Chapter Text
Deep breath. It wasn’t particularly impossible for younger lawyers to be sent into such large profile cases, especially if they were seen as qualified enough. It was an honour that Mr. Denvir trusted her enough to bring her up with the state court and later send her in with Mr. Sowards, an honour in the legal world that Alena couldn’t help but accept. What a wonderful way to spend the holiday. California was great in every way, and it would be greater if she weren’t being driven off for two hours down to Atwater for this persisting case. Obviously, seeing as she was the youngest of all attorneys on the defence team, the responsibility of primary communication, collection and other ‘trivial’ formalities was all on her shoulders. She couldn’t complain, it was being able to engage with the defendant, it was a precious opportunity as she knew most of the case would not be in her hands, and she took it. There was nothing else you could do, not like she knew better than any of her co-councils
Then, there was also the idea of considering who the defendant was. Alena would be embarrassed to admit it, but she was much more excited about this case just because of who he was. The Unabomber, with a last name that she had to confirm on the documents several times to spell correctly, was her client. This was all real, this was all happening, and frankly, this was hard to believe. One of the most high profile terrorists that dragged the FBI through the mud, and maybe one of the reasons she had subtly requested for transfer to this case for the defendant himself.
Although most saw him as an evil coward just wanting some attention for himself, she, probably a little stupidly in hindsight, had spent some time reading his manifesto, skimming through. She didn’t want to put the few pennies they paid for the daily newspaper to waste, or Tim, the paper boy’s work in vain. Plus, Alena was a lawyer (law student back then, but that isn’t the issue right now), the least of her worries was reading long paragraphs of text that others saw as dull and utterly indecipherable. Almost as a challenge, she had spent an afternoon just sitting there and reading through the entire set of pages. Skimming down the lines, sometimes wincing or cringing at phrases, something soon came awry. She was perhaps too invested, that her father had picked up his reading glasses from the table just to read over her shoulder before shaking his head, sighing, and walking away. Overall, not an enlightening piece, nothing that invoked a revolutionary flame, but there was something else woven into it that left it in her newspaper shelf for longer than it should be. It was much larger than the manifesto or the things it stood for, it was better. She saw Kaczynski in the pages. Her gently sweating fingers marked the ink of the paper. Realistically, it seemed quite impossible that she could read more of him than others from the writing alone, but it was the character, the personality that she saw spilling from the page that made her flinch. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before, geniuses, not a rare sight when you came out of Harvard Law, scrambling for survival in the world that somehow asked for even more.
Yet again, there had to be something more, because if there wasn’t, neither of them would be in this position. It just felt weird to her that she was now somehow defending a fellow of hers, someone that attended Harvard before she was even born. She still remembered that one day. She remembered the first bomb. Alena had hopped out of her bus that day, ushered into her house by her frowning mother. The dogs were barking as she saw her brother playing with them, and there it was, her uncle Joseph and her dad chattering, with the image of Northwestern University on the screen. No one expected more than just a bombing, perhaps some angered students about the war, that was no surprise, nothing anyone hadn’t gotten used to. But then, as if it were routine, it would happen again, again, and again. Year by year, month by month, it was almost like every part of her life was marked by the bombings. Of course, when she was younger, it was stressful and something beyond understanding for such a young girl, and as she got older, her heart was filled with that sense of justice that motivated her to set foot into her path now. In some ways, she had him to thank. Humans sure were sentimental creatures, perhaps for the worse. Ted was on the news, and everyone watched.
The UNABOM.
He was always there, and she was watching. Slouching or sitting on the couch, staring at the TV about another unexpected bomb attack, or leaning against her dad as he read through the paper with a frown. There was not a moment where the family wasn’t stressed, especially as they were a family of prosecutors and U.S. attorneys. But there was nothing they could do except watch, and sooner or later, it melted from a sensation into something that was taken notice of once in a while. It was an afterthought, a bitter taste on everyone’s tongue, especially when you’re from a highly educated family filled with friends and relatives that worked at, were alumni or were just somewhat related to the sites of attack.
