Kennedy In Denver (In Denver Series Book 1) Read online

  In the five months since the attack my parents, along with the other parents, had petitioned to have our house leveled to the ground they planted a garden along with benches for Whitney, Pilar, and Emma. I didn't go to the dedication. In truth, I was too scared to leave my room on most days. I felt helpless all the time.

  My mother took a sabbatical from work, so she could drive me to and from outpatient therapy as well as my weekly visit to my therapist. I knew she really stayed home for fear she would come home and find me dead. My parents tried so hard to fix me, make things better and to assure me that I would get through this.

  They were so focused on the clusterfuck that had become my existence, that they stopped doing anything for themselves. I needed space, I needed strength, and I needed to get my life and myself together. I couldn't stand seeing the worried look on my father's face or the tired look on my mother's face. I was done. I wasn't a victim anymore. I was a survivor, and it was time I started acting like it.

  With the help of some family therapy sessions, my parents backed off a little. My journey started small; walking to the mailbox must not seem like much to a normal person, but I’m not really normal anymore.

  A walk to the end of my street, then a jog around the block turned into a run in my neighborhood. After a few weeks, I decided I would learn how to protect myself. I took kickboxing at the YMCA, and I felt strong for the first time in months. I felt like the old Kennedy, but I would never be that girl again, the one that saw the world as good and safe. I was wiser now, hardened. I was alive, and I was gonna live every day to the fullest. I not only had my life to live, but I had the lives of my three friends to live. They didn't get their chance at life, but I was going to make sure I got mine for all of us.

  It was a year after the attack before I was able to move to Boston. I found a cute studio apartment in a secure building. I would spend my mornings doing yoga, and my evenings taking Krav Maga and going to a local shooting range. I needed the physical exhaustion so I wouldn't dream. It had been twenty two months after the attack when I got the phone call from district attorney Perez. Henry Lloyd Burns was finally going to trial. No more delays or motions, the trial would be in less than six weeks. I wasn't sure I could handle it, but I really didn't have a choice. My friends were gone. I was their only voice. I was the only one alive that could tell what happened to us that night, and I was done being scared.

  For the next six weeks, I focused on keeping my emotions under control. No way would I let that monster have the satisfaction of seeing me shake or sweat, I don't fear him anymore—it was him that should fear me.

  It had been two years since I had seen my best friend’s parents. As I got off the elevator at the courthouse, they were waiting outside the courtroom and speaking to Mr. Perez. I didn't know what to say, I often wondered if they hate me for not screaming. Did they blame me for surviving? Did it disgust them every time they saw my face? I didn't want to find out, so I ran. Once I reached the outside of the courthouse, I made it to the bushes before throwing up. I felt a hand on my back a jerked up. It was Pilar's mom.

  “Why did you run from us, querida?”

  I heard her soft voice whisper in my ear as she hugged me.

  All I could do was cry and tell her how sorry I was. How sorry I was that I survived and Pilar was dead, sorry I didn't scream, sorry I couldn't save the girls. I was enveloped by so many arms when I finally looked up I could see Emma's mom and Whitney's mom had come to hug me. Their dads and my parents sat on the steps and cried.

  Whitney’s dad spoke next. “None of us blame you honey.” He looked me deep in my eyes and said, “None of this was your fault. We have stayed away because you needed time to heal and focus on yourself, but we’ve never blamed you. Our daughters are gone, but not forgotten. You were all best friends. The four years you girls spent together gave each of you an enormous amount of happiness. You have to forgive yourself and realize none of the girls would want you to carry this guilt.”

  Mr. Perez walked up and told us it was time. Court would be starting in ten minutes. Walking past news trucks, we entered the courthouse and into a packed courtroom.

  My mother leaned over whispering, “You see that man, the one in the biker vest?” I nodded. “His daughter was victim number thirteen. She was eighteen, a freshman at Edison University in New Jersey. She was found dead in her dorm room. The blonde couple over there, their daughter was victim number eight. She was a junior at MIT, and she was found in her apartment. Most of the people in the courtroom are parents and loved ones of the victims. These people are here to support you. They drove from all over the country to be here. Use the strength they give you.”

