So, I was thinking…how could I tie this song into a fic about Max without making him a merciless, cold-blooded murder?
That's what I did. The silver hammer, as you will see, is not necessarily a hammer, and I'll tell you that Max does not directly and/or intentionally kill anyone.
Oh yeah, try not to take my courtroom happenings too literally. I based it off of my knowledge from "Law and Order." xD
I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
--
Joan wasn't his fault, but he still felt horrendously guilty. She was studious, responsible, grounded, everything he was not. She gave him a sense of reality, and he loosened her up. She helped him study for his Med 101 class, and he took her out to Princeton's hottest bar (ok, so hottest bar is a little overstated, but it was the nicest one in the college town). They were both so unique that they fit together like pieces of an odd puzzle.
Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical
Science in the home
Late nights all alone with her test tube
Oh-oh-oh-oh.
Being so handy with tools, he had come to her sorority house one night to fix the front door. He hated working the dark, it was impossible to see anything he was hammering, but Joan had pleaded the house was starting to become uncomfortably chilly. So there he was, hammering away at eight in the evening, ready to take Joan out to a movie after he was done, though his hair and palms were slick with sweat.
Maxwell Carrigan, majoring in medicine
Calls her on the phone
"Can I take you out to the pictures, Jo-o-o-oan?"
This is why when she came out to talk with him, the hammer slipped from his hands, spiraling downwards to the ground. He had yelled her name and "Fuck!" but to no avail.
But as she's getting ready to go,
A knock comes on the door.
The tool landed smartly on top of her head, and she crumpled like a puppet getting its strings cut off. He jumped off the ladder instantly, and rushed over to her, praying she was alright, but felt sick as he ran his hands through the dark waves that were now matted in deep, scarlet blood.
She didn't make it through the night.
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's Silver Hammer came down upon her head.
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's Silver Hammer made sure she was dead.
--
Mrs. Edison wasn't completely his fault, either. His great dislike for her probably didn't help the situation, however. If all of the strict, stick-up-their-ass professors in Princeton (which was laughably most of them) got together and formed a clan, she would be the queen of them. She was a real hard-ass, no tolerance for any sort of fooling around.
"I worked and did not sleep for ten years to get this job, and I'm not going to let any of you mess that up," she said much too often.
So you can imagine her reaction when he stumbled into Med 101 late one morning, hung over as ever and a freshly lit joint hanging loosely out of his mouth. She stopped her lecture and glowered at him through her pointed, devil red glasses, not saying a word until he plopped into his seat.
"Mr. Carrigan, you realize this is your fourth tardy in this class?"
He shrugged indifferently, starting to absently flip through his textbook.
"And that this is your second time arriving to class under the influence of alcohol?"
"Hung over, actually. There is a difference," he said courteously, running a hand through his androgynous, ever-growing mop of blonde hair.
"And that I received a notice not 15 minutes ago that you were spotted defacing campus property by shooting golf balls through windows?!" she inquired shrilly.
"Oh, was that your window?" he asked in mock surprise. Ms. Edison's beet red face revealed that it was, indeed, her window. The class tittered nervously behind him, but was immediately silenced by the look she sent all of them.
Back in school again, Maxwell plays the fool again
Teacher gets annoyed
Wishing to avoid an unpleasant sce-e-e-ene.
She took a moment to gain her composure, and walked over to him slowly.
"Mr. Carrigan…" she started calmly. "May I remind you that you attend Princeton University…the most prestigious school in the country…and I do realize that you are here only because of Mommy and Daddy's money; however, I suggest if you consider remaining in this school that you stop acting like a damned fool!"
She seized the joint out of his mouth and threw to the ground, stomping it to bits with her spiky heels. Before turning back to her class, she smirked sadistically and placed a bony hand on his desk, inching as close as she dared to his face.
"I hope you don't have any plans this evening…or the evenings for the next couple weeks."
"I have a shit load of English homework-"
"Oh, you're not doing so well in that class either, mm? Well, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do."
He opened his mouth to protest, but only scowled and huffed when he realized there was no use. Shit, his dad was going to kill him. He'd barely scraped by last semester, and let's just say he didn't exactly receive a care package from his parents. It also didn't help that Lucy, beautiful, perfect Lucy, was finishing out her senior year in the top ten of her class, and was most likely heading here or some other Ivy League next year. Shit, having her here would be great, but horrendous at the same time. He missed her like crazy but there'd be no way he could compete with her scholarly ways.
Ms. Edison's piercing voice spitting his name angrily interrupted his thoughts. He grudgingly opened his text book and notebook, but only doodled for the rest of the class.
Normally, he wouldn't have bothered coming back later that night. However, he was just on the edge of making it through the class with a passing grade, so he was in desperate need for those points.
She tells Max to stay when the class has gone away,
So he waits behind
Writing fifty times "I must not be so-o-o-o."
