At the turn of the lunch hour, the attendees begin filing back into the courtroom with anticipation. Zeke, Cherry, Kara, and Lewis all find their places within the benches; the ginger’s leg immediately begins to bounce as they get settled. Zeke tries to not let it bother him, but it almost seems as if Lewis knows something about today’s events that Zeke hasn’t the slightest clue on. Well, maybe he does… The brunette peers over his shoulder and out amongst the benches, but he doesn’t spot that woman he spoke with just before eating lunch. After all, the room is packed now.

Court commences once again as the judge talks in that deep, monotonous voice of his. The attorneys address the jury and the judge once more, but Zeke can hardly pay attention. His attention falls just past Lewis, out towards those big open windows at the far left side of the room. As he listens to the state attorney recap what they’ve discovered via witnesses and evidence exhibits, the brunette’s mind just retraces the previous testimonies he’s heard today.

Everyone was asked pretty basic questions regarding Mr. Wright and his lack of management. Zeke can do that, right? Now it’s the defense attorney’s turn to speak, and the guy just drones on and on about how his client owns a small business and how he was using his earned income and yadda yadda yadda… He yammers on until the judge gives Mrs. Pennett the permission to call up her next witness. Zeke’s attention peels off the window and moves towards the back of the courtroom. He grits his teeth and jaw as he anticipates hearing a name that nobody in this town recognizes. A name he’s gone by in a life outside of this one he’s created in the Poconos…

“I’d like to call Ezekiel Valencia up to the witness stand, please,” Mrs. Pennett states as she looks out across the benches, and Zeke isn’t sure whether to feel relieved or petrified. The room goes silent as everyone holds their breath. The judge looks towards the new face in town; as does the defense attorney, as does Sheriff Stoneheart, as does every single person sitting amongst the benches.

“Zeke? Are you okay?” He hears Cherry ask in that sweet, gentle voice of hers just to his right. He nods his head and jolts up in his seat, because he realizes he’s supposed to make his way towards the back of the room. He shuffles through the benches and trails down the seemingly never-ending corridor towards center stage. Before he knows it, he’s swearing on the Bible that he’ll tell the full truth and nothing but the truth, and then he’s seated in that wooden high chair just beside the judge’s desk.

The room is quiet again, and all Zeke can do is to try desperately to ignore the hundred pairs of eyes staring up at him expectantly. He tries to keep his attention on the state attorney, but he can’t help but look over towards Mr. Wright. The old man stares up at him with disdain, but there’s an exhaustion to his gaze that reads as though he’s ready for this to be over. Under the desk, Zeke clings onto that pink fidget cube that Cherry had lended him earlier today.

“Thank you for joining us today, Mr. Valencia,” Mrs. Pennett says gently, “I’d just like to ask you a few questions regarding your time at Heart Hollow Honeymoon Hotel & Resort. I understand that you’re the newest employee at the Hotel?”

“Uh, yeah,” Zeke croaks out before quickly clearing his throat as he continues, “I was hired in June.”

“What is your professional title?”

“I’m the manager’s assistant.”

“And what are the key differences between your position and Mr. Lockheart’s position as the assistant manager?”

“Oh, yeah. Lewis does all the work that Mr. Wright doesn’t want to do anymore. Paperwork, supply orders, HR stuff. I just kinda, like, help Lewis with the daily stuff.”

“I see,” Mrs. Pennett states, “your title suggests that you assist all of the managers. Would you find this to be true?”

“I mean… Not really. I’m mostly helping Lewis with stuff.”

“Does Mr. Andrei Wright ever ask you to assist him?”

“Uh,” Zeke half-heartedly laughs, “Mr. Wright will have me grab him a bucket of ice every once in a while for his daily bottle of whiskey, but that’s about it,” he states. He notices some folks whispering to each other in the benches, and he does his best to ignore them. He’s not too fond of the attention he’s receiving right now.

“So you agree with our previous witnesses’ testimonies that Mr. Wright drinks on the job?”

“Without a doubt.”

“A man drunk on the job,” she shakes her head as she looks towards the jury, “everyone enjoys a drink from time to time after a long day, but being intoxicated on the clock is unprofessional. One would be bound to make mistakes and fail to think critically. Mr. Valencia, I’d like to clear something up. Earlier today, before recess, Ms. Flores told us that Mr. Wright recently added the responsibility of hiring to Mr. Lockheart’s duties. Is that correct?”