  I nod at the couple and make my way over to the biker. “Hello, I’m Kennedy Brennan, but I guess you know that.”

  “What can I do for you, darlin’?” he asks.

  “I just wanted to say I'm sorry for your loss, and I promise you will get justice.”

  “Funny thing darlin’, my daughter was killed, and it was never on the news. No one cared that some biker’s kid was killed, but a Governor's daughter, the daughter of an actress, and the daughter of America’s leading brain surgeon, now that made headline news all over the world.”

  I look at his vest; it has four patches on it over his heart Prez, Founder, Renegade and Brighton, CO.

  “ Mr. Renegade.”

  "Darlin’, that's my road name. My name's Seth Falcone."

  “Mr. Falcone," I say. “I don’t know why the media is the way it is, but I'm telling you, I will get justice for your daughter!”

  “Beatrix. My daughter’s name was Beatrix. She liked to be called Trixie.”

  “Like Dante's Inferno? I like that.”

  Renegade nodded.

  Before going to my parents, I turned to Renegade.

  “A Brennan always keeps their promises!”

  The defense team had tried to block out the media, but with the case being so huge the public interest won out. I sat on the further end of the first row. I know everyone was concerned with blocking my view of the monster. It wouldn't matter; I was going to have to face him sooner or later. Four days into the trial, three specialists testified that the defendant was not mentally capable of understanding his actions; they gave long presentations and showed all kind of science. The whole time Burns just scribbled on a notepad.

  When it was the prosecution's turn to call witnesses, the last person I expected to see was Tristan Cooper. He looked older, gone was the peach fuzz and bright eyes. The last two years had taken a toll on him. He didn't look like the boy I had called Coop. He looked every bit of the Broadway Bad Boy and Heartthrob that was on the cover of every teen magazine. Tristan Cooper took the stand and gave his testimony of what he had walked into that morning. Then the pictures of the crime scene projected on a screen. It showed the house, it showed my friend’s bodies. Tristan explained how he went from room to room to see if anyone had survived. He said he first realized something was wrong when he saw Pilar’s bloody body in the hallway. That's when he made the 911 call.

  He was asked to describe how he found me. I couldn't look at him, so I looked at the jury. The defense had no questions for him so he was dismissed. The jury looked like they were going to be sick once the medical examiner took the stand and started going over the autopsy findings. Whitney had been stabbed twenty five times in the breast and genitals. She was then beat in the head with the lamp that sat on her nightstand. They were able to determine that a crushed skull is what finally killed her.

  Pilar was the only one who fought back. She scratched Henry. His DNA was found under her fingernails. She was stabbed twelve times in the chest. She attempted to crawl away and was stabbed an additional six times in the back. Her cause of death was a severed spinal cord. Emma suffered the worst because she was the object of Tristan’s affection.

  The medical examiner explained that he was able to conclude that Emma's hymen had been torn during the commission of her attack. There was exte
nsive tearing and trauma to her vagina and rectum. She had seventy eight stab wounds and signs of repeated strangulation. Both her eyes had been gouged out, and he cut the tips of her ears off. Then he cut the sides of her face and removed two of her fingers. The judge called a short recess because one of the jury members threw up in the jury box after the autopsy photos were shown.

  I was sitting outside the courtroom when a well-dressed man and woman stood in front of me. Looking up I recognized the grey eyes. My parents stood up ready to shield, but I threw my hands up. I wanted to talk to these people; I wanted to know what kind of people raised that kind of monster.

  Mr. Burns spoke first. All he was able to get out was “I am...” before he broke down in front of me, sinking to his knees. His wife just kept saying, repeatedly, “We're sorry.”