As he lay out sprawled on the couch in his fraternity house, he wistfully watched his friends gather up their beers, golf clubs, and golf balls.
"You coming, man?" asked Bill. Max sighed and scowled.
"Can't. Edison's making me stay after and make up some stuff. If I miss, I fail her class for sure."
"Shit…that sucks…" he trailed off, not dwelling on the somber mood for too long. "Can I borrow your club? The silver one?"
"Yeah, I don't care. Just don't fuck with it too much. I don't think Dad's realized I took his clubs…" Max responded with a hint of a grin.
"Thanks. Sorry about Edison," Billy said as he grabbed the clubs, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and headed out with the other guys.
He groaned as he glanced at the clock, realizing he better head out, too. He grabbed his coat and his old corduroy cap and left.
When he arrived in classroom, Mrs. Edison looked up expectantly at him, hiding the wicked smirk twitching at her lips. She pointed to the desk in front of her, to which he collapsed into it. She dug through her drawers, pulling out a thick book of worksheets, and threw it onto his desk.
"All of those problems better be at least attempted in the next two hours," she stated firmly.
"Mrs. Edison, really-"he started, but the look she sent him shut him up. He rolled his eyes and turned to his work.
The minutes ticked by, and Max's brain started to swim. It wasn't like he didn't know how to do the problems; when he made the "responsible" decision and paid attention in class, he would ace the tests. But he hadn't paid attention in months, and he got about halfway through most of the problems and became stuck. No way he was going to ask Mrs. Edison for help either. At one point, he gave a grunt of frustration when he simply could not figure out a problem.
"Having issues, Mr. Carrigan?" inquired Mrs. Edison, voice dripping with sugary sweet hostility.
"No…not at all," he said through clenched teeth. She shook her head and tsked a little.
"Well, I'm impressed. The class hasn't even learned some of the material in that book."
He looked up at her dubiously. "Are you saying I'm doing problems that I don't…shouldn't know how to do?"
She gave an indifferent shrug, giggled in a way that she never did, and turned back to her work. He could not believe this. He understood she hated him; he hated her just as much as she hated him. But did she have to make his life more of a living hell? It would be easier for both of them if they would at least leave each other alone when they didn't have to see each other.
The smash of glass and a painful yelp broke him out of his reverie. Looking up, he saw that the window behind his teacher had been smashed, and that she was no longer sitting in her chair. He got up from his desk, confused, and peeked around the other side.
His striking azure eyes widened. She was…dead. Or pretty damn close. A scarlet pool was flowing from the side of her head, and she wasn't moving at all. Awkwardly, he moved over to her and bent down. He had the feeling he should be calling the proper authorities at the moment, however, even if she was still alive, she wouldn't be by the time they got here.
Something must have come through the window and hit her hard and fast on the head. He looked around for the murder weapon, and eventually found a small, white golf ball streaked with blood. He held it in his hands, incredulous.
"Huh." was all he could say. Finally, he made his way over to the emergency phone and called the school police.
But when she turns her back on the boy,
He creeps up from behind…
"Did you hear about Edison? Shit…" commented Max to Billy as he finally arrived home after being thoroughly examined and questioned. He collapsed heavily into the couch, shaking his head.
"Erm…yeah, pretty horrible…." he responded warily, rubbing the back of his neck. Max had come to know that he did this whenever he was particularly nervous about something.
"Bill, what's your problem, man?" Bill shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor.
"Well, it's ah….it's nothing."
"Don't you fuck with me. What's up?" Max inquired casually, thinking it was something stupid or irrelevant.
"Well…did you…did you see what killed her?" he said, voice cracking ever so slightly.
"Yeah, it was golf…ball." The blonde's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Was that you? You killed Edison?"
"Not on purpose! I was tryin' out your club, and well…the ball went a little father than I expected," he babbled anxiously. Max exhaled deeply.
"Shit, man…are you gonna come clean?"
"I don't know." Billy fell into the space next to his friend, dropping his head into his hands and sighing. The wheels in Max's head instantly began to turn, and he sat up thoughtfully.
"Well…" he began. "You didn't do on purpose or anything…"
"Right."
"And you had no way of knowing where Edison was even located, if there's any doubt. I mean, you don't have any classes with her this year."
"Yeah…"
"And…it's not illegal to have a short game of golf on top of the roof, is it? The window was a complete and total accident."
"Oh, of course."
"So…I think you're covered, man." Max gave him a pat on the back, got up from the couch, and began to make his way into the small kitchen for a beer. When he came back into the room, Bill looked up at him, still a bit shaken.
"Should I tell anyone?" he asked.
"No," Max replied almost instantly. "Those backups are only needed if they ask questions. Don't ask, don't tell." He took a long, casual swig from his beer and sat back down on the couch. After staring up into space for a while, he muttered "Damn…"
"What?"
