In Defense of Guilt Page 2

  Lauren interrupted, “You don’t have a body, you mor—” She barely held her tongue. “And, you do not have a single witness.”

  “Your Honor, it is reasonable to assume the victim.”

  “What victim? You have not proved there is one!”

  Judge Howell figuratively stepped between them. “Hey, hey. Both of you. Cease.”

  Bradley interrupted, but Judge Howell did not let him continue.

  “Did you hear what I said, Mr. Bradley? I said, enough.”

  Pushing her luck, Lauren interjected.

  “Your Honor, the district attorney has not established a timeline nor introduced concrete, unrefuted evidence when the alleged act took place. Without such, how can he start to make a case—”

  “Save it for the appeal, counsel. You know and I know those propellers chopped the girl into fish food,” Bradley injected.

  “Enough. I am going to say this for the last time. Either one of you opens your mouths again before I make a ruling and I will slap you with contempt. Do I make myself clear?”

  Both attorneys acquiesced in silence.

  “Excellent.” After an intense beat, Judge Howell took her hand away from the mic and sat back. “Objection sustained.” She slammed her gavel with a hard crack.

  Steaming mad, Bradley marched briskly back to his chair where he nearly collided with his colleagues. Huddled together as if it were fourth and goal on their opponent’s one-yard line, the three of them plotted their next move.

  Lauren remained at the bench. “Is there anything else, counselor?” the judge asked.

  Lauren stood in silence, staring straight ahead as if mesmerized.

  “Counselor?”

  Standing awkwardly, Lauren saw before her not the robed Judge Susan Howell, nor an ordinary bench in a Los Angeles courthouse, but a kingly throne of solid gold decorated with the finest and largest gems. Lauren squinted to make out a bearded male figure dressed in the purest and brightest white robe.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lauren scanned her foreign environment, trying to decide whether this was an elaborate, twisted hoax or if she had somehow lost her mind. The throne room appeared immense. There were no walls or ceiling. Instead, in every direction, the floor beneath her shined bright, vivid green swirls, like an emerald sea of glass. The ground stirred with the slightest movement of Lauren’s feet, sending the intricate configurations in motion.

  “Lauren.” He softly called her name.

  In royal regalia sat the omnipotent Creator of the known and unknown universe. Looking indeed like a mighty and just ruler, the Supreme Deity wore a crown of pure gold adorned with vibrant gemstones of various shapes and sizes, each more brilliant than the last. Its weight and size alone could easily snap the neck of the strongest Olympic athlete.

  Equally impressive was His form-fitting breastplate, which must have been fashioned from pure gold. Polished to a glorious sheen, it hurt Lauren’s eyes to gaze upon it. And on His feet, he wore sandals etched in bronze with straps so thick they seemed immovable.

  His sword was most outstanding. Tightly fastened to His waist, the weapon too was intricately etched with swirls and fancy lettering and covered in the finest of diamonds and jewels.

  “Lauren.” He called her name again.

  In sync with the sound of His voice, seven leaf-shaped lamps of gold lit the throne room. They had neither light bulbs nor connecting cords to a power source of any kind. The holy light appeared to be originating from within the lamps themselves.

  “Lauren.” The Almighty’s voice now echoed through the room.

  Closing her eyes, Lauren hesitantly turned away from the bench. This must be a dream. She saw the courtroom frozen in time: Bradley huddled with his two assistants, Maze wrestling to open a bag of M&M’s, and juror number three finishing sneezing. All humanity within the crowded room remained in a perpetual state of suspended animation. Rubbing her forehead, Lauren whispered, “I must be working way too hard.”

  “There is no reason to be scared.”

  With buckling knees, Lauren turned to face the Almighty.

  “Do you not recognize who is speaking?”

  “Judge Howell?” Lauren said, dismayed and confused by the unnatural—no, supernatural—surroundings. “Your Honor?”

  “Whom are you calling, child?”

  “Child?” Lauren appeared stunned.

  He gazed upon her with the deepest affection.

  “Who? What?”

  “I AM. It is I.”

