The trio of Councilors are seated in their place above all of us, dark robes on, hoods up, faces in shadow. Three grim reapers. Jackson is across the courtroom in formal attire.
Santiago told me for his part, for not having come forward sooner with his knowledge of Holton and my brother’s involvement and the names of the others, he paid a fine. The way he said it makes me wonder in what currency. I have a feeling it was flesh. But he has been reinstated to his post as advisor to The Tribunal.
Mercedes is sitting beside Judge in the row below ours.
My father is seated on the other side of me. He is older now. It’s expected after all that’s happened. The physical and emotional attacks have taken their toll. But I think it’s this last piece, sending his son to the gallows because that is what he’s done, which has turned his hair white.
I squeeze his hand, and he looks over at me, his eyes shiny. I want to tell him it will be okay, but it won’t, so I don’t. I’m saved by having to say anything when a door opens, and two men enter. Masked guards in formal dress. Between them stands my brother, and I have to put my hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp when I see him.
Santiago tenses beside me, his grip on my hand tightening just a little.
It’s been months since I’ve seen Abel. Almost half a year. He’s spent part of that time on the run, and part of it in a Tribunal cell. I wonder if Judge’s accommodation for me was a luxury compared to where my brother has stayed.
The guards walk him toward the dais where he has to take the steps up one at a time. His ankles are shackled together by heavy, ancient-looking chains. They clang as he sets his hands on the bannister, the links dangling from the cuffs on his wrists connected to those at his ankles.
He is wearing a sheath similar to the one I wore when I stood in his place accused of his crime. The thought should harden me, but it doesn’t. He’s still my brother. And even if he weren’t, he is a man facing his end. And a part of me cannot make sense of it, cannot accept it.
Santiago and I have spoken about Abel’s sentence at length. He will be put to death. There is no way around it. And for Santiago, he has made a concession in allowing The Tribunal to mete out the punishment and the execution. After all, he is the man responsible for the deaths of his father and brother. For the injury to him and the subsequent emotional injury to Mercedes. Abel is the one who literally lit the flame that caused the explosion. And even as that is enough, there is what he did to Hazel and Michael and to me.
But I tell Santiago, at least on that last part, he could have done more. He could have run me over, ensuring my death and the death of our baby, but he did not. He stopped, and he drove away. I don’t think I’ll ever know if that was a conscious decision. I haven’t been allowed to talk to him. And when I bring this up to Santiago, he counters with Abel’s last-ditch effort to save himself when, while I lay in a coma, my husband was escorted to The Tribunal’s halls and accused of being the mastermind behind it all. Abel had somehow fabricated evidence to prove his statements. My father had saved Santiago. He had given up his own son to save another, a man who was always a better son to him than his own blood. And I wonder if that blow was harder than any other to my brother. Or maybe he was too far past that and had reached the point of no return. Because my father once again chose Santiago over him.
That is the thing that started this, and that will be the thing to end it.
Abel looks around the room, and I see a stubbornness in the set of his jaw. An arrogance. But when his eyes meet mine, I see fear. Not repentance. Not remorse. Fear.
He, too, has grown older in these months. His hair has grayed although it’s not gone completely white like our father’s. He’s thinner too as though his muscles have wasted away. Or maybe that is the sheath he’s been made to wear.
I look at Santiago. His eyes are locked on Abel. They’re hard.
Mercedes turns to put a hand on Santiago’s. She’s barely able to drag her gaze from my brother, but at that moment, I see how her eyes are bright, how her mouth is set in a tight line, and I see how her knuckles go white around Santiago’s hand. She has asked to be present at his execution. I am not sure what the decision was, though. I’m not sure Santiago will allow it, and even if he does, will The Tribunal?
The gavel comes down, and we all turn our attention to The Councilors who draw their hoods back from their heads. The act makes me shudder.
“Abel Moreno, you have been found guilty of the murders of…” They begin to read off names. I recognize three. Santiago’s father and brother and Dr. Chambers. But as the list grows, my mouth falls open, and I see quiet tears stream down my father’s face.
I lose track of the count and hug Santiago’s jacket closer around my shoulders. He keeps one hand on me at all times whether on my thigh or fingers intertwining with mine. I’m not sure whose are colder, mine or his.
They don’t ask Abel’s plea. That’s been and done. He pled not guilty, but the evidence stands to prove otherwise.
But this next part of the trial is the important part. The sentencing. Because there is more than one way for a man to die.
“Have you any final words before sentencing, Abel Moreno?”
All eyes turn to my brother. I see how his hand trembles, and the chain rattles when he brings the glass of water beside him to his lips and drinks a sip before setting it back down. He clears his throat as he turns his eyes up to the trio.
Santiago explained what comes next. What choice my brother has yet to make.
Tell the full story. Name the names. Die a peaceful death.
Don’t and we shall have the full story and the names and a long-drawn-out death the likes of which I am certain I don’t want to know the details of.
Abel begins to speak. His voice is hoarse as if he hasn’t spoken in a long time. He begins by naming names. And a part of me is relieved, audibly so in the form of a sigh.
Santiago squeezes my hand.
A peaceful death. That’s better than the alternative.
And after the names, he tells his story.
He tells how he fabricated the evidence that had many good families excommunicated from The Society after the bad ones were dealt with. He tells of the ousted men who were behind it, who backed the work with more money than I can comprehend. He talks of why. Things that send my head spinning. Drugs. Sex. Human trafficking. A contract with a Mexican cartel and an Italian mafia family and illegal, inhumane activity that some members of IVI participated in that eventually led to the moment of Abel’s personal revenge. The explosion that would kill so many of the Sovereign Sons who had a hand in ousting the members would be the culmination of Abel’s singular focus. His hate of Santiago De La Rosa. His hate of the man who would take his place as his father’s son. His hate of the man who, in his warped mind, stood in the way of him and greatness. Whose very life impeded Abel’s ability to climb within the ranks.
Santiago sits like a pillar of stone beside me as he listens. Takes it all in. Understands the mind of a monster whose hate and jealousy led to so much destruction.
By the time Abel is finished, I am exhausted.
The Councilors sit looking down on my brother with contempt. I can’t blame them. They lost family and friends, too.
Councilor Hildebrand clears his throat.
“For your role in the plotting and murders of so many of our fold, you are sentenced to death by hanging.”