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There were about a million places that Allison Reynolds would rather be on a Friday evening in late July. To think, this time last year she was laid out on a white sand beach outside a rented vacation home. Her phone buried in the sand several feet away, ringing incessantly. She was ignoring her boyfriend again, content to let the phone vibrate itself into a hole.
She didn’t know that he would be dead in a few months. She didn’t know that her shitty Exy team would be pitted against the yakuza, and would win the championship in the spring. Or that a year later she would be driving herself to the Richland County courthouse to testify in favor of the monster's doppelgänger in a murder trial.
Allison has many things. Cars, money, clothes, expensive Exy gear. But she doesn’t have regrets. She’d much rather move on, everything is replaceable in the end. Allison remembers when she was little, adorned in a holiday dress as she ran through the expansive hallways of her childhood home. She accidentally knocked a delicate picture frame off the wall. She cried immediately, knowing that her parents would be furious. But they weren’t. Her mother wiped her tears and said: “Everything is replaceable.”
It turns out, even Allison herself was replaceable to her mother because once she stepped out of her mold, she was cut off. Replaced with new decorations, new houses, maybe even a pet or two to fill the void. Everything is replaceable. She’s glad she aged into her various trust funds before her parents decided she was too unsightly to hang back up on the wall.
It doesn’t matter anyway. She has no more tears left for her mother to wipe up nowadays. That’s how her eyeliner is always perfect.
All this to say that she would give anything to not be walking up the courthouse steps in 3 inch heels in evening sunlight. Allison didn’t really care what the outcome was for the monster’s wombmate. She did, however, care about the events of the trial in as far as they would affect Neil Josten, her current favorite maladjusted teammate. She also cared how it affected Nicky, who was her favorite person to talk shit with, the only one who could match her depravity. So, for their sake, she wrote the monster’s doppelganger a character statement about how “unlikely to murder someone again” he was and figured she could spend 5 minutes on the stand as a character witness and use it as an excuse to wear business attire.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one who would rather not be there, because there were no sports journalists or general members of the press to be seen. She guesses they had enough footage of Fox chaos after Nicky almost pushed his father down the stairs. She had heard and seen plenty about the scene her teammates were met with earlier this week. Now it’s only debris and crooked barricades.
Once inside the courthouse, she slides her sunglasses onto the top of her head, places her bag on the security table and saunters through the metal detector when prompted. A secretary at a heavy wooden desk asks her for her name. She provides it, tucking her sunglasses into her recently pillaged hand bag.
“You’ll be in the McDowell Room. First door down this hallway on the left. The deputy will show you.” The secretary gestures towards one of the officers.
Allison keeps pace with the deputy, her heels clacking against the granite floor. The officer slows down and grabs the long handle of a tall wooden door. Then he shifts to make bored eye contact with Allison, which is perplexing, because usually when people look at Allison, it’s far from boredom.
“They’re a bit behind, but you can head in and take a seat on the left side.” He opens the door with a creak and Allison takes the hint to slip inside.
Waterhouse is at a podium in front of the woman who must be the judge. They meet eyes and Allison tries to look sheepish at her intrusion, but it looks more like a smirk. Her eyes scan the mostly empty courtroom before falling on wavy, red hair tied up in a banana clip spilling over the back of the first pew on the left side.
Allison decidedly liked Katelyn. She’s everything a woman their age ought to be. She’s hot and polished, but sharp enough to break skin when provoked. Although, Katelyn was unfortunately not provoked as often as Allison would prefer. And she had horrible taste in men. But other than that, Allison liked her well enough.
She takes a seat next to Katelyn, who looks more tired than usual. She has none of her usually glittery make up or flared outfits, just a plain colored blouse and slacks. Glasses that Allison had never seen before rest low on the bridge of her nose. She gives Allison a tight, smiling acknowledgment.
Allison simply crosses her legs and begins to scan the room. It’s ornate and mostly wooden, with bright overhead lights and a bit of a draft. A few feet in front of her is the blonde head of the monster's kin. To her right across the aisle is a collection of people of all ages who must be the monster's old foster extended family.
