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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
My Name Is Sydney
Chapter 7: Epilogue
He rolled down the window and let the soft, warm air caress his face. What a change this was from Delaware, where the weather was already starting to have that chilly feeling that signaled autumn moving into winter. He had his suspicions that by the time he got back, there might even be snow on the ground.
Still, it was a pleasant change to be where it was warm this late in the year, although he wondered absently as the cab drove down the boulevard how Californians could tell their seasons apart. Without falling leaves or snow on the ground, how could they tell summer from autumn, or fall from winter? Ah well, he wouldn't be out here long enough to worry about it. His job would only take a day or so, and then he could climb back into the Centre jet and head home.
He was still amazed that the federal authorities had had the audacity to just march into the Centre foyer as if they owned the place and flash warrants that gave them access to the Chairman himself. It seemed that a federal lawsuit had been filed against the Centre and against Mr. Raines in particular, and that criminal charges had also been filed against Mr. Raines in the apparent kidnapping and detention of a child named James Milburn. And then the flood of subpoenas had begun.
That his name was high on the list of witnesses for the prosecution was no big surprise - considering his position at the Centre, he not only expected it but would have been downright amazed if he hadn't gotten one. After all, his role in this attempt to reactivate the Pretender Project had been substantial.
He closed his eyes as the cab rounded another corner and began to slow. He suddenly decided he was getting tired of palm trees standing like telephone poles with green pom-poms at the top, planted here, there, and everywhere. They were ugly things - especially the ones that hadn't been trimmed down to that naked wood but wore a silver-grey floor-length skirt of dead and dried fronds. He pictured the reds and yellows and golds of the trees that bordered and arched majestically over the road leading to the Centre gates and found himself vaguely homesick.
"Here you are, sir. That will be twelve-fifty." The cabbie's announcement brought him back from his musings.
He reached for both his briefcase and duffelbag after handing a twenty over the front seat. "Keep the change," he directed magnanimously, and the cabbie nodded his head in gratitude.
"Thank YOU, sir!" The cab peeled away from the curb the moment the cabbie was sure his passenger was completely disembarked.
He looked up. The façade of the building was old, but probably not as old as the building across the way. He'd heard tell that the courthouse itself had been damaged in the Loma Prieta earthquake, but renovated and improved in the years since then. He shuddered. Old buildings were not his favorite place. Still, he had a job to do. He took a deep breath and headed inside.
The corridors were wide, clean, and mostly empty. It was, after all, not yet one o'clock in the afternoon. Court had adjourned for the lunch break over an hour ago. He had plenty of time to get his bearings. He looked into several rooms that were apparently abandoned, checking the view. Finally he found the room that would serve the best, and he closed and locked the door behind him.
He moved to the window and looked out and down. He could see right into the courtroom; he could see the people still milling around before taking their seats. He could see familiar faces too - Mr. Raines at the defendant's table, Miss Parker... He opened his briefcase to begin removing and assembling the pieces secured within their protective grey foam.
Willy put the ocular lens to his eye and watched as the judge came through the door behind his bench, and the trial was once more in session. A tall, distinguished-looking man rose from the audience and came down the aisle. He turned just before he reached the witness stand and raised his right hand.
Willy didn't need to hear the lightly accented voice recite the traditional promise to tell the truth. He simply moved the crosshairs to a point between the man's eyes as he saw the lips begin to speak the words, "My name is Sydney..."
Fin.
Chapter 7: Epilogue
He rolled down the window and let the soft, warm air caress his face. What a change this was from Delaware, where the weather was already starting to have that chilly feeling that signaled autumn moving into winter. He had his suspicions that by the time he got back, there might even be snow on the ground.
Still, it was a pleasant change to be where it was warm this late in the year, although he wondered absently as the cab drove down the boulevard how Californians could tell their seasons apart. Without falling leaves or snow on the ground, how could they tell summer from autumn, or fall from winter? Ah well, he wouldn't be out here long enough to worry about it. His job would only take a day or so, and then he could climb back into the Centre jet and head home.
He was still amazed that the federal authorities had had the audacity to just march into the Centre foyer as if they owned the place and flash warrants that gave them access to the Chairman himself. It seemed that a federal lawsuit had been filed against the Centre and against Mr. Raines in particular, and that criminal charges had also been filed against Mr. Raines in the apparent kidnapping and detention of a child named James Milburn. And then the flood of subpoenas had begun.
That his name was high on the list of witnesses for the prosecution was no big surprise - considering his position at the Centre, he not only expected it but would have been downright amazed if he hadn't gotten one. After all, his role in this attempt to reactivate the Pretender Project had been substantial.
He closed his eyes as the cab rounded another corner and began to slow. He suddenly decided he was getting tired of palm trees standing like telephone poles with green pom-poms at the top, planted here, there, and everywhere. They were ugly things - especially the ones that hadn't been trimmed down to that naked wood but wore a silver-grey floor-length skirt of dead and dried fronds. He pictured the reds and yellows and golds of the trees that bordered and arched majestically over the road leading to the Centre gates and found himself vaguely homesick.
"Here you are, sir. That will be twelve-fifty." The cabbie's announcement brought him back from his musings.
He reached for both his briefcase and duffelbag after handing a twenty over the front seat. "Keep the change," he directed magnanimously, and the cabbie nodded his head in gratitude.
"Thank YOU, sir!" The cab peeled away from the curb the moment the cabbie was sure his passenger was completely disembarked.
He looked up. The façade of the building was old, but probably not as old as the building across the way. He'd heard tell that the courthouse itself had been damaged in the Loma Prieta earthquake, but renovated and improved in the years since then. He shuddered. Old buildings were not his favorite place. Still, he had a job to do. He took a deep breath and headed inside.
The corridors were wide, clean, and mostly empty. It was, after all, not yet one o'clock in the afternoon. Court had adjourned for the lunch break over an hour ago. He had plenty of time to get his bearings. He looked into several rooms that were apparently abandoned, checking the view. Finally he found the room that would serve the best, and he closed and locked the door behind him.
He moved to the window and looked out and down. He could see right into the courtroom; he could see the people still milling around before taking their seats. He could see familiar faces too - Mr. Raines at the defendant's table, Miss Parker... He opened his briefcase to begin removing and assembling the pieces secured within their protective grey foam.
Willy put the ocular lens to his eye and watched as the judge came through the door behind his bench, and the trial was once more in session. A tall, distinguished-looking man rose from the audience and came down the aisle. He turned just before he reached the witness stand and raised his right hand.
Willy didn't need to hear the lightly accented voice recite the traditional promise to tell the truth. He simply moved the crosshairs to a point between the man's eyes as he saw the lips begin to speak the words, "My name is Sydney..."
Fin.
