Previously in "The Teacher":

A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.


Somewhere, a door opened and shut with an audible thwack. The volume of the chatter lessened, but Andi couldn't see what was happening.

"All rise," someone called. "This court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Burl H. Douglas presiding."

The door opened again and, as she rose to her feet, Andi was able to see the judge. Though this was her first time in the courtroom, she'd seen plenty of photos of him on the news and heard the biography. Born and raised in Aurora, Colorado, Judge Douglas went to college and law school there. After graduating, he was hired by a firm in Provo and relocated. Seven years ago, he was appointed to fill a vacancy in the United States District Court for the District of Utah. The Senate's confirmation was quick and unremarkable, ending with a vote of ninety-three to six. Surely, no one had anticipated that he would someday hear a high-profile case like this.

Judge Douglas seemed to be just under six feet tall with a widening mid-section. He had a full head of raven hair mixed with some gray, no beard, and a hint of a moustache. His dark robe looked freshly laundered and he wore elegant silver-framed glasses. He took a moment to situate himself behind the bench and set up his laptop. His court clerk, a young man with brown hair and what appeared to be his best dark-colored suit, likewise took his position.

"Be seated," Judge Douglas said. It was 9:30 in the morning and He already sounded tired. The three-month trial was a harrowing ordeal and that didn't include the pre-trial preparations which stretched back eighteen months, when the case was first moved into this courtroom. It was common knowledge that tHe judge was ready to put it behind him.

"Let's bring in the defendant," he instructed.

Andi didn't see anyone relay the judge's mandate. everyone waited.

Soon, the chatter rose again. Judge Douglas let it be, occupying himself with something on his computer. For all Andi could guess, he was playing solitaire. For the first time in her life, she was struck by the fact that, despite being raised by a sitting U.S. Supreme Court Justice, she did not know much about the legal system and its components, habits, and procedures.

The door opened for a third time and Andi watched the per session. Three court officers surrounded John, who was wearing an orange jumpsuit. He was secured by handcuffs and leg irons, both connected to a chain around his waist. Andi could hear the metallic clinks and clacks as he moved.

John was staring straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone on either side of the spectator gallery. He didn't even look at his own lawyers. His face was blank and his hands rested in front of him, held close together by the cuffs.

The court officers directed John towards the defense table and into a seat behind it. He looked down at the table. No one removed the restraints. Andi remembered a legal analyst explaining that, during the trial, the handcuffs were removed but the leg irons remained. Due to John's violent escape from the courthouse in Boston, precautions were called for and authorized to prevent any further breakout attempts. He was likewise required to wear a stun belt and snipers were posted on rooftops surrounding the courthouse. To keep any prejudicial or unconstitutional presumptions of guilt from being made by the jurors, both the prosecution and defense tables were draped with black cloth so John could only be seen from the waist up. Such presumptions were no longer a concern.

Throughout the trial, the news reported that John was brought to and from court wearing the handcuffs belonging to Boston Police Officer Richard Queenan, whom John was suspected of ambushing and killing during his flight out of Beantown. The fact was never mentioned in court, but outside, it was discussed and analyzed as much as anything else in the case.

Judge Douglas was also watching the court officers situate John next to his lawyers.

"Call the case," he instructed when everything seemed to be in order.

"Case number 2-5-1-8-6-2," the court clerk recited. "The United States versus John Kirkland."

Judge Douglas took a moment to survey the courtroom. Everyone looked back in silence.

"This is the sentencing hearing," Judge Douglas said. "I've received the jury's recommendation."

Since the jury made their recommendation out loud to a packed courtroom last month, no one needed to anticipate what it was.

"Are there any matters pending before this court?" Judge Douglas asked.

"No, Your Honor," Carl Hasson said, rising to his feet.

"No, Your Honor," one of the defense attorneys echoed, also rising.

"Mr. Kirkland," Judge Douglas said, looking at the defendant. "Would you like to say anything before I pronounce your sentence?"

Everyone looked at John. The man had barely said a word throughout the trial. He gave no interviews and didn't take the stand in his own defense. His defense team had argued he was insane and psychiatrists spoke for him. The jury's guilty verdict on all charges indicated how successful the doctors' efforts had been.

John looked up at the judge.

"No, Your Honor," he said and shifted his gaze down towards the wooden panels of the judge's bench.

Judge Douglas gave two slow nods.

