she could simply go home.

Her eyes strayed to the far table, noting the young man with the too large brown suit, his desk scattered and unkempt as he scribbled and shuffled papers. Although Christine considered herself a terrible evaluator of age, she guessed he could not possibly be long out of law school, just as fresh and green as she felt. How could anyone possibly want her to pass judgment on another? Surely the justice system should reconsider this entire process. Others, older, and far wiser than her own years and limited knowledge should be used to determine the guilt or innocence of a person.

"You ever been on a jury before?"

An older gentleman beside her smiled at her kindly, and she was afraid her own in return resembled more of a grimace. "No, and I hope not to today either."

He nodded. "Don't we all. I overheard the clerk saying that this is some big murder trial, expected to go on for weeks."

Christine blanched. "I don't have weeks!"

The man shrugged. "Can't say this is how I meant to spend my retirement, but I guess we've all got to make sacrifices when someone decides to go around hurting other people. Someone has to spend the time putting them away."

She shook her head and huddled further into her seat. No matter her trepidation, she would have to stand and explain why she needed to leave.

The rest of the occupants in the waiting room filed into the empty seats she supposed were reserved for spectators, and while the small room had been crowded, she now saw that there were far fewer reselections available than she had anticipated.

A small knot of dread formed in her stomach.

The judge gave one sharp whack of the gavel to quiet any lingering whispers. "Firstly, I'd like to thank those of you who answered the summons today, though it appears our options will be rather limited. You would think the possible fine and jail time would be enough incentive!" He glanced at the members of the room expectantly, as if waiting for a reaction. A few nervously laughed but little else.

"In case any of you were not aware, this is a criminal case, and a complex one at that. As such, we can expect for it to run a minimum of three weeks, and while I understand this can cause hardship in many cases, it is also an unfortunate necessity of any civilized society that its citizens perform this duty. It is a privilege to serve and I would hope that each and every one of you would put aside other responsibilities and embrace this call wholeheartedly."

He looked pointedly at each person currently in the jury box. "Now, would any of you like to tell me why you cannot possibly serve today?" The knot in her stomach made an uncomfortable twist.

She raised her hand at the same moment as no less than five others did also. Their reasons were perfectly reasonable, at least to her. Sick children, non-refundable vacations, injuries that made remaining seated an impossibility. Person after person exited the room, and finally the judge motioned for her to stand and give her reasoning.

She was used to talking with strangers. It was impossible not to when her living depended on the tips she acquired at the café, and she found the more personable she forced herself to be, the most generous the patrons became. But talking to a room full of important people, members of law enforcement and the justice system, left her shaky and uncomfortable. Christine took a steadying breath and tried to still her hands by clasping them firmly together.

"Um… I'm a waitress, you see, and I live by myself. If I can't work then I won't make rent and I'll have nowhere else to go."

The judge looked at her skeptically. "We adjourn for the day at four o'clock. Surely your manager can allow you to come in afterward."

Christine blushed, wishing everyone would stop looking at her. "I…"

"Miss, the law offers protections of employment during your service. You cannot be fired and I'm certain if you explain the situation to your boss that you will be given compensation. This is not forever, and you may not even be asked to fully serve. But I do not find that adequate cause for immediate dismissal."

She was not worried about losing her job, but merely being without a shift for however long the trial dragged on. Theirs was a special café, where the waiting staff took turns serenading the guests with segments of famous operas. While they always had a steady flow of customers, usually business executives who appreciated the ambiance of the establishment, shifts were given based on seniority… and talent.

While she loved to sing and thought that she had been incredibly lucky to find a job where she could do so, she would have to be there another three months to even begin to qualify.

But she sank down into the worn cushion obediently, hoping that something in her answers to the interview would prompt her release.

When it appeared that no one else would be asking for a dismissal, the judge announced that the defendant would be brought in. "I must ask that everyone prepare themselves. While I have yet to see the accused myself I have been told that his features can be rather… shocking to those unprepared for them." He eyed the potential jurors sternly. "By no means should his appearance influence your opinion of him. You are to base your decisions on the facts, not on his face."

He nodded to the bailiff who opened a door to the side of the courtroom and ushered a man fully dressed in black to the empty seat beside the frazzled looking lawyer. Despite the warning the judge had given, Christine still heard a few gasps throughout the room as… well… the ugliest man she had ever seen seated himself and stared blankly at the desk. He looked almost like death. His face was shrunken, his skin painfully thin and frail, his hair wisps of dark against the pallor of his flesh.

There was something seriously wrong with him.