"Oh, I just can't wait to tell Dad that his favorite club was an indirect murder weapon."
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's Silver Hammer came down upon her head
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's Silver Hammer made sure she was dead.
--
"Ladies and gentleman of the jury, this is Case # 436 in the case of the People vs. Carrigan. Mr. Carrigan has been called to the stand on the count of treason."
These ones were his fault and they definitely didn't occur from a tool slipping out his hands or his club doing its job, and he'd never felt so terrible in his entire life. It didn't matter whether he was found guilty or not. His choices at this point were a 6x4 cell for life or to be considered mentally insane and put in a psyche ward. Both were prisons in his head, and he was losing hope fast at any chance of freedom.
Vietnam had twisted his mind into an incoherent mess. He wouldn't say he went delirious; any United States soldier could tell you they went through the exact same thing. Of course, he was sure those soldiers didn't turn on their own troops. When he first started doing it, he didn't know. The "enemy," as the lieutenants called it, was an unknown force at that point. One day, it could be ruthless Vietcong. Another day, it could be helpless and fleeing citizens.
P.C. Thirty One says "we've got a dirty one."
Maxwell stands alone
Painting testimonial pictures, oh, oh, oh, oh.
Muffled yelling outside the courtroom brought him out of his reverie. A smile tugged at his lips. Rose and Valerie, two girls he had met not too long ago. They were an odd trio, that's for sure; he was surprised that neither of them minded he was seeing someone else at the same time. But if he'd had a hard day's night, or his friends were just bugging the shit of them, beautiful and quiet little Rose and sexy, vivacious Valerie were always there. Even when he was at his worst, there they were.
Rose and Valerie
Screaming from the gallery
Say he must go free, "Maxwell must go free!"
The doors to the courtroom burst open, and the two of them walked in arm and arm, bundled from head to toe due to the frigid temperatures.
"Who are these women?" stated the judge angrily. Max's defense attorney sighed and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
"They would be the witnesses, your Honor. I apologize for this disruption."
"I'll let it slide…please sit down, Miss…?"
"McCartney," responded Valerie, tossing long, platinum blonde curls over her shoulder. She elbowed Rose impatiently, who was cowering behind her. Rose cleared her throat, brushed her shocking red hair out of her face, then stepped forward.
"Lennon…Miss Lennon," she said quietly. The two of them sat on the bench behind Max and his attorney. Nudging him with her foot to get his attention, Valerie flashed him a bright smile, which he returned weakly.
Valerie was probably the most opinionated person he knew, and she was not afraid to speak her mind. She vaguely reminded him of his sister, although Lucy would not walk around the city topless and get herself arrested for protesting the war. Despite her extroverted state of mind, she was a master of persuasion. Yes, her striking appearance certainly helped the situation. But she spoke with such eloquence that Max almost wished that she was his defense attorney instead of the careless bastard he got stuck with.
Rose was similar, but opposite at the same time. She shared the same strong opinions that Valerie did, but she kept them locked inside her head. She was quiet, and would do everything in her power to be as polite as possible. However, that did not mean she was a doormat. If someone had the audacity to say something that hit a nerve, she would calmly, but firmly defend herself.
The trial wore on, with Valerie and Rose giving wonderful testimonies.
"Sure, there were times when Max was really down, and he would be in this horrible trance you couldn't get him out of," Valerie started.
"What would he do if you tried to help him out?"
"It depends...sometimes he would completely ignore you, and other times he would yell at you and force you to leave you alone."
"Physical force?"
"Sometimes."
"How violent, Miss McCartney?"
"Depends."
"...either way, that sounds pretty harsh. Aren't you two and Miss Lennon very close?"
"Yes."
"So, why would he react this way to people so close to him?"
"He's acting like any person who was forced over there. Those are the symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, are they not?"
"Well, I've heard of nightmares and seclusion, but not physical violence."
Valerie bit her lip thoughtfully, then swilved towards the judge. "Your Honor, may I ask the prosecution a question?"
"I'll allow it."
"Now, Mr...?"
"Desmond."
"Mr. Desmond, did you have the...privilege to serve your country in the Vietnam War?" she asked carefully, though she spat "privelage" with sarcastic venom.
"I did not."
"Did you have any family members serve in the war?"
"No."
Valerie nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Right...that's all. Thank you, your Honor and of course to you, Mr. Desmond."
It took all of Max's strength not to smile. Rose's testimony was good, too, but there was no beating Valerie's. Together, the two had given him a shred of hope that possibly he would get out of this unscathed.
That shred of hope was dimming, however, as he was inquired mercilessly by the prosecution.
"You killed four innocent, American boys when you fired that gun!" the prosecutor shouted.
"I know! I know!" Max exclaimed.
"So, you admit it then."
He buried his face in his hands desperately. "Look…I never denied that I did it, alright?"