  Looking again at her unfamiliar yet glorious surroundings, Lauren stepped back. Her brain finally responded to this improbable situation. She had to escape. Vacate at once. But to where? Frightened, she stuttered, “How—”

  “How? Am I not the God who created all things great and small, seen and unseen? I am He. Do I not control time? Molecular space. The spaces between space, and . . . “ He gestured behind her. “Behold, this courtroom.”

  Waiting patiently for Him to speak volumes of knowledge and wisdom, twenty-four elders sat in the throne room around a richly grained table crafted from a single piece of carved lumber. Their wrinkled brows and long, snowy beards adorned their chins. Each wore dazzling white robes and gold sashes similar to their Father’s. Their gold and jeweled breastplates shined with luminescence brighter than the noonday sun. Their swords too were of spectacular beauty.

  With the elders singing harmonious praises to the One, Lauren stood soundlessly before them. “Impossible,” she deducted. She shook her head, unable to comprehend. A few feet in front of her, a fly stopped in midflight and remained suspended.

  “Let me help you. So you may believe. Come closer.”

  The elders became silent. In that instant, the elaborate, kingly raiment God wore was replaced with apparel more befitting modern times. His robe changed to a buttoned shirt creased on each sleeve. The breastplate was now a tasteful black tie with a plain, shiny silver tie clasp. His sandals too were gone, replaced with high-end, dark leather shoes polished to a military shine. No crown. No sword. Nothing imposing or intimidating whatsoever.

  “Is this satisfactory?”

  Lauren now saw a man in his mid-fifties, pleasant and unassuming. Indeed, He appeared flesh and bone, but He remained a complex pattern of flesh and aura. A radiant brilliance originated solely from and through Him. God never ceased being God, never lost his commanding presence. Lauren found herself responding to his magnetic spirit.

  “Focus, Lauren.” And with a smooth, fluid movement, He tapped an index finger against his lower lip. “Come forward, my child.”

  He called me “my child?” Disbelieving, she ignored the command. Instead, she fixated on her pounding head. All her usual confidence had deserted her: she was as tongue-tied before Him as a one-l law student before a Supreme Court justice. She had to be imagining this. She didn’t like to think that the mind of a shark like her could suddenly plunge into delusional fantasy, but the alternative was even more terrifying. Yet she felt compelled to heed God’s divine will, even if it was just the result of an overactive brain in the throes of insanity.

  “Maybe if I shut my eyes for just a moment, I’ll—”

  “Concentrate, Lauren. When you were four, and your mother gave you a can of spray string?”

  That wasn’t quite right. If He had told the story accurately, Lauren would have stayed silent, but His (intentional?) inaccuracy left her compelled to correct Him. “Silly String.”

  “Yes. Silly String. She let you spray her.”

  “And I laughed so hard I had to go to the hospital,” she remembered.

  “Only laughter was not the reason you were taken there.”

  Lauren did not respond.

  “Your appendix ruptured.”

  “Yes. But how did you know? How did you know?”

  “It’s what it means to be All-Knowing.”

  Lauren stiffened. Dear God, she thought.

  “I heard that,” He said.

  Sitting back, He smiled. Just
then, a creature flapping the most beautiful four wings swooped down—its body in the likeness of a lion; its head that of an eagle. The being landed and moved upright on feet similar to man. But instead of talons, the creature displayed six toes at the end of thick, meaty legs.

  Walking toward God, the being bowed low and presented Him a beautifully etched crystal glass filled with an unrecognizable concoction. But unlike the light red colors of strawberry, raspberry, or tomato, the drink appeared a darker, rich maroon, the shade of cherry or pomegranate, but with the consistency of a milkshake.

  “A taste, my dear?” He gestured toward Lauren. “It is quite delicious, I assure you.”

  Although curious, Lauren shook her head. “No.”

  “Your choice.” He signaled His indifference, sipping from the chalice. He then turned to Lauren.

  She gasped. Six eyes, three on each side of His head, blinked randomly as the Being moved toward her. Lauren stepped back.

  “Are you frightened, my child?”