“Uh. I mean, Lewis was the one who hired me, yeah. I guess Mr. Wright did tell me that he used to hire folks for different reasons. He told me that he hired Kara at seventeen because he thought she was pretty, so that’s something,” he cracks a smile, and he watches as Kara flips her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

Mrs. Pennett nods her head and takes a moment to look through some paperwork. She bends over the prosecution desk and highlights something, “hiring someone under eighteen is negligence of policy at the Hotel & Resort. I’d like to bring a photocopy of the Hotel’s Standard Operating Procedure book as evidence of that.”

She hands Zeke a very thick booklet of photocopied pages, and he reviews the newly highlighted portion as she hands out two more copies to the jury. Mrs. Pennett continues, “if the witness and jury may please turn to the page marked with a green sticky note, I’d like to discuss my next point regarding job responsibilities.”

Zeke does as he’s told; it’s a section titled Job Titles and Their Duties. There’s a few sections for different jobs around the Hotel. Under each job, there are bullet points that discuss respective responsibilities. Mrs. Pennett states, “while also being the owner, Mr. Wright has the role of general manager at the Hotel. Mr. Valencia, if you would please read the duties assigned to the general manager position.”

“Sure. Uh. Managing timesheets and payroll, overseeing the functionality of all departments, conducting the hiring process for new associates, administering pay raises and promotions, creating schedules and approving PTO, maintaining benefits for full-time employees, ensuring up to date legalities with the city, state, and federal governments.”

The state attorney asks, “and which of these tasks does Mr. Wright perform on a regular basis?”

Zeke laughs and scratches at his head, “he does payroll, but he doesn’t manage our timesheets. I guess he does the pay raise and promotion stuff, although apparently incorrectly. I don’t know anything about PTO and benefits. I know I don’t get health insurance with this job, at least, and I’ve never seen anybody take a planned, paid vacation.”

“Who performs the rest of the general manager’s duties?”

“Lewis does. He manages timesheets, he makes the schedule, he does all the boring legal paperwork. He oversees housekeeping and maintenance and reception. He’s literally doing this man’s job, and I’m sure he’s not getting compensated for it,” Zeke huffs.

Mrs. Pennett nods her head, “thank you for your input, Mr. Valencia. You see the nitty gritty of the managers’ working lives, so your input is very valuable to the case at hand. On your exhibit, would you please turn to the next page and read the responsibilities of the assistant manager position? It’s where the orange sticky note marks.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zeke hums as he flips the page, “assisting with the oversight of departments, filling in for employee absences and breaks, compiling maintenance orders for approval, taking inventory of complimentary amenities and other necessities, performing the duties not finished by other associates, boosting morale.”

Mrs. Pennett asks, “and who at the Hotel & Resort takes on these responsibilities?”

Zeke peers down at the page where it clearly says assistant manager responsibilities and stumbles on his words, “I mean. Yeah, uh. I guess this about sums up what I do in a day.”

“So, if I’m understanding you correctly,” Mrs. Pennett says, “Mr. Wright, the Hotel’s general manager, has given his responsibilities to Mr. Lockheart, the assistant manager.”

“Yeah, seems like it,” Zeke responds.

“Therefore, the duties of the assistant manager must fall on someone else,” she looks towards the judge and jury, “that’s where Mr. Valencia, the manager’s assistant, steps up. Actually, I was unable to find the role of manager’s assistant in this Standard Operations handbook. Every other role is listed. Overnight manager, which falls on Ms. Duval. Housekeeping manager, which belongs to Ms. Flores. Receptionist which is held by Ms. Kara Min, and Housekeeper which belongs to Ms. Cherrise Thompson. No where in this book does it outline the duties of the manager’s assistant position.”

She continues, “Your Honor, it is safe to assume that Mr. Wright created this new role to put his responsibilities on the rest of his staff while underpaying them for their contributions. We learned that he has neglected to uphold state requirements for overtime. We learned that he neglected to respect a pay raise which he, himself, administered. He added a woman to payroll despite never disclosing to her that it makes her an employee. We learned that he’s put his work onto his assistant manager, whose work has fallen on someone else. There is a clear disregard to company policy and legalities.”

Mrs. Pennett turns towards Zeke, “and with that, Mr. Valencia, I’d like to thank you for your time. That is all.”

The judge turns towards the defense table, “Mr. Dean, would you like to cross examine the witness?”

“I would,” the bald man states as he gets out of his seat. He takes his time looking over a few things from his briefcase; finally, he looks up from his paperwork and meets eyes with the teenager, “thank you for joining us, Mr. Valencia. You’re… Different from how I thought you’d look.”

“I get that a lot around here,” he responds dully, and there’s a few sparse laughs from within the crowd.