The manifesto seemed to bring everything into place, the manhunt began, the standoff, then ultimately, the arrest. This was when everything bridged itself to her world, ripping through the faux pas acts of distance, and the firm sprung to life. From the beginning, there was this burning and pulsing sense of excitement in her heart, something larger than anything she had seen, that she was. It was insane, inexplicable, and somehow something she decided she had to fight for. Of course, was she ever someone who laid back and let whatever the hell happen? No, she fought for herself to get to this point, to be on this damned car ride to a penitentiary two hours out from LA, and she kept it.
She flipped through the documents on her lap again, too fixated on her work to think about anything else that could possibly ease the boredom. A true terrorist. She heard herself murmuring under her breath, whether or not they were just thoughts or spoken words were not of her concern. It was a thought that lingered as more than a warning, hell, even the word terrorist sounded like a euphemism for the person that Ted Kaczynski truly was. Alena had familiarised herself with his story and his face far too much in the past days that it felt like she had known him for a while. Well, why was she bothered by that? Technically, it was what being a lawyer entailed, and should be nothing less. Understanding your client, doing your research well, everything fell perfectly in conduct, as it should be, obviously.
The sunlight seeped through the windows despite her silent protests, a Californian summer was to be enjoyed on a poster or in an oversaturated TV commercial like most things, not when you’re in a blazer and linen dress. USP Atwater sure was going to be grim. Anything Federal was, Alena could possibly include her father in that category too, if she felt less generous. As beautiful as the skies were, they seemed to lack hesitation and intellect, draping over Atwater just as it did the Golden State Bridge, the Hollywood sign or hell, Alcatraz Island. In some ways, this was the beauty of it all, that this grey building deserved the same pure blue as all the rest, that as long as there was a window, some fragments of the day would trickle in. It was all too bare, there was too much of the sky, and too little space on the ground, too little space for any man to possibly survive in.
With that thought, the car pulls up to a stop in front of the somehow greyer-than-monochrome courtyard, if you could even call it that. Taking a glance outside, Alena’s gaze returns to the stack of paper in her lap and her practically filled-to-the-brim briefcase, know she was here. It was a lie to say that this wasn’t nerve wrecking, but she had been calmer than she expected. There was always a first, and if this was her first true high profile case, she had to calm herself even more so as to not make a fool of herself. A quick five dollar bill hastily placed on the cupholder, she grabs for the car door. Her slick black stilettos clicked on the concrete floor as she stepped out of the car, cursing as the papers almost slipped out of her arms. Earlier that day, Judy had rang the Penitentiary about her presence at around ten in the morning, so she better not be–
Alena glanced down at her watch. The minute hand was closer to the “2” than she had liked, now that was embarrassing. Yes, he was now an official convict but she was a lawyer, and her father’s phrase always rang between her ears.
If you ain’t 15 minutes early, you might as well be 15 minutes late.
God fucking damn it.
With a huff that somewhat resembled a sigh, Alena picked up her pace and quickly made her way to the main office. A quick nod from the receptionist, a quick body search and security scan later, she had found herself almost tripping over her heels following two security guards. Then, it was the familiar sign, “Inmate Attorney-Client Room”. Great, this was her habitat, and if they didn’t transfer him, she’d really have to get comfortable. Creaking open the door, it was standard, standard enough. A door on the other side, walls coated in a mirror material, a plain white table, two stable metal chairs, and that was as luxurious as it got. She sat down, shifting uncomfortably in the cold metal seat, her thighs shifting at the cool sensation. Well, one way to make her feel fine about being late. The chair across was empty, of course, that was prison protocol. One of the guards that escorted her probably went to fetch her client while the other stayed and watched behind the glass.
This was all normal, all standard procedure. The crisp sound of the briefcase buckles was just delightful enough, albeit the echo it created was least expected in such a suffocating room. So then, she began laying out each stack of paper from the binders onto the table. Witness statements, federal investigative requests, documents for representation, and of course, typed pages filled with defense approaches that the defense team had planned to apply. By the third minute, Alena’s half of the table was practically coated and draped with papers, all in a carefully curated yet rather chaotic manner. She took a short breath out, and forced herself to sit up straight, and stare ahead at the door.
Now, she was going to wait. Anticipate, maybe.