The courtroom fell silent. Lucy gripped Jude's hand tightly as they sat in the audience, feeling tears coming to her eyes as the outcome of her brother's trial did not look promising. Jude wished he could say something reassuring; he had been all week. But he was starting to wonder if there was no hope for his best friend.
"So…" The prosecutor began to pace. "Why did you do it?"
"I…I don't know-"
"Would you say you were not in the right state of mind?"
"Objection, your Honor!" exclaimed Valerie, standing up. "Prosecution is inquiring leading questions."
"Be that as it may, you are not Mr. Carrigan's defense attorney, Miss McCartney," the judge reprimanded sternly. "Any more outbursts from you and you will be sent out immediately."
"Question is withdrawn, your Honor," said the prosecutor, resuming his pacing steps. "Now, Mr. Carrigan, I'll restate my previous question…was there any reason to you firing on your own troops?"
He paused and collected his thoughts. "Well…I…I definitely didn't do it on purpose. We were in the field and we had just been ambushed. I sent my brigade out in front of me, but a couple bombs went off right next to us….Everyone dropped, and I heard shots fired, so I fired too…it was an accident."
"Oh, really? My witness stated that you were still shooting relentlessly as they begged you to stop, and that it took three soldiers and lieutenant to take you down!"
"I thought they were the enemy!" he shouted angrily, rising out of his seat. "Nobody knew who the enemy was anyway, and it's not like you could see the color of their uniforms through all that fucking ash..."
"You expect the jury to believe that you did not recognize the voices of your own platoon?!"
"I didn't! I didn't!"
The prosecutor paused in his rampage for a moment, pacing slowly across the hardwood floor. "So, Mr. Carrigan...Sergeant Carrigan, actually, am I correct?"
"Yeah, yeah, that's right," Max said through clenched teeth.
"Sergeant Carrigan...you are telling me that after fighting and living along side these soldiers...your friends, no doubt...you could not recognize their own pleas of mercy?"
"No. I couldn't."
There was a long, tension-filled pause before the prosecutor murmured "Nothing further, your Honor." and returned to his seat. Max's defense attorney had a dubious look plastered on his face, and Rose was trying hard to suppress a triumphant grin. Valerie, on the other hand, looked skeptical. Max knew she had good reason to be. This prosecutor would not simply give up that easy...and must have something else up his sleeve.
And sure enough, as the defense and the prosecution gave their closing remarks, this is what he said:
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm sure you are all wondering why, while questioning the accused, I stopped where I did. Let me tell you. Sergeant Maxwell Carrigan may not be a cold-blooded murderer, but he is definitely insane. How could someone in a right state of mind not recognize the screams of their own platoon, especially when he's led them for God knows how long? This man needs help. It will take your decision to help him or not."
The deliberating took hours, but it felt more like days. Max tried many times to look over at his distressed sister and offer up a smile, but he could never quite catch her eye. Finally, finally, the gentlemen of the jury filed slowly back into the courtroom and took their seats.
"Has the jury reached a verdict?" asked the judge.
"We have, your Honor."
"On the sole count of treason, how do you find the defendant?"
"Not guilty, your Honor, but with the reasoning that he was mentally insane."
"Maxwell Carrigan, you are to be sent to New York psychiatric ward for treatment at once. The doctors there will determine your length of your stay."
The judge does not agree, and he tells them so-o-o-o…
Max's heart stopped. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't fucking believe it. He was literally going to lose his mind in that place. How could he explain further to the judge, the jury, everyone that he wasn't insane? Of course now, he was starting to think he was.
Particularly when the next few events happened. Rose, who had started to sob and was exiting the courtroom, whirled around, straight, fiery hair splaying out behind her. She ran up to the defendant's stand, grabbed Max's M16, which had been used as evidence, and pointed it at the judge, who's back was turned. Everyone gasped and Valerie started to scamper towards her, but by the time she got there it was too late. A single shot rang out and the judge fell to the ground.
But as the words are leaving his lips, a noise comes from behind…
The room erupted into chaos. Rose was instantly taken into custody, her face expressionless and not fighting the forceful arms of the police. Valerie followed behind her, slack-jawed and sharing dubious glances with him. Now things were starting to get weird. How could shy, quiet little Rosie mercilessly kill a judge?
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's Silver Hammer came down upon his head.
Bang! Bang! Maxwell's Silver Hammer made sure that he was dead.
She caught his eye as she was escorted out of the building, and mouthed, that sweet, innocent look returning to her face "I love you."
Silver Hammer Man
So, the second verse was definitely my favorite one to write.
This isn't my best piece of work, I'll admit, but I still hope you liked it.
I was originally going to have Max convicted of murder, but there wasn't enough evidence to prove that, so you'll have to settle for mentally insane.
Please review and critical ones are welcome (but please, no flames).