  I pulled her into my arms and whispered, "It's not your fault." I realized that Mr. and Mrs. Burns were no more responsible for what their son did than my parents were responsible for what I was going to do. His parents were victims also. Not in the same way we were, but they were demonized in the press even though they did everything they could to stop their son, and were really the only reason he was caught. They were still the parents of the Barton Butcher.

  They summoned us back into the courtroom, and the Burns’ sat in the back row of the prosecution side. It was my turn, and I took the stand. I recounted the events that happened that fateful night. I was asked to point Burns out at the defense table. I was asked about my life before the attack and after. They questioned me on how much time the four of us spent drinking and going to bars, anything to make us look like we asked for what happened. When I left that stand Burns blew me a kiss then winked at me. I heard a gasp, but all else was lost as the blood rushed to my ears.

  I had timed this perfectly. I was prepared for my punishment, if it meant I got justice for all Burns’ victims. Rotating slightly, I elbowed the bailiff in the face, grabbing his service gun I turned and unloaded the entire clip into Henry Lloyd Burns’ chest. All nine bullets hit him in a perfect cluster. I was tackled to the ground as the court erupted into screaming and chaos. I could see a row of bailiffs and officers holding back my parents and Tristan as they tried to get to me.

  In all the panic one lone figure stood out. As I was dragged away from the chaos, my eyes connected with Trixie’s dad. I was pulled to a standing position, and I just started laughing. I looked over at Burns to see that he was gurgling blood and trying to breathe. I could only think of one thing to say to him, “I thought you would taste like ginger snaps!” I fell into hysterical laughter.

  Chapter 4

  “Kennedy you have been here for three months, and you haven't spoken a single word. You refuse to have any visitors or participate in any group activities,” Dr. Franklin said.

  I remain silent looking out the window watching the ducks swim in the pond before snapping.

  ”I don't know why I’m here and not in prison!” I said.

  “The court has found you not guilty in the death of Henry Lloyd Burns due to your mental state, but you are still court ordered to stay here until we can be sure you aren't a danger to yourself or others. Kennedy, I know you aren't a danger to anyone else, but I can't let you out of here until I am sure you won't harm yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I said

  “I planned on killing Burns; I watched the bailiff. He never snapped his gun holster. I knew I had less than sixty seconds to grab his weapon and start firing before he recovered from the hit to the face. When Burns blew the kiss at me, the bailiff looked for a reaction from the galley. It was the distraction I needed!” I paused with a grin.

  “When I woke up, I was here restrained.”

  ”Well, Kennedy, here is the reality of the situation you will most likely spend the next year here given everything that has happened. You need a place to find peace as well as get the help you need for your PTSD. At the end of the year, you will be referred to an outpatient therapist.

  “I just told you I planned to kill Burns. Aren't you supposed to report it to the police or something?”

  Dr. Franklin removed his glasses and blew out a slow breath.

  “You did the world a favor, Kennedy. I find myself in an ethical and moral dilemma. When that happens I always choose to do what I feel is morally right.”

  “Henry Lloyd Burns deserved to die,” he says while closing his eyes. “The prosecutor had to charge you with a crime. You assaulted an officer of the court and opened fire in a crowded courtroom—on live TV. Your attorney filed for a bench trial. That means the judge only heard your case—no jury required. The judge found you not guilty. Since you were tried in a court of law and found not guilty double jeopardy applies. You can't be tried again for killing him. Since you were already here, I asked that your mental health evaluation be done under my care. Does that answer your question as to why you are here and not in prison?”

  “Yes, thank you, Dr. Franklin,” I respond.

  “I would advise participating in group therapy as well as agreeing to see your parents and Tristan. I read that you use to play the piano, and you are a fantastic singer. Maybe you should devote this time to finding the things you love again. The only way to heal is to somehow merge the old you and the new you.”

  ”Thank you, Dr. Franklin.”

  “I’m not feeling very musical these days. My old life is over. What kind of life will I have? Who is gonna want to give me a job, teaching music to children? Am I supposed to move back in with my parents? I'm sure the neighbors would love that.”

  I cover my face with my hands.