It was not merely his features that left with such a strong impression, it was the way he carried himself and the vacancy of his expression. Did they drug him? Was he even fully aware of his surroundings? She supposed that a psychological evaluation must have been conducted that would allow a trial to take place, but even as she stared at his shocking face, she felt a moment's intense pity for the man they had all been summoned to evaluate.

The dread she felt magnified tenfold.

The judge cleared his throat and addressed the room. "While I find it doubtful given that there is no known record of this man existing, protocol dictates that I ask if any of you have a previous relationship with this man. His name is Erik, and I am given to understand that under normal circumstances he prefers to wear a mask."

Christine couldn't be sure but she thought she heard a mumbled, "Understandable," from the prosecutor. Something protective in her flickered to life. He could not help the way that he looked and for a moment she almost wished that she would be placed on this jury, if only to ensure that someone who would use his face against him would not taint the deliberations.

But then her stomach reminded her that food was a necessity, and she guiltily cast an apologetic look to the accused man. Not that he paid her any heed, his eyes never moving from the table before him. She knew she was rude for so openly staring at him, but she was incapable of diverting her attention as the judge prattled about the details of the case and introduced the attorneys.

Extortion.

Murder.

The man was tall; his suit, what little detail she could see from this distance, was of a fine quality. While she tried to think positively of people, she could now admit that some part of her generally believed that a person was only arrested for a reason—surely they had committed some misdeed to warrant their incarceration.

But this man… nothing about him appeared capable of violence. Even with his slumped posture she could see that he was terribly thin, his long fingers folded absently on the table did not seem like the kind that would commit murder.

She shook herself firmly. She did not know him. His face might inspire pity but that did not mean he was an innocent.

"Miss Daaé?"

She blinked and forced her attention away from the man and to the public defender who stood before the jury box. Where it belonged.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?"

The man smiled slightly, his face almost boyish. "You're very young, Miss Daaé. Do you think you would be able to judge my client based on the facts and evidence alone and not on his appearance?"

Her head tilted slightly as she processed his question, irritation growing. "Are you asking if I am vain? That I would think him guilty solely because of his… misfortune?"

His eyebrow quirked. "Do you?"

Her lips thinned and she could not help but glance at the defendant once again, not liking that they were speaking of him as if he was not fully present in the room. He might seem detached, but this felt… rude and almost cruel in a way. More than ever she wanted to leave. "He is only a man. If he has committed some crime then he should be… held responsible, but there'd have to be… evidence." She hated the way her voice shook. She believed what she said, but everyone was peering at her—all except the eyes of the man whose fate was to be in the hands of twelve of his peers.

The attorney before her smiled, and she realized that underneath his longish hair and unfortunate suit he was rather attractive, though knowing that only made her blush and glance down at her twiddling thumbs. "One more question Miss Daaé. You said that you were worried about your job. Do you think that if you were selected for this jury that you could put aside your personal conveniences and focus on providing this man with your full attention?"

She grimaced, hating the way her attempt at protecting her livelihood had been perceived by the professionals in the room. Was it so wrong to desire a warm place to sleep and food in her belly?

"I would do my best."

The man nodded before turning his enquires to the other people around her.

She glanced down at her wrist to check the time only to feel the prickly feeling of being watched. Christine looked up quickly but no one seemed to pay her much attention. She took a calming breath and hoped they would break soon for lunch. Despite her limited resources she would definitely need to scrounge up enough money for at least a little something to eat.

Lodging was expensive in the city, but that was where work was to be found so regardless of how she wished she could save and watch her bank account grow each month, instead she spent most of her earnings on the shabby flat and what little remained went toward bus fare to and from work, and lastly to groceries.

Things had not been much better when her father was still alive.

The prosecutor replaced the young lawyer before them, and thankfully this time she realized he was speaking to her before he had to repeat himself. "Miss Daaé, it says on your questionnaire that both of your parents are dead. What was the nature of their deaths?"

Her eyes widened, never imagining that she would have to speak about their deaths amongst strangers. The questionnaire had asked about any unexpected deaths that she had experienced and she realized now they were referring to murder—probably not wanting to taint the jury with people who had personally experienced something of a similar nature to what they were to evaluate.

"My papa said that my mother died when I was very young. Something about a complication from a miscarriage." She shrugged, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Speaking about her mother's death had always brought such sadness to her father and eventually she had stopped pressing for more details and accepted that there had been no more mother and baby brother. It would just be her and her papa from then on.