They don’t look particularly evil or even unique, just a typical middle class family, all dressed in dark colors (most of them don’t have the complexion for it, but she understands that it’s to look unified in their grief). Crazy how monsters brew from such mundane places.
Looking at the other side of the court room serves as a reminder that this spot is usually reserved for family, and the only person who has sat here throughout the trial has been Katelyn. She almost feels bad for Aaron in that moment, that his crazy son of a bitch brother murdered their mother. She knows what it's like to not have a real family. But then she remembers the feeling of a hand identical to Aaron’s tangled in her hair and any sympathy is replaced with simmering rage.
There’s a woman seated on the platform next to the judge. She’s young, not much older than Allison herself, but she looks older, with deep set eyes and lips that naturally pull into a frown. She has one hand raised as the judge wraps up swearing her in.
There’s a brief pause as the courtroom goes quiet in a way that feels inexplicably awkward before the judge prompts Waterhouse to begin his direct examination.
“Good morning,” Waterhouse clears his throat. “Would you introduce yourself for the court, please?”
The woman responds with her name, which is hardly discernible. Allison thinks her first name might be ‘Sydney’ or ‘Cindy’.
“How did you become involved in this case?” Waterhouse opens up a folder on the podium, not making eye contact with whatever-her-name-is.
The lack of eye contact causes the woman to look at the judge when she answers. “I am a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner at Richmond General. I performed an examination on Andrew Minyard upon his arrival to the hospital last Thanksgiving.”
The wording is clearly careful. It has to be, Allison is sure. She’s seen her parents get sued and sue enough times that she has some idea of what can and cannot be said.
A cold washes over her as the words sink in, Katelyn stiffens beside her. Allison understood the basic facts of what happened on Thanksgiving last year. She knew that the monster's old foster brother attacked him and that Aaron bludgeoned him with an Exy racquet. She had never really entertained the severity of the attack or what had to have happened afterwards. It’s like someone has shoved that reality down her throat.
Allison can’t even imagine the monster in the hospital. It seems like far too vulnerable a place for his usual prowling. All at once, sitting in this courtroom feels far too intimate. It feels illegal. Like the deputy is going to come in and escort her into the hallway until the nurse's testimony is over with.
Allison doesn’t know the monster or his brother that well, in fact she doesn’t even like them on their best days. And yet, here she is sitting next to the most important person in Aaron’s life and forced to listen to a medical professional recount what is likely one of the worst moments of his life.
Waterhouse asks a few more questions about the nurse's education and experience. “Your honor, I would like to motion for Ms. McPall to be declared an expert witness in the field Sexual Assault Examination and Documentation.”
The judge pushes her lips together and nods her head slowly. “Any objections from the prosecution?”
“No, your honor.” A Goliath of a man responds from the other side of the room.
“Then permission is granted. Let the record reflect that Ms. McPall is an expert witness in the field of SAE.” The judge looks pointedly at the bailiff taking furious notes.
Waterhouse turns a page in his folder. “Ms. McPall, can you take us through what happened last Thanksgiving?”
The massive attorney on the other side objects to the question, and the judge sustains. “Please take the court through your primary actions concerning Andrew Minyard's evaluation last Thanksgiving.”
“Sure,” the girl responds and gives an appeasing smile. “Mr Minyard was transported to Richmond General via ambulance around 2pm. Upon his arrival, Minyard was advised and elected to undergo a SANE before treatment of his injuries began. The examination was performed to code and all samples and swabs were sent to an analytical lab for processing and DNA testing.”
Waterhouse introduces an exhibit and Allison watches the monitors in front of the witness, judge, attorneys, and Aaron light up, although she can’t see what they’re looking at. Waterhouse verifies that all parties can see the exhibit before saying. “Ms. McPall, can you take us through the major findings of your evaluation as stipulated in this document?”
The nurse tries to take in a subtle breath. Allison steels herself, letting her legs uncross and recross in opposite order. “Yes. The first few pages of this report detail visible injuries on Mr. Minyard. These include lacerations and bleeding from the temple. Bruising on the temple, correlated with blunt force. Bruising around the wrists, torso, and neck. Pictures can be seen on page 3-7.”
She pauses for a moment and the light from the screen is changing, indicating scrolling. Aaron pointedly looks away from the screen, taking a sip from a nearby water cup.
