Clean Verdict, Dirty Truth

My crippled sister, Monica Porter, jumped from the roof of the classroom building.

The day before she died, she had just been fitted with the custom prosthetic legs I had paid for with ten years of savings. She was glowing, excited to finally stand up on her own.

But my wife's best friend, a guy she said was just like a brother to her, locked Monica inside an empty art room. He smashed her new legs, forced her to crawl on the floor and lick paint clean to retrieve the broken parts, and recorded everything on video.

And my wife, a judge, ultimately ruled that the case could not stand.

"The video cannot confirm the time it was recorded and may represent consensual performance art between both parties," she said.

Sandra Pauley's final judgment was simple.

"The deceased had a history of depression. The school and the defendant bear no responsibility."

I smiled and cooked her a full table of food.

The next day, I hung the bully, Eric Hoyles, from the school's flagpole and livestreamed it to the entire internet.

"Honey, remember how you said Monica had such pretty legs?"

I raised a claw hammer and brought it down on his ankle.

"If you don't hand over the video evidence right now, I'll hook out his Achilles tendon one strand at a time and let him learn what it feels like to crawl!"

The wind passed through. His screaming broke apart in the air, mixing with the strained creaking of the flagpole until it sounded almost like music.

The live chat went insane.

Meanwhile, I laughed until my eyes filled with tears.

"Sandra, I know you're watching."

The moment the stream went live, traffic flooded in like a released dam.

"Bradley, I was wrong! I'm really sorry!"

Eric Hoyles, the school bully and my wife's best friend whom she said was like a brother to her, was hanging high above the ground, bound tightly by rope.

One of his ankles was already twisted at a sick, impossible angle.

I stood beneath the flagpole, gripping a claw hammer slick with blood.

The chat exploded.

[What the hell is this? Special effects or an actual psycho?]

[This guy's nuts. Pulling something like this in broad daylight. Is this some kind of revenge?]

[Wait, I recognize him. He was on the news a few days ago. His crippled sister jumped off a building. The court ruled it a suicide and said no one else was involved.]

[Oh, right. That girl who had depression, so she killed herself. What does that have to do with this good-looking guy? Guess her brother finally snapped. What a messed-up family!]

I ignored the stinging comments and spoke calmly to the camera.

"The first time Monica wore the prosthetic legs, she took three steps across the living room and fell.

"She scraped her knee badly. Blood seeped out.

"But she just sat there on the floor, tilted her head back, and smiled like an idiot. She said it didn't hurt at all."

Before the words even finished leaving my mouth, I swung the hammer and slammed it hard against the flagpole beside Eric's ankle.

The sharp metallic crash echoed through the air, mixed with the violent vibration of steel and Eric's terror-stricken scream.

His whole body spasmed midair. Even his crying came out wrong.

I didn't look at him. My eyes stayed on the camera.

"She said to me, 'Bradley, I can finally walk by myself now.' And you hugged her and laughed, saying she had the prettiest legs and could wear all the beautiful dresses she wanted now."

Seeing that I showed no mercy, Eric turned to the camera and cried even harder.

"Bradley! Monica lied to you! Wake up! Everyone watching, please save me! I was going to stay quiet for Monica's reputation since she's no longer around, but look at Bradley! He's completely lost it!"

His voice cracked as he sobbed.

"Monica started it! She wouldn't leave me alone. She said she loved me, that she'd do anything for me. That day, she fell on purpose. She just wanted me to hold her. When I refused, she snapped and said I looked down on her for being crippled!"