"Um… my father was…killed by a drunk driver five years ago." A lump formed in her throat, and she blinked rapidly as she tried to keep her composure. Even now she remembered being home alone as she waited for her father to return home. He played with a symphony and while it did not pay overly well, they had wanted for little and she was proud of him for doing something he loved.

But then there had been a knock on the door, and she remembered how shakily she had called out, "Who's there?" before opening it to the police officer who looked at her with such sympathy.

She pushed away the memories resolutely. It did no good to dwell on it.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Miss Daaé, but I'm afraid I must ask you a few questions about your experience. Was the driver ever located?"

She swallowed thickly. "He was."

"And do you feel that justice was carried out? Were you satisfied with the trial and his prosecution?"

In reality, she did not have much to do with the trial, nor did she have much knowledge as to what had transpired. After she had identified the body of her beloved father she had… lost herself… for a time. People talked to her, offered condolences, and she may have even attended the trial. All she remembered was the ache within her chest, the desperation to be back in the little apartment where she was loved and not fostered in the group home where she spent the final two years of her childhood.

But what she did know was that the man was in jail and that was enough for her. It did nothing to make the pain lessen, but she supposed overall she was grateful that he could not hurt anyone else.

Christine took a deep breath. "I don't know much about the trial itself. That was a very… difficult time for me. But I suppose overall, yes, I don't have any complaints."

Except that the only family she had was still gone, and no verdict could ever return them to her.

"We all have past experiences that obviously will influence our ability to reason, but overall would you say that you could be a fair and impartial juror?"

She sighed. She should simply say she couldn't be and then she would be dismissed and she could go back to her life. But instead she found that the lie died on her lips as her eyes met black where surely eyes should have been, the defendant looking up from the table for the first time—and staring directly at her.

"Yes."

The day dragged on with some members being dismissed and more questions being asked in a repetitive manner that she thought at one point she might scream. She overheard the bailiff telling the elderly woman with the knitting needles that it was cheaper to go farther away from the courthouse, so Christine went as far as she dared with only the hour allotted to them.

She now had $3.62 less in her wallet, but at least her stomach had ceased its protestations and she found that she could focus more easily and her emotions were better in check. She still resented being asked such personal questions, but at least she only felt the usual amount of hurt when thinking about her papa and the tears did not spring so readily to her eyes.

Five years may have passed, but she did not think she was any closer to healing. Not really.

The walk also helped her work out the kinks from remaining seated for so long. She was used to standing and scurrying about for work, and while she usually might have enjoyed the reprieve, she was too stiff and uneasy to fully relax in her seat.

"You have a good lunch? There's a good Mexican place on 5th if you get selected; were real speedy with the enchiladas."

Christine smiled wanly at the man beside her. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

The afternoon continued on much like had the morning, until finally the onlookers dwindled and the attorneys were asked to make their final selections. Each time they uttered a name for dismissal Christine held her breath, waiting for them to realize she was too young, too inexperienced, and definitely too unwilling to be seriously considered.

Until the prosecutor stated he was satisfied with the selections, and the judge turned to the defense.

"Mr. Chagny? Have you any further objections?"

The man swallowed and riffled through a few more papers before glancing once more at the jury box. "No, your honor."

The judge nodded. "Excellent. Then I thank our jury for their service today. Testimony will begin promptly at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, and I suggest you all be on time. Court is in recess until then."

Christine sat stunned for a moment as the rest of the jurors began to file out.

"Miss? You can leave now." The younger of the two bailiffs that had alternated during the day stood before her, a soft smile on his lips. She resolutely pushed away the tears that threatened and stood wearily, casting one final glance at the defendant before proceeding through the back of the courtroom doors.

He was still looking at her, and she didn't know how she felt about that.

But she didn't have time to dwell on such things now, instead she needed to speak to her manager and beg him to allow her a few night shifts, just until the trial was over.

Otherwise they were going to need to make use of those alternates they so carefully selected, as there was no way she could last a month without work.

She only prayed that he would be understanding.

Sooo... looks like Christine is in need of some monies now that she was selected! For those unfamiliar with the American system, you do get a small stipend for jury duty but it doesn't come right away so it's not very helpful for those who need consistent funds. Also, who thinks it strange that Raoul is Erik's defense attorney? I just couldn't help myself...

Also, I had not realized how used to using British spellings I had gotten since writing medieval and historical stories. For me it just seemed to fit the period better and now that things are modern and firmly set in America (siiiigh... I miss sweet biscuits already...), I have to force myself to spell things differently! Ah well, I'll stop complaining.

I love reviews and getting to know my readers better so always feel free to contact me! Even just a hidey ho is much appreciated :)