Allison is glad she can’t see the pictures. In fact, she can’t even imagine what they’re looking at. Sure, she’s seen the monster bruised. Like after the Bingham riot. Or after Kevin’s insane drills. Or after what she suspects to be extremely charged nights with Neil. Or after fights with Renee.
But she’s never seen him injured in a way he didn’t control. Never in a way that a beast wouldn’t be. His pain was always collateral, a side effect of his own violence. This wasn’t like that at all.
“Samples were taken from beneath Minyard’s finger nails as well as semen samples via anal swabbing. Lab reports that all samples were a 99% match with Drake Spear.” The nurse says it clinically, but Allison feels cold.
There’s part of her that understands the concept in logical terms. The monster didn’t manage to outrun the demon. The monster was violated and then forced to lay down for an inspection immediately after it. She understands that all of this had to happen, but in her head, it happened to a different boy. One more vulnerable and objectively kind. She can imagine that boy, bleeding and broken but forced to bare himself to this nurse. He’s a victim, he’s pitiable. Allison feels bad for him.
The victim and the monster are not one and the same.
Because the monster held Allison against the Fox Tower parking lot. The monster told her her boyfriend was murdered by Riko Moriyama. The monster drugged Matt and made Renee frown. The monster didn’t bleed.
Allison eyed Katelyn, who was stiff beside her. Wide eyed, watching her own hands fidget in her lap. Waterhouse wraps up his questioning after that.
The judge looks over to the prosecutor. “Any cross examination?”
The behemoth stands up with a notebook in hand. His pants aren’t tailored to the correct height, giving Allison a startling view of his ankles. “Yes, your honor,” the man makes eye contact with the nurse. “Going back to exhibit 14A, on page 2, can you read the section that details the patient's emotional state?”
“Sure,” the nurse's eyes scan the screen. “Patient appeared off-balance and jovially laughing. No outward signs of distress other than physical injuries.”
“Jovially laughing?” The big man repeats, skepticism turned up to the max. “Is that a typical behavior seen in assault victims?”
Waterhouse objects, but the judge overrules it. The nurse frowns. “I wouldn’t say that it's typical behavior, no.”
Allison finds herself painfully reminded of the monster's freshman year. She envisions his horrific smile and that sinister laugh that she hasn’t heard in such a long time. Then she imagines the sad boy in that hospital bed laughing and it suddenly seems much less sinister and much more depressing.
“Moving on, in that same document on page 15, one of the observations listed is “anal scaring”. Is this correct?”
Allison really wants to leave the room. She watched Aaron gently close his eyes and give a quiet grunt. The nurse affirms.
“As an expert, is anal scarring usually observed with homosexual individuals?” The air in the room feels more tense as the question rings out. The nurse falters and Allison’s face scratches up in what can only be described as “what the fuck?”
Waterhouse objects again, and despite all logic, the judge overrules him once more. The nurse seems to search for a way to answer the question for a moment, apparently equally as surprised that the question has been considered valid.
“Scarring is not a typical result of any kind of consensual sex. Most likely, anal and vaginal scarring are the results of repetitive violent intercourse, or rape.”
“Violent intercourse or rape, Ms. McPall?”
The nurse's eyebrows furrow and her gaze flicks unexpectedly to Aaron. “Rape. Scarring of this caliber is nothing short of abuse.”
The giant tried to object to her answer, but the judge dismissed him as well and then there are no further questions.
Allison is called next and goes through the motions. She purposefully avoids looking at Aaron, keeping her gaze on Waterhouse. The devil in the poorly tailored pants doesn’t cross examine her, and the court is dismissed for the judges deliberation.
Allison beelines for the door, eager to erase the last hour from her memory before it cures. However, the frantic footsteps behind her trying to catch up may ruin those plans.
She makes it all the way outside to the courthouse stairs before a hand on her shoulder forces her to stop. Allison has to restrain herself from lashing out and striking him because that hand should never be on her again.
“Hey!” Allison lets her other hand curl into a fist and slowly turns to face the monster’s photo copy. “Listen, you and I both know you weren’t supposed to hear any of that. You better not start spreading that shit around like you usually do.”