Mr. Dean’s thin brows furrow lightly, “right. Well, then. I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding your time at Heart Hollow Honeymoon Hotel & Resort. Please answer as truthfully as you can, and to the best of your ability,” he states as if he were rehearsing lines. He puts his hands behind his back as he continues, “you work beneath Mr. Lewis Lockheart quite frequently, yes?”

“Yup.”

“So you must spend quite a bit of time with him?”

“Sure. He’s my boss. He sends me on errands around the Hotel and I report back to him,” Zeke shrugs, “simple as that.”

“Has Mr. Lockheart ever asked you to do something that you consider unprofessional?”

Zeke’s thick brows furrow, “nah. Everything he has me do is, like, super boring and mundane. Ya know. Regular job stuff.”

“Is that so,” Mr. Dean hums, looking over a few pieces of paper on his desk, “I’m under the impression that Mr. Lockheart had asked you invasive questions when you were first hired. Is that correct?”

Zeke is taken aback by that, “I mean, he did. But I told him not to pry like that anymore, and he hasn’t done that since. The guy is a super respectful professional.”

“Mmhm,” the bald man hums, slowly pacing in front of the judge and witness desks, “would you recall the evening of August 31st?”

“Maybe,” Zeke shrugs, “what happened that day?”

Mr. Dean shoots a slightly annoyed look up at the teenager before continuing, “my client had asked Mr. Lockheart to drive into town to deliver a package at the post office. You went with him on this errand, correct?”

“Oh,” Zeke hums, “yeah, I did.”

The attorney nods his head, “and would you please recount what you did while in town, Mr. Valencia?”

“I mean… We dropped off that package for Mr. Wright.”

“Okay. I have this exhibit,” he starts as he makes pace over to his briefcase that sits on the defendant’s table. He hands the pieces of evidence to the jury, “these are text messages between Mr. Wright and Mr. Lockheart. The first having been before you two left, and the last being shortly after you got back. The timestamps indicate that you were out for over two hours. Is that correct?”

Zeke nods his head off to the side, “yeah. After we dropped that package off, we stopped into Trueheart’s. Neither of us had taken our lunch break that day, so we were starving.”

“I see,” Mr. Dean hums gently as he paces. He looks up at Zeke as he asks, “you claim that Lewis has only been professional in your relationship. Does skipping work during scheduled working hours to have a private dinner seem professional to you?”

“I’d hardly call it private,” Zeke scoffs, “the entire restaurant was staring at us.”

“Mr. Valencia, please answer the question. Does skipping work to have a private dinner seem professional?”

“No more than Mr. Wright stealing two-hundred bucks for dinner with Angeline,” he says. A few folks in the crowd murmur to one another, so he restlessly continues, “maybe it wasn’t super white-collar professional, but it was friendly. He asked if I was hungry, I said yeah, and we stopped for a quick dinner break.”

“Would you consider a two hour detour to be quick?”

The brunette shakes his head, “it seems as though everyone forgets it’s, like, a thirty minute drive between here and the Hotel. So… Yeah. I think we made pretty good time,” he hums, and this is the truth, especially considering he and Lewis had their own Cupid encounter that very same night. A pit forms in his stomach as he remembers that they still haven’t talked about Cupid.

The next question from the attorney completely catches Zeke off guard. He asks, “has Mr. Lockheart ever said or done anything that made you feel… Uncomfortable? Or scared, maybe?”

Like clockwork, the only thing that comes to mind is that memory of Lewis hunching over the sink in the employee restroom. Zeke recalls his anguished expression, his flushed face, and the fabric on his dress shirt straining and tugging from the stress of colliding his fist with glass.

“Mr. Valencia, please answer the question,” Mr. Dean says.

Zeke just blinks a couple times as he gets pulled back into the real world. The teenager slumps back in his wooden booth; the room is so quiet that Zeke swears he can hear that old bench creaking under Lewis’ nervously bouncing leg.

“Is there a problem?” The judge’s low voice speaks next to him.

From the sidelines, Mrs. Pennett speaks up, “Your Honor, I’d like to call for an objection. This line of questioning seems irrelevant for the case at hand.”

“Dismissed,” the judge grunts.

The hairs on the back of Zeke’s neck start to raise, so he stares down at Mr. Dean before he can continue, “alright, so you’re just gonna come in here and point fingers at the one guy who worked sleepless nights to keep that shithole of a Hotel semi-operational?”

The room fills with gasps from the crowd.

Mr. Dean asks a follow-up question with a stern gaze, “it was Mr. Lockheart’s duty to uphold safety regulations and manage timesheets… Correct?”