Click. The latch on the door ticked, and she almost jolted, raising her eyes to now meet the figure standing at the door, flanked by three guards. There he was. Ted Kaczynski.
Alena had familiarised herself with his face by now, getting used to the dishevelled hair, the outgrown beard and the dull, seemingly erratic eyes that never seemed to stare down the barrel of a camera. Eyes that she had to stare at until she found it ridiculous. They were a murky grey and brown in the pictures, a hue she couldn’t quite convince herself to recognise. But now she did, because God, they were blue. When she truly met the bare gaze of this man that her life seemed to be revolved around far beyond just the past month, she didn’t know how to quantify or articulate anything that had just roared through her mind. He looked smaller in person, half-hunched, still dishevelled, yet somehow not any less impressive with his presence in the room. His shackled hands were roughly tugged over as the guards uncuffed him. He took his time, rubbing his wrists and cracking his knuckles, the sounds eerily loud. She had rehearsed this in her head many times, hell, she had probably been rehearsing for something like this since her first ever MOOT competition appearance, yet, she felt helpless. She didn’t know whether to meet his eye or shift back in her seat, or stand up, or greet him. But he didn’t seem to be bothered. In fact, his personality didn’t seem particularly encapsulated by the text that had transcribed his life.
He was difficult, difficult in every sense. There was a silence in the way he moved, there was a distinguishable discipline to him. Before all of this, he had been someone that Alena would’ve looked up to, intelligence came with its awkwardness, and she had learned to embrace the eccentric. Perhaps this was the true enigma, the fear that teetered in her mind. It would be easier if he were volatile, uneducated, underprivileged, violent, then she could sit across from him with a glass panel, calmly explain everything, dehumanise him in her mind to nothing but a name on a case file, and follow through with the case.
But it was so difficult. God, it was so difficult. Everything would be so much easier if he hadn’t been a genius, a pitifully prescribed epithet by hearsay. There were little words in her head that could encapsulate what he was. He was Hamlet, a tragedy, something to weep for, to sigh for, to mourn the man that he had been before all the despair. The glory of his youth, the brilliance, the brilliance, oh the brilliance. She could sing and ode, a fugue, anything his praises. He would not be a god, her icon, an effigy. If he were just a worker at a foam cutting factory, if he were just some unintelligent lunatic that needed a defense team for his case. If it was all just because he made a brash decision without thinking of the consequences.
Ted moved slowly enough to warrant impatient ushering from the guards, slowly enough to be seen as nothing but defiance. Nudging and pushing him by the shoulder, the guards finally managed to watch the man get into the bolted chair. After being briefly explained the security precautions, introduced to the cameras overseeing the room, the double sided mirror, the call button, and the panic button resting on her right, there was some sort of anxiety in Alena as she watched the guards exit the room. She felt herself smiling. It was out of nervousness, a pure instinct to protect her professionalism. Her eyes followed him down to the seat, sticking to his every move so much so that it had taken an extra thought for the realisation to kick in. She was staring.
Take a deep breath.
The exhale she let out mimicked a gentle sigh, but at least it gave her some brittle imitation of composure. She was just nervous, just too tired from all of the preparation that had led her here. Looking up, she met his eye, now seemingly an impolite gesture from an immature professional. After a brief silence, she nodded and smiled. Brightly, he was in her eye so brightly that she could do nothing but avoid it, avoid his gaze, like a fucking coward. He seemed to be reciprocating her earlier sentiment, taking some time to observe her, nothing more, just observation. Ted was waiting for her to speak. The finality of that thought was brought to full closure as the latch of the door firmly locked again.
So, Alena cleared her throat and reached her hand out, feigning some sort of faux stability in her professional image with a smile. “Mr. Kaczynski, nice to meet you. I am attorney Alena Rae Sullivan, and I am here as a representative for your court appointed defense team with Mr. Denvir, Ms. Clarke and Mr. Sowards.” God, she could hear her Jersey accent mixed with the light Boston accent slip out amongst her desperate attempt in using her most neutral voice, accent and tone, “I will be the primary communicating point between you and our defense team, I will collect case information and if you have questions with the defense or issues with our plans, I can discuss details and relay it.”