Allison’s face turns red with anger. She knows she’s a gossip, and has never pretended to be anything else. But to hear it from the mouth of someone who she has just wasted her Friday night for, is another story. The audacity. “Excuse me,” she thunders, she catches sight of Katelyn a few feet behind Aaron. “You ungrateful asshole. I literally just testified for you, and now you’re yelling at me?”
Aaron doesn’t say a word in response. She lets her eyes search him at that moment. The pensive look on his face and the inward pull of his shoulders. The way his hands hover without certainty but his feet stay locked in place with determination. She recognizes the look. It’s one Seth saw every time she asked to check his pockets before he went out. Or when she would run her fingers over his forearms in search of anything out of the ordinary. It’s protective and something far away from but all at once synonymous with love.
She wonders, flippantly, if this was the last thing that Drake Spear ever saw.
She feels her fist unclench. “I’m not going to say anything.” It comes out deadpan. Allison pulls her shoulder free and Aaron lets her descend the stairs to her Porsche. He must be staying for the verdict.
She’s not sure what it was. Maybe it was the mental image of the scared boy flayed on the examination table, or the heavy look in Aaron’s gaze, but she means what she says. Or maybe she’s just not as much of a bitch as Aaron thinks she is. But, she would never tell a soul about that day in the courtroom.
———————
Allison Reynolds was exactly where she wanted to be at any given time, perched elegantly in the center of absolute chaos. The girls living room was littered with assorted duffel bags, a plethora of board games, snacks, and some beverages. Dan was seated on the couch across from her, chewing at her lip and eyes trained on her phone.
It was quiet, both girls enjoying the last few minutes of it, unspokenly indulging in the smell of Renee’s shampoo wafting in from the bathroom. It smelled like coconut and it was always a mental battle not to steal some every time Allison showered.
The girls were still bruised from the recent Ravens game. If you could even call what happened on that battlefield a game. Tonight, Andrew and Neil would be coming home from the hospital and sports journalists were publishing that the Ravens had officially been disqualified. These articles had of course been lovingly printed out and were now hanging on their fridge with fox-shaped magnets.
The need for the original foxes to discuss the current circumstances and safety was beyond necessary. Nicky had invited everyone to spend the night in Columbia, and Allison was never one to turn down a sleepover. But despite the general dreary atmosphere, Allison only had another year left with her team and she was going to make every moment count.
She was filled with that sort of shameful anticipation that she felt right before a fight broke out on the court, a sick sense of fascination brought about by a boring, lonely childhood.
“Matt’s on his way over,” Dan said, just as the shower turned off. “I don’t even know how we are going to bring all this stuff over there.”
Allison shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to leave Matt here.”
“That’ll go over well,” Dan snorts. “Are you sure they want all of this? It seems a bit…” She pauses to think of the right word for the piles of board games and alcohol. “Insensitive.”
Allison can’t help but feel affronted. She’s not a child. She knows that the Ravens are a touchy subject on the best of days. And that the monster got hurt pretty badly (he’d had surgery the day before). “Nicky told me that he was hoping that us being there would help lift everyone’s spirits,” She lifted a bottle of tequila from a tote bag. “And I took that literally.”
Matt barges in with a greeting and a comment about the mountain of entertainment, but is quickly silenced by a glare from Allison. Renee exits the bathroom, toweling her hair dry. And just like that the upperclassmen are piling into Allison’s Porsche after struggling for several minutes to close the very full trunk. They're silent until they're on the highway, the glorious sunset bathing everything in orange and gold through the sunroof.
She lets her nails tap against the wheel. Renee stays quiet next to Allison, fingers fiddling with her cross necklace.
“So is the booze to celebrate the Ravens DQ or enjoy our last night before the Ravens try a new approach?” Matt asks, teeth flashing in the rearview mirror.
Allison smiles a bit back at him, smoothly taking the exit for Columbia. “I’ll judge based on how much Kevin leaves for the rest of us.”
As soon as the Porsche revved off the highway, Allison rolled the windows down, letting the warm evening air blow the girls’ hair around. “Jeez Allison, it’s like a tornado in here.” Dan commented.
