Jury duty

"Your honor, I am presenting as exhibit 1 the photograph of the alleged victim's back door lock."

The prosecutor walked over to the table between the jury stand and a projector screen on the opposite wall with her laptop. After she plugged in her laptop, the image of a cheap wooden door lit up the screen. The door had clearly seen better days. White paint peeled at the edges, the ancient doorknob had many scratches traced in rust, and the lock had a broken-off key in it. Above it was a smashed window, edges jagged with brown staining on several of the sharp points.

My head pounded, and the key seemed to glow in my mind's eye. I glanced at the suspect and found him staring at the key in fascination. My senses grew hazy, and I was no longer in the courtroom.

"Let me in damnit! You think changing the lock is gonna keep me out? Fuck you! Fuck this door!"

I jumped at the sound of smashing glass, and my right hand ached in sympathy. The suspect tightened his right hand underneath its bandage.

The prosecutor had moved on to the next exhibit. "Exhibit 2 is a photograph comparing the alleged victim's old lock key, changed one day prior to the incident, and the broken key from the lock."

My senses dulled again. Anger and possessiveness dominated my mind, along with a mild dose of concern.

As each exhibit triggered an episode, the surrounding jury shared looks of concern. My locked jaw, a vein pulsing in my forehead, stiff posture, and twitches with each new piece of evidence were difficult to ignore.

A court officer called for a break, clearly concerned about my health. I accepted the glass of water, but insisted on seeing it through.

"This is important. I truly believe that it is my duty to see this through."

The officer sighed, then led us back out to the stand.

Days of trial later, the jury is in a deadlock. Aside from the signs of forced entry, there was no sign of where the man's wife was or what had happened to her.

I had to do something. Three words, said just loud enough for the accused to hear through the wall separating jurors from the court, pulled from a vision.

"Jeremy and Talia."

The other jurors looked at me. I waved off their curious looks, "Nevermind, my mind got away from me. I was thinking of my plans for this weekend."

It's enough. Another vision.

The day's deliberations end without conclusion again, but my day is not over. I call in an anonymous tip.

“Officer, I heard some power tools and digging around their shed, and I’m concerned that they’re doing construction without a permit!”

It’s enough. The prosecutor enters new, undeniable evidence, and the deadlock is no more.

My senses haze once more. Sheer panic. The suspect rises, red in the face and shouting. A rapid clicking interrupts his shouts, and he lies twitching on the floor.

A few hours later, and the verdict is in: guilty on one count of forced entry and two counts of first degree murder.