  Just then, the creature spread its wings and took flight. Speechless, Lauren watched it gracefully ascend, trying to track its path. Taking another sip from the glass, He again waved his index finger, motioning Lauren to step forward.

  Gazing upon the ornate throne and its occupant, Lauren took a moment to compose herself. “You. You are God—God, God!”

  He grinned. “Now you truly see Me?”

  Lauren nodded mutely.

  “And you can hear Me. Yes?”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Ah, but will you listen to Me?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Placing her trembling hand against her tightened brow, Lauren tried to distinguish reality from fantasy. Feeling a pressure building in her scalp, she dreaded the arrival of her greatest weakness; migraines brought a crippling, pull-the-shade-and-leave-me-alone pain that often left her in tears.

  God sensed Lauren’s discomfort building. But He had an important, if not life-altering message to convey to her that was far more important than the inconvenience of a tension headache. He had the pain of an entire universe resting upon His shoulders. Her discomfort was inconsequential. Still, sensing her misery, and being merciful and compassionate, God decided it best to alter the course of the conversation slightly.

  “Why are you fretting over trivial things, Lauren? What has prevented you from understanding the truth?”

  The Almighty did not measure time. A day. A month. A thousand years. What did a few extra ticks of the clock matter? Had he not stopped the Earth from rotating on its invisible but assured axis? Hadn’t He resisted annihilating man’s home and all living things residing upon it? God controlled every moment, every nanosecond of time. And He controlled the present conversation with Lauren.

  She tried to focus, but her headache pounced. As she squinted into the heavenly light, it became more difficult for her to concentrate.

  “Your migraine. Does it not confirm this it is in fact real?” He gestured to the expanse of the vastness of His heavenly throne room. “Have you ever had one of them in your dreams?”

  Come to think of it—no. Several times she had had troubling nightmares and had awakened with a painfully stiff neck she assumed to have been caused by falling asleep in an awkward, uncomfortable position. But during the dream itself? Surely not.

  Lauren mused. How is it I have never questioned it before? How did He know I even had a headache? Ever the one to use deductive reasoning even under the most stressful circumstances, Lauren tried to rationalize despite the pounding inside her head. Maybe, just maybe, I’m imagining this. Perhaps God is not seated before me and exists just within my tortured mind.

  “So you still struggle to believe?” God raised His right hand almost unnoticeably off the armrest.

  If not for His words accompanying the smallest of gestures, a mere flick of his finger, Lauren would have thought nothing more of it. But the minuscule movement by the Almighty seemed purposeful. In a flash, her throbbing headache vaporized without the slightest evidence it ever existed.

  “You do work too hard, Lauren.”

  Relieved that the pulsing sensation was now gone, Lauren gently touched her forehead.

  “You are not getting enough oxygen to the most vital of organs, the brain with which I endowed you. I can touch the blood vessels in your brain and feel them constricting.”

  “Touch?” He can touch my blood vessels?

  “Yes!” God beamed and answered Lauren’s unspoken thoughts. “What is there to marvel? Greater works than these you will come to know.”

  Lauren did not respond, deciding to reserve judgment.

  God’s countenance changed. “You are a clever one, Lauren. Aren’t you?”

  Clever? What?

  God continued. “You have always been clever, though. Cleverness—one of those stock and trade instruments of the ego. Another one thought himself clever. I made him slither upon his belly.” A calculated pause. “What else, huh? Let us bask in the ego to its last. Drink our fill from its glistening chalice. Shall we?”

  Lauren listened in silence.

  “Pretty. Self-reliant. Tough as, one might say, nails. And fool. Yes. Fool. Most appropriate. Do you agree with My choice of words?”

  Uncomfortable and annoyed, Lauren struggled to awaken from her awful dream, snapping her fingers, pinching herself, commanding herself to wake up. Nothing brought her out of her present state.

  Still standing on the swirling, emerald sea of glass with the twenty-four elders seated at the ancient table observing her from a distance, Lauren then approached the Almighty. “God?—God in Heaven?” she spoke aloud, trying desperately hard to come to grips with this situation and make sense of it.