“I’m doing you a favor,” Allison made eye contact with Dan in the rearview mirror. “These are your last minutes of fresh air before we’ll be stuck inside a house owned by three college aged men.”
Dan makes a face of disgust before rolling her window down more. Matt looks affronted, but keeps his quips to himself.
“Stay optimistic,” Renee's voice rings out from the passenger seat. “None of them smell particularly bad.”
______________________
The Columbia house was bigger than she had expected. To her relief, and maybe astoundment, the house smells like vanilla due to a diffuser plugged into the wall by the door. The house is sparse and mostly clean, with obviously second hand couches and a coffee table, but a massive TV and stack of video game consoles.
They have an air mattress set up in the center of the living room, which opens into the kitchen/dining area. The dinner table is pressed against the wall, only allowing for three seats, which is probably some kind of metaphor that Allison is not responsible to analyze. Overall, the house is cozy in appearance, with an honest to god bookshelf in the corner. She is pleasantly surprised.
Allison hums. “Nicky’s influence.”
Renee smiles kindly back at her.
Kevin is spread across the couch, eyes trained to the Exy game on screen. Allison is pretty sure it’s the Trojans game, but she’s only paying half attention. Nicky is attempting to put sheets on the air mattress, and no one is even offering to help. He gets distracted and Matt brings in another grocery bag of liquor from the car.
Nicky whoops in response after finally winning his battle with a fitted sheet. “I knew you’d come through,” He moves closer to Allison, face full of sincerity. “Seriously, thank you. I don’t think I’d be able to handle this without some kind of distraction.”
Allison shrugs. “This is already going to be boring enough, I might as well be hungover.”
Soon enough, the foxes are gathered in the living room watching the game and waiting for the guests of honor. And Aaron. Allison is wrapping her hair up in her heatless curlers for tomorrow, stopping every so often to eat a piece of popcorn, but letting Matt and Nicky eat most of it.
Finally, the sound of the door being unlocked causes all their heads to turn. Aaron enters first, pulling his key from the door and appearing neutral and looking his baseline level of exhaustion. And behind him are the monster and his handler, holding a to-go bag.
The monster's arm is in a sling and he’s wearing the same clothes that he was on the way to the Ravens game. He had broken his clavicle, is what Nicky told them. Although, he didn’t seem to be in pain, maybe more tired than usual.
“I sent everyone a text that I was bringing snacks. What the hell did you buy?” Allison points to the to-go bag.
Aaron disappears into the hallway while Neil and the monster claim a couch for themselves. “Andrew wanted ice cream.” Neil tells her, pulling a Blizzard from the paper bag and passing it to the monster.
Allison watches where Neil and the monster are seated across from her and tries to hide her outright contempt for the situation.
“Okay, so now that your dog got his pup cup can we get this whole “the ravens want us dead” convo over with?” Allison questions, taking another piece of popcorn.
Neil shrugs. “I think that’s as close as they’re going to get for now. Can’t really hurt us if they aren’t allowed within a mile of the court.”
“The Ravens haven’t exactly shied away from hurting us off the court before,” Dan says, eyes flicking to Allison before looking to the ground.
Kevin sits up. “That was Riko and the master mainly. The other Ravens just wanted to get to Andrew and avenge the King. And they succeeded because we’re out a goalie for the next 5 games.” Kevin glared at Andrew, who completely ignored him in favor of scooping ice cream out of the paper cup held between his legs.
“I don’t know about that,” Matt comments. “Those guys looked like they wanted Andrew dead. I doubt they view this as a success.”
Kevin shakes his head. “Failure isn’t tolerated amongst the Ravens, but they don’t have the ability to go after Andrew right now. They’re too fragile.”
Neil snickers and says something to Kevin in French.
“Okay, the whole purpose of having a family meeting is defeated if you two speak in a language none of us understand.” Nicky reprimands, stretching his arms out.
Kevin rolls his eyes. “He was just providing a stupid idea like usual.”
“We should hit the Ravens while they’re weak.” Neil says, voice bored sounding but creepy smile in place. “Get a former Raven to denounce their actions.”
“That could discourage them from hunting us down, but Jean’s not ready for that. And they don’t respect him enough.” Renee points out, her voice sweet.