  “There isn't a corner of the world my face isn't recognized. I'm a fucking Instagram meme. Do you think I don't hear the staff talking?”

  “I hear how I'm the topic of late night TV monologues, and how Vegas is running odds on if I will kill again once I'm released.”

  “My favorite is how I'm now a millionaire due to the outpouring of donations to my legal fund, or how many millions I will be worth once I write a memoir. Another patient asked, ‘Who I thought would play me in the movie?’”

  “Please explain to me Dr. Franklin how I can possibly have a life. I’ve kept quiet all this time because if I talk, I want to scream!” I vent.

  “I want to scream how glad I am I killed him. How I'm not sorry, and if I could change it—I wouldn't.”

  “I don't want to see my parents because I don't want them dragged back into all this drama. I want my mom to go back to teaching. I want my dad to not have to talk about what I did every time he gets his oil changed or goes to the moose lodge.”

  “I don't want Tristan, my only surviving friend, to look at me and have to remember day in and day out that the only girl he ever loved is dead, and I lived! Dr. Franklin, I need to figure this out on my own.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “Where will you go Kennedy?” my parents asked as I packed up my room at the Cresthaven Mental health hospital.

  "I don't know, Mom. I'm twenty-three years old. I have two degrees in music, but will never be able to teach so I have to find a way to make a life for myself,” I said in frustration.

  “I know their worried about me, but I needed to stand on my own. I have to start over it's been a tough three years, but I'm in a good place mentally. I have spent these last couple months in group therapy. Dr. Franklin feels like I'm ready.”

  I pause as I look at my concerned parents. “I know you guys want me home, but I don't think Florida is where I need to be right now. I'm definitely not going back to Boston! I guess I have some figuring out to do.”

  My dad just gives me a hug and said sadly, "Sweetie, I'm sorry this has happened to you I'm so sorry I can't make it better."

  "It’s something that will get better in time,” I tell my dad. “Right now all I can't do is try to figure all this out.”

  The knock on the door startled my dad and me out of our hug. I look up to see Dr. Franklin, and I greet him with a smile. />
  “Kennedy, I'm not sad to see you go,” he said with a smile on his face. “I want you to remember that I'm just a phone call away. We figured that the media attention about your release would be insane, so instead of you leaving next week like we had discussed I am releasing you today. I didn't want to take a chance the information would be leaked.” I'm so shocked I can't say anything so I just nod my head.

  “Kennedy,” Dr. Franklin says. “I know this is short notice you haven’t had a chance to make any plans, but I have a suggestion.” I sit on the end of my bed, and my parents join me as we listen to him. “I have a home in Denver. It's completely secure my wife and I had it built for us, but only lived there for five months before she was offered a teaching fellowship at Columbia. It’s vacant and move-in ready. We just use it as a vacation home. I think it would be a great place for you to figure things out.”

  “Yes! That sounds perfect; I don't know how to thank you, Dr. Franklin. I guess I need to finish packing and find a flight.”

  “Don't worry about it, baby girl,” my dad says. “I’ll call the airline.”

  “There isn't a need Cian. Kennedy can use my family plane. It's fueled and ready whenever she is,” Dr. Franklin announces.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  With a heavy sigh, he began, “My family was extremely wealthy; they made their billions in oil and railroads. With that much money there is always the risk of people coming after you. When we were teenagers, my twin sister and I came home from school to find our parents and two younger siblings dead. They had been the victims of a robbery gone wrong. They never caught their killer, and my sister suffered a mental breakdown.”

  Dr. Franklin sits in the chair by the door before continuing his story.

  “With proper help she got better. That's why I chose to be a psychiatrist. The point of my story is my sister, Emilia asked me to reach out to you. She wanted me to treat you, the court was going to recommend a state funded mental institution, but when Emilia saw the footage, she said she saw so much of herself in you. I contacted the court and asked for your case. I have never discussed your treatment with anyone. Kennedy, I don't want you to feel like you can't trust me. I would never betray your confidence.”