“You’re right. It was, and Lewis did all that just fine. It was when he’d bring stuff up to Mr. Wright’s attention that nothing would change,” he throws his hands up. Mr. Dean stutters as he stares up at Zeke with that same flabbergasted expression that the natives of Heart Hollow tend to give Lewis when they’re gawking at him. Ignoring the rest of the observers in the crowd, Zeke asks, “how is that Lewis’ fault?”

But before Mr. Dean even has a chance to continue, Zeke continues hastily, “Lewis was busy juggling both Mr. Wright’s job and his. Andrei didn’t do jack shit but get drunk in his office and - and - make love with Angeline,” he throws his hands out sarcastically, “Lewis is the kinda guy to do Mr. Wright’s overdue paperwork on his lunch break, okay? If you’re trying to frame the guy as some secret criminal, you’re wrong. The guy’s a complete saint.”

“Boy,” the attorney gasps as he shakes his bald head. He stares daggers up at the teenager in the witness stand when he says, “you really are new to town, aren’t you?”

Zeke scoffs and looks out at all the shocked faces that sit within the benches, “oh, sorry. How rude of me. Hey, everybody. Hi. I’m Zeke. I’m new to town, and I’m sure I look much different from what you were expecting,” he hisses as he sits back in his seat, “great, now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about the literal fraud that’s been happening up on that hill. Or maybe you’d like to talk about Andrei’s neglect, or mismanagement, or… Oh, I dunno, how about all of the verbal and emotional abuse? How about the sexual harassment from all the quote-unquote jokes that - "

“Mr. Valencia,” the old judge at his side barks.

However, the fire in Zeke’s heart has burst into an uncontrolled burn, so there’s nothing but teenage fury behind his words when he barks back, “what?”

The judge furrows his gray eyebrows and gives the brunette a disapproving look, “you have a lawful duty to uphold truth in this courtroom. If you refuse to cooperate, Sheriff Stoneheart will be happy to show you out.”

His brown eyes dance right past the judge to meet the Sheriff’s stone cold gaze. Zeke sits back against the witness stand with his arms crossed. In his peripherals, against the crowd, Lewis’ fluffy ginger hair catches the midday sun, which makes the guy stand out like a beacon. He can’t help it; from across the room, Zeke’s defiant umber eyes meet Lewis’ pleading green.

Mr. Dean wipes at his hairless head using a handkerchief from his pocket. His eyes dance between the witness, the judge, his client, and the rest of the members of the court as he stammers for a moment. Eventually, he gets out, “Mr. Valencia, I’d like to ask you this one more time,” he seemingly catches his breath, “has Mr. Lewis Lockheart ever said or done anything that’s made you feel uncomfortable or scared?”

Lewis had one terrifying hiccup with that mirror…

Zeke sighs, “no. Lewis never made me feel scared,” he mocks half-heartedly, even though there’s this teeny-tiny nagging voice in the back of his head that knows he’s lying under oath.

The defense attorney just nods his head shallowly, “thank you, Mr. Valencia. That’s all I needed to know. You may be seated.”

Without another word, Zeke stands and ignores all the eyes following him closely as he makes his way back to his spot nestled between Cherry and Lewis. He takes his seat and slouches down; his arms are crossed, but he still fidgets with that cube.

Behind the gate, towards the back of the room, Mr. Dean asks the judge something, but Zeke can hardly hear it. It’s not that the guy is talking softly, but it’s because the teenager’s mind is racing and his veins are still pumping with adrenaline. From his desk in the sky, the judge calls out, “we will now be taking a five-minute recess.”

The room immediately begins to fill with the soft murmur of voices amongst one another. Zeke watches as Mr. Dean scurries off to the defense table to take a seat next to Mr. Wright, and he wonders what’s so urgent. At his side, he hears Kara whisper, “dude, you have no idea what a scene you just made.”

Zeke just shakes his head. He feels Cherry give him a gentle pat on the shoulder, “proud of you for standing up for what you believe in,” she hums. To his left, Lewis says nothing. Actually, there’s this look in his eyes that’s impossible to read.

Is this trial even about Andrei anymore?

Honestly… Was it ever about him in the first place?

Zeke recalls the words that the woman from earlier had spoken; specifically about how Mr. Wright was only arrested after this new kid showed up to work at his Hotel. Are these people really so desperate for new gossip that they’ll shake the entire Resort upside down to get eyes on what’s been happening up on top of that hill?