  “Focus, Lauren. Remember. Will you? Remember with Me?” He whispered, “Remember Sunday school? Can you recall your Sunday School?”

  “Uh, a little.”

  “Do you bethink the Proverbs?”

  She reached deep. But her tired mind did not grasp the meaning. The impromptu pop quiz flustered her. “No . . . no . . . maybe. Ah. I do not.”

  “Wisdom—to make one wise—instead of the alternative.”

  “Alternative?” she questioned.

  Whispering, God answered, “The fool, Lauren.”

  “The fool?”

  “The fool mocks goodness. The fool mocks justice. The fool mocks that which they know is right. Ah yes, you are the irrefutably clever child. But are you wise? She who has an ear, let her hear.”

  The elders nodded their agreement.

  “Make no mistake; there is no middle ground. One either has true wisdom, or he is the corporal fool. Do you know which of the two you are?”

  Lauren stood attentive, staring at the Lord. “Foolish,” she repeated. Incensed by the insinuation, Lauren intended to speak her mind. And considering it a vicious attack upon her person—her sanity—God or no God, she answered with all the sarcasm she could muster. “I am clever enough to recognize you are going to tell me I am the latter of the two.”

  God might have chosen to be equally enraged by His subject’s insolence. Instead, he glared at her, amused by her petulance.

  “Fools take it upon themselves to be clever for the sake of humility, at the sake of righteous trust.”

  “God. I am not afraid of you.”

  “I am sure you are not. The fool fears Me not. Proverbs, Lauren. Proverbs.”

  Defiantly placing her hand on her hip, Lauren panned the room for an escape route. But to no avail. She replied, frustrated.

  “Proverbs? Proverbs? Where is this going?

  “6:16-19. Six things . . . six things I hate. And seven are detestable to Me.”

  Lauren wished nothing less than for this nightmare to be over and to return to the courtroom and her world in another dimension or parallel universe or whatever. But God compelled her to gaze at His magnificent splendor and carry on the improbable and ostensibly impossible conversation.

  One by one, God recited the seven deadly sins.


  “Pride.”

  Softly holding the tone long enough to echo throughout the chamber, the Elders sang the word, “Pride.”

  “Envy.”

  “Envy.”

  “Greed.”

  “Greed.”

  Lauren was sure that she had crossed from competency to insanity, but as with the migraine headache moments earlier, she remained powerless to halt God’s recitation.

  Please. Anything, anything but insanity. Make it stop.

  “You’re not insane, My child. Step closer.”

  Reaching out, Lauren touched God’s shirt, which felt surprisingly soft and lush with a hint of starch. It was unquestionably something not from this world.

  “Is the touch not real? Heed me. Heed my Proverbs. Wrath,” God called.

  The melodic tone of the elders intensified. “Wrath.”

  Unconsciously, she slipped her hand inside His sleeve and began stroking His arm under the wispy material.

  “Laziness.”

  The elders sang louder. “Laziness.”

  Pliant flesh and, underneath, bone. Truly He had made man in His image. In a flash, however, He was not He any longer.

  From a distance, she heard “Gluttony.”

  The elders sound resonated at an almost deafening sound. “Gluttony.”

  Just a hair’s breath away from the point of no return, Lauren edged closer to the precipice. A mere whisper, the almost nonexistent fading away of divine verbalization. “Lust.”

  “Lust.”

  Lauren grasped. In her desperate attempt to comprehend the incomprehensible, she began pawing under the robe. It was no longer God’s vestment but the black robe of Judge Susan Howell.

  “Counsel!” Judge Howell exclaimed, attempting to yank her arm away. “Have you gone mad?”

  Lauren screamed, “WHY ARE YOU SAYING THIS TO ME?”

  Concerned this might be an attack upon Her Honor, the bailiff sprang into action. Grabbing his holster, he rushed the bench.

  Suddenly, Lauren snapped out of it, burying her head in her free hand, stunned by the loss of consciousness.

  Judge Howell held her arm to stop the bailiff.