“Not Jean.” Neil looks pointedly at Kevin, who frowns.
The meeting is adjourned with a groan from Kevin and a satisfied grin from Neil. Thea Muldani would be contacted the next morning, but until then, the snacks and drinks were passed around and the game on the TV was scrutinized.
Aaron re-enters the room and takes a seat by Kevin. Soon enough the game turns into a movie, the drinks kick in, and everyone is asleep. Except Allison, who takes the opportunity to apply a fresh coat of polish to her finger nails. Then she screws the lid on to let her nails dry and her eyes meet tired hazel ones across the room.
He’s watching her, but his gaze is relaxed instead of his usual vigilance. Neil is asleep beside him, his feet resting against the monster's leg, back turned to the rest of the room in a way that would have been unfathomable a year ago.
She lets herself study him then. Allison is someone who respects style in all forms. It’s a form of expression in every sense of the word. And looking at him now, it’s more obvious that the monster is fresh from an operating table. His hair looks greasy and limp and his usual black piercings have been removed. Same with his typically black nails, which are startlingly bare.
She remembers a courtroom and a nurse. And the image of a hurt boy in a hospital bed, once with blood dropping from his skull and then again with an arm hanging limp. She digs around in her nail polish basket until she finds her single black. She looks back at Andrew and waves the bottle around in offering.
He gives Neil’s form a bored look before pushing himself up from the couch and taking a seat near Allison by the coffee table. He wordlessly takes the bottle and begins to paint the nails hanging down from the sling with an expert hand. Allison starts her second coat.
“5 game suspension on top of the broken clavicle seems overkill, huh?” It feels like the most awkward thing she’s ever said. She tries to speak softly to avoid waking the others, but she’s pretty sure Neil woke up the instant that Andrew moved.
As expected, Andrew doesn’t respond or even give any indication that he’s listening. Allison fights the urge to be mean. Which she doesn’t often do.
“Who cares if we win another championship? We already proved we could do it once. The main thing is that Neil made it off the court again.” She thinks of Riko Moriyama raising his racquet in the air. She thinks of Seth’s back as he walked down the hallway in Fox Tower the last time she ever saw him.
At those words, Andrew looks at Neil, who’s in the same position, pretending to sleep. Everything, down to the tremor in his hand, is identical to Aaron on those courthouse stairs. That same look of ferocious protection that transcends logic.
She feels as though she’s never seen Andrew before now. Like maybe there were some things she shouldn’t have said or thought about him. But she doesn’t regret it. She doesn’t regret hitting Aaron that day. She doesn’t regret hating the monster, because she didn’t know that he could ever look at someone like that. She doesn’t regret not forcing Seth to stay home that night. She is Allison Reynolds and she has no regrets. She will just replace whatever is lost. Can’t stop the picture frame as it’s falling off the wall.
Andrew holds out the nail polish brush handle to her then, in an unexpected offering. “Yours did not.” He says and the ‘I’m sorry’ is unspoken, but heard nonetheless.
She takes the bottle from his good hand, quick to accept the olive branch before it’s revoked. She takes the loose lid and Andrew places his hand on the table between them. She leans down carefully, painting his chewed up nails slowly. It’s hard to do without holding his fingers in place, in fact it probably will look like shit when she’s done. His eyes watch her intently.
Eventually, she shrugs. “No use crying over it now.”
Andrew hums his response and she finishes her work in silence.
Allison Reynolds doesn’t cry over lost things, just replaces them with new shinier things. Allison Reynolds doesn’t have regrets, they’re a waste of time.
She doesn’t have regrets, but she lets herself wish that things could have turned out differently then. That Seth decided to stay with her that night. That all the shit that happened to Andrew didn’t happen. That Neil wasn’t tortured so often. That Aaron didn’t have to kill anyone. That her parents still loved her.
As she’s going to sleep that night, Renee’s back against her own, surrounded by people she loves and loathes all at once, she realizes that the expensive picture frame fell off the wall long ago. That the people around her aren’t beautiful or outwardly deserving of awe and praise, but she leaves the frame hanging up anyway. And she never wants to replace it with a shinier one.
Allison Reynolds has no regrets.