Okay, she was going strong, this won’t mess itself up. “Today I’m just here to show you what we have, our documents, the current case with the prosecution and strategies. There will be a potential motion of suppression of evidence, we can discuss that further. Nothing has to be finalised here yet, visits are unlimited and I am able to arrive here and attend to this case by request or necessity.”
Great, the first part of her rehearsed speech was done, and to some sort of satisfaction that calmed her nerves, her hand was in his for a brief second, shaking it with some semblance of courtesy. The warmth of human touch combined with the confusing coolness of his palm had served as a reminder that all her work had been about a real man, a physical being, a biological creature, a shell of flesh with a beating heart. The temperature of his life echoed into her existence. He was now right in front of her. There was no escape, Alena found herself idly thinking. Sure, there technically was one, she could slam the panic button a little out of her reach, make up something about Ted manipulating her with words or threatening her. She will be removed completely from this room, from this, and probably wouldn’t be so utterly disturbed by whatever the hell the defense team had just unknowingly gotten her into. But that was impossible. It was all beyond her control now. Her fingers twitched.
Ted looked at her, tilting his head slightly to his left as she spoke. Now, there was silence, he seemed to let every syllable bounce around in his brain, and did not intend to let off any more than that. So, Alena initiated again, unaware that it was mostly a professional obligation of hers, “Do you have any questions for the defense so far? Anything you’d like to clear up before we continue today?” She could almost believe that his residence in those Montana mountains reverted him to some sort of evolutionary primitivism as he just continued staring back at her.
“No, it is quite clear to me thus far.” He finally answered, and Alena soon realised these were the first words he had ever spoken, as if to prove to her that he has some semblance of human sentience. In fact, he had an absurdly terrifying amount, beyond just human, beyond just average intelligence.
“Alright, that’s good. Are you aware of the scope of the charges and prosecution’s case?” As soon as she asked that question, she felt herself wince. God, that was stupid, she was supposed to explain them to him.
To Alena’s relief, he didn’t seem to mind her rather narrow question as he tilted his head back, his eyes looking up as if to recall any details, “Um, partially during the arrest, so I’d say no.”
It was now where Alena finally felt at ease, there was something that felt like it was in her control. This was where her prowess stood, and being in her element could definitely calm whatever the hell her nerves were doing.
“So, well, before we start, I just have to inform you that our job here is to cooperate with you, assist you with bringing the case under the law in your best interest.”
She felt her throat dry up a little, forcing her to swallow, he nodded once, indicating that he had heard her. She continued, “Currently, the prosecution's case against you includes three counts of capital murder, the use and interstate mailing of explosives, twenty-three counts of injury and property destruction. Then, I’m sure you’re aware, but due to the contents of the manifesto, you are also facing charges of domestic terrorism… both this and the murder charges have a link directly to the death penalty, and seeing as we’re in Sacramento, that is a definite possibility.” She didn’t like the words ‘death penalty’, never did. It was always grim to reveal it to clients, and uncomfortable. No matter how heinous their crimes, to watch their faces turn pale, watch them panic, flail, or lose their minds completely was rather unbearable. But Ted’s expression seemed perfectly composed, as if it was just a mere inconvenience he had to take note of.
Alena slowed down her words, making sure to enunciate as if the man across her wouldn’t even be able to comprehend what she was saying. She’d fully expected an outright denial, something like a fit of rage or something indicating that he wanted to fight those accusations, but he just nodded, staring at her, waiting for her to continue. There was no indication that he wanted to speak or ask any questions, he just waited. It didn’t feel like he had the desire too either, he just expected her to speak. He took his time. As subtle as it was, she could feel his eyes drag from the document titles to her. Her eyes, nose, lips, hair, the blazer, her dress, her chest, her arms, her hands that settled in front of her, then back up to her eyes.
Sensing the gap she had left in the air, Ted nodded slowly, “I understand.”
“Great, that’s great.” Alena nodded, almost grateful for his gesture. “Basically, now, l will introduce you to our options. There are a few plea deals for us,” She paused at the pronoun, God, that was funny, when did she stand with him? “We are currently working towards a suppression of evidence, because prosecution has an abundance of evidence pointing to you as the Unabomber, is that clear?”