In a few minutes, the judge hits his gavel lightly to gain the room’s attention, “court will now continue. Go ahead, Mrs. Pennett.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” she says as she stands from the opposition table, “the state would now like to call up Mr. Lewis Lockheart as a witness.”

Zeke shoots his attention over towards the ginger, but the guy doesn’t meet his gaze. Lewis gets up from his seat, and as he makes his way down the corridor, the whole room is eerily silent. He swears on the Bible and takes a seat. He sits up straight and confident, but Zeke can read his anxious face impeccably well, even from here.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Lockheart,” the state attorney says, “would you please tell me how long you have worked at Heart Hollow Honeymoon Hotel & Resort?”

“Just over four years now,” his soft words fill the silent room.

“Quite a long time to be employed somewhere,” she says, “would you say that you like your job, then?”

“Oh, I love my job. It’s far from perfect, but… It’s mine.”

“What would you say isn’t perfect about it?”

“Ah… Well, I suppose that it would be nice if the Hotel brought in more foot-traffic. I would also say this is partially due to a lack of morale within the staff. There’s an acceptance with the bare minimum that I personally don’t agree with.”

“And who sets that standard of low morale and lack of effort?”

He hesitates, “I’d say that starts with upper management.”

“Mr. Lockheart, the only person above you in management is Mr. Andrei Wright,” she clarifies, “are you claiming that he sets the precedent for the bare minimum?”

Lewis nods, “yes, ma’am.”

“Are there any exceptions to this disregard of his?”

“Ah,” he thinks of this for a moment before nodding his head, “Mr. Wright has always been a bit more… Stern with me and my tasks. Being his assistant manager and all.”

“I see. So you believe that Mr. Wright is more strict with you and your respective responsibilities because of your title?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds.

“It is my understanding that you were not hired on as an assistant manager,” Mrs. Pennett says, “what was your previous title?”

“I used to be a receptionist.”

“Was he strict with your duties then, as well?”

Lewis thinks on this for a moment before he says, “I suppose he’s always been a bit more demanding of me. Ah… He’d ask more of me than he would of Kara when we shared the front desk position.”

“Why do you think that Mr. Wright asked more of you than anybody else at the Hotel?”

“I… Ah. I love the Hotel. I’m happy to learn more about its functionality,” he says with his eyes cast down towards his hands that rub at themselves. Sheepishly, he adds, “before my promotion, Mr. Wright once told me that I share Wallace’s passion for the old place.”

Mrs. Pennett looks through her notes for a moment as she considers this. Then, she says, “it seems as though Mr. Wright has seen your dedication to the Hotel since day one. Would you agree?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It was Mr. Valencia who stated that Mr. Wright claims to have hired everyone for a good reason. Why do you think that he hired you?”

Lewis’ hesitation almost makes it seem as though he knows the answer to that: pity. With a light shrug, he simply says, “I think Mr. Wright meets folks that are looking for something, and he offers them a job. He knows the impact that the Hotel can have on people’s lives.”

Genuinely, she asks, “Mr. Lockheart, have you considered that Mr. Wright saw something in you that he could use for his own gain?”

Lewis’ mouth opens for a moment and his face softens. Clearly, he doesn’t know what to say. When he responds, his voice is quiet, “I’ve considered that before. Yes.”

Mrs. Pennett nods her head and thinks about her next move. She switches gears by saying, “let’s clear the air regarding the Hotel’s finances. At any point in your career there, did Mr. Wright allow you to control the budget or company credit card?”

“No, ma’am,” he clears his throat, “if we needed to order something, I had to run it by him for approval. If it were small things, like office supplies or paper towels, I’d just use my own funds.”

“Were you ever compensated for these purchases?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I see. And did he ever show you his financial records and bookkeeping logs?”

“No, ma’am. It wasn’t something he allowed me to see.”

She looks towards the jury as she continues, “clearly Mr. Lockheart was eager to learn more about the day-to-day of running the Hotel. Mr. Wright saw this drive and poured more responsibilities onto his plate, such as the recent addition of the hiring process. Functionally, he had Mr. Lockheart doing the duties of general manager as listed in the Standard Operations handbook. And yet… Mr. Wright never gave up the burden of financial record keeping.”

Mrs. Pennett looks back towards Lewis, “before we conclude this testimony, I’d like to bring up one more piece of evidence,” she says as she hands out another slip of paper, “Mr. Lockheart, would you please explain what you see in front of you now?”

“It appears to be a fire safety report from the marshal regarding the Hotel’s annual safety inspection,” Lewis states, “it’s dated for this calendar year.”

“Would you please read off which boxes have the word failed in the results column?”