"I understand emotions are high as we near the conclusion of this case," he said. "However, I would like to remind everyone they are to remain respectful. Any outbursts or disruptions of any kind will not be tolerated and you will be removed from this courtroom immediately. No arguments and no exceptions."

Without waiting for any acknowledgements, He picked up some papers and adjusted his glasses.

"In the matter of The United States versus John Kirkland," he read, "case number 2-5-1-8-6-2. On count one, the jury has found the defendant, John Kirkland, guilty of murder in the first degree as defined in 18 U.S. Code section 1111, subsection A, in the death of Mallory Whiteson."

Andi heard a single choked sob. She caught a glimpse of a blonde woman burying her face in her hands. Judge Douglas glanced at the gallery. He frowned but didn't say anything and returned to his papers.

"The jury was subsequently given the duty of recommending whether or not the defendant ought to be sentenced to death as allowed under 18 U.S. Code section 1111, subsection B, subsection 1," he continued reading. "The jury has failed to reach a unanimous recommendation as required under 18 U.S. Code sectionâ?¯3593, subsection e."

The jury's non-unanimity the previous month was the biggest surprise of this "trial of the century". After a week of deliberation, the foreman reported they were hopelessly deadlocked ten to two in favor of death. With no other recourse, Judge Douglas thanked the jurors for their service and dismissed them. The legal experts on the news were still speculating about what had happened in the jury room. The only thing they all agreed on was that the judge was now left with only one option.

"therefore," Judge Douglas continued reading, "as required in 18 U.S. Code sectionâ?¯3594, I sentence the defendant to a term of life imprisonment without the possibility of release."

He went on to impose a second life sentence for the murder of Patrick Fahey, repeating much of what he'd recited the first time, and five years for Flight to Avoid Prosecution. Andi remembered her grandfather telling her the federal system did not have the option of parole. The legal experts also mentioned this. The only way out was time off for good behavior. And there was no way to subtract time from a life sentence.

"Furthermore," Judge Douglas said, "as allowed by 18 U.S. Code sectionâ?¯3584, I am ordering that these sentences be served consecutively."

Two back-to-back life sentences without parole plus an additional five years. The intent was clear. John was to never be a free man again. With the violent escape in his history, he'd never see anything less imposing than a maximum-security prison, though many considered how even that wouldn't be enough. Finding another point to speculate on, the legal experts already predicted he would be sent directly to the supermax prison in Florence, Colorado, or a newer high-security facility in Thompson, Illinois. In either prison, he'd spend twenty-three hours in a cell with little human contact.

Judge Douglas banged his gavel and the court officers came back for the prisoner. As he rose to his feet, John looked around the courtroom. He briefly locked eyes with his family. Mrs. Kirkland wiped her eyes. Mr. Kirkland's jaw was tight. Tanya locked eyes with her brother, but she was soon looking down at her own feet, her eyes closing.

John looked around the courtroom again. Her heart skipping a beat, Andi wondered if he could see her. The courtroom was crowded, so her presence wasn't obvious. She wasn't sure if she wanted John to know she was there.

One of the court officers beckoned to John. John allowed himself to be taken away and soon disappeared through the door, which Andi caught a glimpse of for the first time. It looked so ... normal. She'd have expected something more technical and secure for someone who'd killed six people and terrorized many more. But this simple wooden door with its gray metal handle could almost belong in her own home or the school.

Looking back, Andi caught a glimpse of Carl Hasson. He and his assistants were packing up their papers at the prosecution's table. His face suggested relief and satisfaction with this outcome. Maybe he was glad it was over. Maybe he was glad he'd never have to witness an execution. Andi couldn't be sure.

With John gone, the interest was over. Many people who had no other business in this courtroom rose and filed out. The reporters rushed out to share what they'd seen.

Andi remained seated, watching the thick crowd move past her. She'd refused to talk about what happened so many times, people weren't trying anymore. Now, it was over. John was heading to prison. The publicity would erode over the next few days and something else would replace it in the news cycle.

As the crowd thinned, Andi turned to Marshall. She let out a long breath.

"Let's go," she said.

They rose to their feet and moved into the aisle.

"Andi!"

Andi stopped at the sound of her name. She turned. A woman with long, wavy blonde hair was coming towards her. The woman was wearing a black dress, like something one would wear at a funeral.