“Yes.” He nodded again.
This time, the silence was a little longer, there were unspoken words lingering, but neither of them seemed to want to fetch them out of thin air. “We don’t want this case going to trial since that would be quite disadvantageous, especially with a jury, but if this does move to a trial, we will do our best for you, Mr. Kaczynski.” Those words seemed to push some buttons for him, and he looked at her, but didn’t say a word. He stared. “Later on, there will be a standard psychiatric evaluation,” Alena paused, then raised her eyes from the papers to him, “Have you had one already since your entry to Atwater?”
He shook his head.
“Got it, alright. So there will be two evaluations, one that is standard procedure for your ability to stand in court and potentially trial, and one will be for a plea for insanity, they will likely be conducted within the same week, the prison should notify you, we will too.” Then, Alena saw something float to his face. Was it disdain? Distaste? Disgust? It was bitter, it was vile, and it was something that she had expected him to express. In some ways, she felt so secure in the fact that it was happening that she could almost smile. Maybe he felt quite dissatisfied with the evaluations, maybe he felt that he didn’t need one, most inmates held that belief.
“Plea for insanity?” Ted repeated, his voice seemed to be a higher pitch than it had been.
“We are considering all of our options, Mr. Kaczynski, that will be confirmed after the evaluation, there is no guarantee for it. This is standard procedure, once the process is complete, we can discuss the details further.” She lied. Well, partially, anyway. Judy had told her that the strategy could be insanity as there were records of mental illness and distress, combined with comments from David, Ted’s brother, and that Alena should direct the conversation towards such a plea.
“It is recommended to take a plea deal, and we are working on it.” Alena repeated, more to convince herself than to inform him.
“I would not prefer that.” Ted said. His voice was not overly assertive, but it delivered a message nonetheless. The air seemed to get a little colder.
She nodded, although hesitant, her expression still firm. “Of course, I will relay that back to the defense team and we’ll see what is available.” Finally, she mustered the courage to meet his eye again for the first time in what seemed like centuries, almost like a child looking for any trace of praise, for a sense of approval. They were so blue, a greyish blue, perhaps what the Montana skies above his cabin would’ve looked like. Like the purest of flames, cool, yet a scorching sensation on her skin that ate at her conscience.
The rest of the explanation sounded like a haze in her ear, her words and enunciations echoing in her mind, but nothing she said was truly autonomous, she simply regurgiated everything that needed to be known about the documents. It was her voice, but she hadn’t spoken. He sat in front of her and listened, nodding, reading each document she handed him carefully before singing it with her fountain pen, the ink blotching slightly on the ill-quality fax paper. This was all standard procedure, Alena told herself, it was almost comforting. There was nothing to be worried about, if anything, she felt far more composed than when she first sat down, good, it was really only her nerves. Ted was more manageable than expected, and his cooperative behavior made things a lot easier. Sure, at times, it was still tense, but she convinced herself that it was just her first time dealing with a suspected terrorist.
But perhaps that was the least unsettling thing about him.
The session came to an end quicker than Alena could expect, there were no windows for her to confirm, but a quick glance at her delicate silver watch told her that two hours had passed. Then, she took a long breath out, putting the signed papers in her binder, beginning to collect and organising them just as she had taken them out.
“Anything else? Any questions? Anything you’d want me to know?” Her throat was now completely dry after the hour long conversation that seemed much more one sided than it was. He didn’t seem like the type for small talk or insecurity, it was unlikely he’d ask something she hadn’t explained or he hadn’t clarified earlier either.
To Alena’s surprise, Ted pursed his lips to think, and asked. “Are you from Boston?” Good, normal, socially acceptable question, she was a little embarrassed that her accent showed but she answered nonetheless.
“I grew up in Jersey, but I went to school in Boston.” She gave the standard answer, looked down as she slipped the binder into her bag.
“You went to school at Harvard.” Not a question. He made sure to look back into her eyes. It was far more unnerving than she would admit.