“Ah… Yes, ma’am. Approved extinguishers mounted properly and in good working order: failed. Emergency lighting & exit signs functioning properly: failed. Fire sprinkler system maintained: failed,” Lewis looks up from the paper, “the sprinkler system doesn’t work?”

“That’s what the official report says,” she responds, “please take a look at the date they requested action by.”

“June first of this year,” Lewis mutters, shaking his head.

“Were you aware that the Hotel failed its fire safety report?”

Lewis bites his lip, “Mr. Wright had mentioned to me earlier this year that he took care of the annual fire safety inspection. It happened on a day that I was scheduled off. I knew that we couldn’t have passed it: all of the fire extinguishers are expired, and some of the emergency lights don’t work right.”

“Did you take any steps to correct these things?”

“Ordering new parts requires me to go through Mr. Wright. I - I reminded him several times about the expired fire extinguishers. He told me that it wasn’t within budget.”

“I see,” Mrs. Pennett collects the exhibits from the jury, “so you would agree that it was ultimately out of your hands?”

Lewis’ shoulders drop, “yes, ma’am.”

She turns towards the jury again, “it seems as though Mr. Lockheart did the best that he could with the parameters he was given. This lack of accountability regarding finances and safety was out of his hands, and thus fell onto the Hotel’s owner Mr. Wright. I believe that’s all I have for you, Mr. Lockheart. Thank you for your time.”

As she takes a seat, the judge asks, “would the defense like to cross examine Mr. Lockheart at this time?”

“We would, Your Honor,” Mr. Dean states as he gets out of his chair, although his voice doesn’t sound so confident. After he gets some paperwork in order, he says, “let’s get started, shall we?”

Lewis just nods his head gently.

“Great. Please answer as truthfully as you can, and to the best of your ability,” Mr. Dean directs before asking his first question, “it is my understanding, Mr. Lockheart, that you are in charge of the employee’s timesheets. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. I collect everyone’s timesheets and calculate their weekly hours for Andrei’s approval. He then moves forward by taking those hours and making it accurately reflect on pay stubs.”

“Uh huh,” Mr. Dean hums, “would you also say that you are responsible for the overall functionality of the Hotel?”

“I would. Yes, sir.”

“I see,” Mr. Dean paces as he talks, “you just mentioned to the state that you recognized how Mr. Wright offers jobs to folks that are looking for something. Would you please recall the day that my client extended the job offer towards you?”

“Ah, sure. I suppose it was just like any other shift. He called me into his office and let me know that our current assistant manager had put in his two weeks notice. He then told me that the position was mine, if I wanted it.”

Zeke notices a smirk wash over the defense attorney’s face, almost as if Lewis had just made a wicked move in chess. Mr. Dean then states, “let me rephrase: would you please recall the day that my client initially offered you a role at the Hotel?”

“Right,” Lewis pauses a moment to compile his thoughts, “Mr. Wright and I ran into each other in town. I hadn’t met him before, but we had a lot to talk about. At the end of our conversation, he offered me the position of receptionist.”

“I see. And where did you two happen to be?”

“We were at a public facility in town.”

“And what facility would that be?”

Lewis clears his throat before saying, “we were in the waiting room at Rose Petal Medical Center.”

Pity. Did Lewis get hurt or something? Mr. Dean asks, “before my client offered you the job, were you working anywhere?”

“Heart Hollow Hotel was my first official job.”

The smile on Mr. Dean’s face grows a bit wider. The attorney thinks for a moment before he decides to say, “so you were unemployed during and after your attendance at Heart Hollow High School?”

“That is correct.”

“Would you agree that my client made a leap of faith by extending the job opportunity to you?”

Lewis completely pauses as he considers this. After a moment, he says a real small, “I don’t think so. No.”

“Really?” Mr. Dean asks in complete disbelief, “you don’t think Mr. Wright took a chance on you?”

Reluctantly, Lewis shakes his head, “no, sir.”

The defense attorney laughs, and so do a few other people within the benches. Mr. Dean clarifies, “so… You would hire someone with no credibility?”

“I would. And I have,” Lewis states, and Zeke swears that the ginger’s baby green eyes flick over towards him. There’s truth to that statement; it’s not like Zeke brought a resume with him, nor did he have to present an ID or social security card, for that matter.

The bald defense attorney just shakes his head towards the ground, halfway between disbelief and amusement, “you claim that Mr. Wright didn’t take a leap of faith hiring you, but… It’s undeniably in your record, Mr. Lockheart, that you have… Well. A record.”

Mrs. Pennett raises her hand firmly and speaks up, “objection, Your Honor. This line of questioning seems prejudicial.”