As the woman approached, Marshall glanced between her and Andi, waiting for a sign to tell him what to do.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, reaching them. "I felt ... I thought ... with everything that happened, I thought I should talk to you."

Andi stared at her, trying to decipher her motives.

"I'm Ashleigh Whiteson," the woman said. "I don't think we've ever met before. I never thought it was right to come speak to you before."

Andi realized this was Mallory Whiteson's mother. With the murdered young woman's face having been on the news so often the past few years, it was easy to compare her visage and see the family resemblance. But something in Ashleigh Whiteson's eyes said there was more to this encounter.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through this," Ashleigh Whiteson said. "With what happened before ... with what Matt did ... I'm so sorry."

Andi froze at the sound of her father's name. She heard it so rarely these days, even with the news sometimes recapping what happened twenty-three years ago.

Still studying the woman, Andi couldn't withhold a gasp. Ashleigh Whiteson nodded.

"I've felt so guilty about it over the years," she said. "I kept thinking if I hadn't allowed the affair to happen, maybe your family would still be alive. And now, what you had to go through with that man ..."

She glanced back at the door John had been taken through earlier.

"I'm so sorry," she said and began crying.

Andi couldn't believe this. The woman before her was both the mother of one of John Kirkland's victims and the paralegal her father had been having an affair with when he killed her mother, her brother, and himself so long ago. Of all the cases in all the courtrooms in all the world ... really, what were the odds?

"I left Rockville after that happened," Ashleigh Whiteson said, regaining her composure. "I moved to Boston, met and married someone wonderful, and had Mallory. I thought all that was behind me. Now ..."

She shuddered.

"I put it together when they first spoke about you on the news," she continued. "I should have come to see you then. I'm sorry I didn't. Everything just came flooding back ... all those emotions ... I just didn't want you to hate me on top of everything else."

The two women stood there, frozen for a few seconds. Marshall stayed next to Andi, ready to steer her away should she give a sign for him to do so. Finally, he withdrew a pack of tissues from his pocket and held it out for Ashleigh Whiteson, who plucked one out and wiped her wet eyes with it.

"I don't hate you," Andi said. "It wasn't your fault."

Sure, the woman had slept with her father, but it went much farther than just a simple affair. There were her father's mental problems and the probably legitimate accusations of embezzlement. This woman wasn't to blame.

Ashleigh Whiteson shuddered again.

"Still," she said, "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have needed to go through that. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Me, too," Andi said.

This woman had endured the scandal of the affair's revelation in the wake of her father's actions, causing her to relocate and start over in a place far away. Now, she'd lost her only child in a single, horrific act of senseless violence. Andi was sure Ashleigh Whiteson had taken on far beyond her fair share of suffering.

Andi thought, as she often had, about John's reasoning for choosing her and her students as his hostages. He'd claimed there was no specific selection process behind his actions, and Andi now felt like this was true. Like the people John had robbed, injured, and killed, they were unwittingly in his way. When he entered her classroom on that February morning, John acted out of impulse to try and improve his situation, just as he had when confronted or cornered in New England. The randomness of his actions made the odds of Ashleigh Whiteson standing in front of Andi in this courtroom even more astronomical.

"Take care of yourself," Ashleigh Whiteson said.

Before Andi or Marshall could respond, she turned and walked back up the aisle. Further up, Andi saw a man talking to Carl Hasson. She supposed this was Ashleigh Whiteson's husband. She couldn't recall his name. She wondered how much the man knew about his wife's past. He probably knew everything now.

As though driven by an involuntary spasm, Andi's eyes shifted over to the defense table. She could see John sitting there, staring straight ahead, his hands lying flat on the polished wood.

Then, the image changed. Andi saw her father sitting there. But she knew this couldn't be so. Her father had never needed to answer for what he'd done, at least not in a court of law. Still, he was sitting right there, waiting for Earth-bound judgement.

Andi blinked, the chair at the defense table was empty again. Both John and her father were gone, now just memories she'd have to contend with from time to time.

"You okay?" Marshall asked.

Andi nodded. She would contend with John and her father again whenever she had to, but they wouldn't run her life.

"Let's go," she said again.

Their rental car was packed and waiting in a parking garage down the block from the courthouse. They would grab a quick lunch and then head to the airport.

Andi took one more deep breath and turned towards the doors again. She led the way through and headed for the elevators down the corridor from the courtroom. Rey was waiting.

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The End