She took a short but sharp breath, her eyes darting to him. Did he want to make a point about sharing a school? Was this some attempt to bond with her? She didn’t quite know, “Yes, I went to Harvard, like you, Mr. Kaczynski.” Her attempt to alleviate tension turned into nothing but a slightly sour remark.
“Quite an interesting school, Harvard.” Ted continued.
“Well, yes, filled with the best. Honoured to be a part of the community.” Nodding, now unsure of what he wanted to get out of her, Alena set her briefcase on her lap.
“You’re exactly the Harvard type, you remind me of many people.” He tilted his head again, and this time, it made her lean back slightly in her seat, now aware of the way the back of the chair pushed against her back.
“You’re quite young, how many years have you been practicing?” It was when he spoke that she finally realised she hadn’t even formed an answer to his previous statement.
“I graduated in ‘93.” She said, carefully treading with her words.
“Twenty-eight?” He asked.
“Twenty-six.”
“You’re young.” Statement, again.
“My age shouldn’t bother you, Mr. Kaczynski, just know that you are in capable hands.” He was right, she was exactly the Harvard type. Cocky, assertive, sarcastic, making sure that everyone knew she could speak. She began to regret this retaliation.
“You want me on your resume? You’ll be a star lawyer, a belle for the cameras.” He leaned slightly closer, now, there was a ghost of a smirk at his lips.
Was this some sort of challenge from him? Some attempt to make a joke about her being young, or being a woman? She felt herself grow defensive against her own will. Why did she grow defensive against him? And why did that bother her? Either way, she had to come up with a quick response. “I’m here to fight your case to the best of my abilities, Mr. Kaczynski, let’s hope I do well enough to become a star.”
“I hope I’m the glittery stepping stone you’re looking for, Ms. Lynnard. It was nice talking to you.”
He reached out a hand, and Alena shook it with the same formulaic smile. She felt naked, childish, like a middle schooler wearing makeup. The initial nerve had turned into a hollowness that she couldn’t swallow or breathe out. It lingered, it stung, and there was simply no way she could shake it. She hit the ‘Call’ buzzer and waited for some sort of movement. The air was painfully silent, she swore the guards moved so slowly just to mock her. The two of them stayed silent, almost as some sort of solitude. Neither of them spoke a word, as if the conversation, interaction, connection, and relationship ended just with a few words.
The rest of the day proceeded as perfectly planned. Two of the same guards unlatched and unlocked the door on Ted’s side. The man, although defiantly, reached out his hands and let them cuff him. The clink of the chains were almost too sharp for the extended silence and peace that had previously filled the room. Finally, the sound of air, dust, gravity, chatter, movement, steps, all and all, surged into the room one by one, taking contemplated steps around the premises of the room. Wasn’t this great? Her eyes were firmly pressed onto him, perhaps it was so intense that he turned around to give her a firm nod and smile, a reciprocation, perhaps a thank you for their interaction.
Then, the door closed. Alena’s breath and chest heaved, her lungs squeezing themselves as she finally learned how to ignore the sound of her own breaths. She rubbed her finger along the perfect seam on the handle of her briefcase, the black leather a delightfully polished colour. The door behind her opened. She turned to meet the guard’s eye, and she smiles, nodding at him. Patting down her skirt and all of that felt almost routine, but it was the wave of reassurance that outside the door would be the sunlight of Atwater. There was something at the end of this, there was something for her to leave to.
Ted would be returning to his cell. She thought, as she stood by the reception desk, waiting for the ride they had arranged for her back to San Francisco. The sky had dimmed slightly, browning at the corners with slight lethargy, but it was a delightful sight. It was something she hadn’t realised she was looking forward to – removing herself from that silver, grey and white room was nothing but therapeutic and freeing. But what about Ted? He had nothing but more grey to return to after the meeting. She heard herself think, and that thought trickled and scraped down her brain to her spine. Fear rose somewhat in her, but not enough that she viewed any of this an active threat. Just yet, anyway.
What about Ted?
There was no reason for her to think of this right now, she had the whole car ride to carefully comb through everything, then arrange a meeting with the rest of the defense team tomorrow. God, it felt like even the breeze was pressing firmly on her drying eyes. The interior of the car was probably one of the most calming and relieving things.