The judge peers down at her and then lazily waves a hand at Mr. Dean, “I’d like to see where he’s going with this.”

Mrs. Pennett drops her hand down, and Lewis’ shoulders somehow tense even more. The defense attorney continues, “Mr. Lockheart, can you recall the night of August the 31st?”

“Mr. Wright had asked me to deliver a package in town,” he says with a gentle sigh, “I needed help carrying it, so I asked my assistant Zeke to come into town with me. We stopped by Trueheart’s while we were out.”

“And what happened later that night?”

Lewis pauses for only a sliver of a second; the apprehension was so slight that Zeke’s sure he’s the only one that noticed it. Lewis responds, “Mr. Wright called and asked for us to return promptly. Zeke and I returned back to the Hotel soon after.”

Mr. Dean nods his head slowly before continuing, “Mr. Lockheart, my client claims that on the night of August 31st, you were admitted into the emergency room of Rose Petal Medical Center. Actually, if we’d like to look over this exhibit,” he trails off as he walks over to his briefcase and pulls out a few sheets of paper, “while we cannot share the medical records, we do have the doctor’s note that was provided to my client. Would you like to share your side of the story?”

“Mr. Wright drove me to the emergency room that night.”

“The emergency room? What for?”

Lewis struggles to respond, and Zeke feels the whole room hold their breath. The ginger finally admits, “I had to get stitches.”

Mr. Dean laughs as he asks, “and what kind of predicament did you get yourself into that led to you getting stitches?”

The only thing Zeke can do is wince as he imagines those shards embedding themselves into his freckled skin. Zeke curses himself out, because he shouldn’t have run off. Lewis barely gets the words out, “I… I accidentally shattered a mirror.” 

“You accidentally shattered a mirror,” Mr. Dean paces, making it seem like he’s really thinking on it. He then looks up at the witness to clarify, “what? With your fist?”

“Yes, sir,” Lewis says, and the crowd gasps.

“And this mirror was located at the Hotel?”

“Yes, sir.”

To Zeke’s side, Kara hisses out a quick, “oh my god.”

“The bathroom mirror,” Cherry pouts quietly.

“Objection, Your Honor. The witness is clearly uncomfortable,” Mrs. Pennett’s voice boosts over the uneasy crowd.

The old judge lightly taps his gavel a few times to wrangle the rowdy room. He directs his gaze down towards Mr. Dean, and his deep voice commands, “wrap this line of questioning up. Promptly.”

“Yes, Your Honor. I’ll make this quick,” Mr. Dean nervously says as he pulls out a manilla folder from his briefcase. The entire room holds their breath as they anticipate what could possibly be in that file.

“Your Honor. Members of the jury. Here, I hold Mr. Lewis Lockheart’s background check that was accessed for free on the state’s website,” he peers into the folder as he begins to read it verbatim, “offense location: Heart Hollow, Pennsylvania. Sentence: five-thousand dollar fine, juvenile probation with a minimum ninety day counseling treatment. Charge type: second degree misdemeanor. Offense: simple battery.”

What? Something drops within Zeke’s stomach, and he can barely hear the antsy crowd around him.

The defense attorney continues, “at least… That’s what your record says, Mr. Lockheart. Do you find this to be accurate?”

With extreme hesitation, Lewis responds, “I do.”

“So, if I’m reading this correctly, you got in trouble with the law for battery, and your judge decided that you needed counseling instead of jail time. Does that about sum it up?”

Lewis just stiffly nods his head.

“Please answer verbally, Mr. Lockheart.”

He croaks out a small, “yes, sir.”

“Objection, please, Your Honor,” Mrs. Pennett raises her hand towards the judge as she stands up in her seat, “I find this line of questioning to be highly prejudicial against the witness.”

“Overruled,” the judge states. She’s not happy about it, but the state attorney sits back down. The judge peers down at the bald man and firmly states, “Mr. Dean. Get to your point.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” the man states before speaking to the jury, “the point I’d like to convey is that my client, Andrei Wright, has been relying on a man that has a notorious record for being unstable. It’s clear that he’s struggling to upkeep basic tasks as an assistant manager; he couldn’t even do something as simple as running to the post office to deliver a package. Or - or properly recording employees’ time cards, which then results in an incorrect paycheck. Sure, Mr. Lockheart can claim he’s spoken to my client about fixing certain things or ordering necessary supplies. But at the end of the day… Can one rely on a person that’s been in trouble with the law? Someone that’s, as stated by the honorable state of Pennsylvania, mentally unwell?”

Mr. Dean keeps going, but Zeke struggles to keep up. His eyes are darting between the attorney blathering and Lewis sitting up on that witness stand as if he were about to be burned at the stake. His ginger head is dipped; not out of respect, but out of shame. The hairs are standing on the back of Zeke’s neck, and his palms are starting to sweat. God dammit. What the hell is he going to do?

The better question is… What can he do?

As Zeke holds himself back from cursing all these assholes out, he catches movement coming down the corridor; Lewis makes pace down the hall towards the double doors. His face is flush, his eyes are dark, and his hands wring themselves out over his chest. His long strides quickly move him, and within the blink of an eye, he’s left the room. Absolutely no one pays attention to Mr. Dean and Mrs. Pennett arguing at the back of the room.

On instinct, Zeke’s legs force him to shoot up and out of his seat. Everyone’s attention darts towards the new kid in town who stands like a fool in the middle of a court hearing. His big brown eyes dance from person to person for a mere moment, and the crowd must be making a ruckus, because even Mr. Dean and Mrs. Pennett peer over their shoulders at the spectacle.

Once he’s in the corridor at the center of the room, Zeke takes a few steps towards the double doors. Every single person in the room stares at him, and Sheriff Stoneheart holds a firm hand to the gun in its holster. Zeke shakes his head, stumbles backwards, and pushes his way through the heavy exit; now out in the main hallway, he quickly scans his surroundings. As the door closes behind him, he hears the judge pounding his gavel against that sturdy oak desk.

Focus.

He’s looking for a light, curly cloud of ginger hair.

There, all the way down at the other end of the hall, across from that massive mural, he sees a tall ginger dipping into a door frame. Immediately, Zeke begins to weave in and out of people. He feels their curious eyes follow him, but he doesn’t have time to shoot back dirty looks. He quickly approaches the door, but he halts in his footing: it's the men’s room. He hesitates for only a moment, but he ultimately shakes his head and pushes his way inside. Past the door, he’s greeted by an empty restroom. It’s completely silent.

The lights are a warm fluorescent; the floor is a cream colored marble, and the walls are accented with wood paneling. To his right, there are three urinals and a large handicapped stall on the far back wall. To his left, there are four sinks, each with their own mirror reflecting the small room he’s found himself in; he catches his own gaze in the mirror. Goddamn, he’s made a fool out of himself today and he’s wearing Kara’s stupid ill-fitting black button-up? What a joke.

As he unfurls his fists, his eyes graze the room one more time. The door to the stall is closed, and he has a feeling he knows why. Cautiously, Zeke steps deeper into the room. He bends down to get a peek under the stall’s dividers. Just as he thought, he sees a figure in a light brown suit sitting on the ground; he’d recognize those boring work loafers anywhere. Zeke stands back upright as he approaches the door and finds the courage to say, “hey, Lewis.”

The ginger speaks just above a whisper, “hi, Zeke.”

“You wanna let me in?”

Lewis doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes.

Zeke nods his head shallowly, “alright. Well, let me, uh,” he pauses for a moment, and then drops himself down onto the squeaky clean marble floor. He gets on his hands and knees and lowers himself. Through the gap between the stall door and the floor, Zeke’s cautious brown eyes meet Lewis’ bleary green. The teenager just says, “hey.”

The ginger’s rosy lips pout, “hi.”

“So… Can I join you?”

Lewis just directs his gaze away; after a moment of consideration, he nods his head ever so slightly. Zeke gladly takes the invitation and shimmies under the door, sliding himself across the cool marble. Using his hands, he dusts off his borrowed shirt before sitting on the floor next to the ginger. Zeke leans his head against the wall behind them and lets out a long, much-needed breath.

At his side, Lewis doesn’t say a thing. The guy sits with his knees bent up towards his chest, and his fingers busy themselves with the fresh scars that lay across his knuckles. He no longer wears the matching coat to his suit; the discarded outer piece carefully hangs from the hook on the inside of the stall. In Zeke’s peripherals, he notices how Lewis’ off-white button-up resiliently tugs as the man hugs himself to self-soothe.

The brunette takes a deep breath as he tries to corral his racing thoughts. He should probably say something, but he’s having trouble coming up with any cohesive sentences. Because he can’t come up with anything else, he says, “thank you for buying me lunch today, by the way.”

“Of course,” Lewis barely chokes out. He then decides to add, “thank you for sharing your meal with me.”

Zeke cracks a smile, “well, yeah. I can’t believe you didn’t get anything for yourself.”

“The thought of eating makes me feel ill lately.”

“Have you considered that you’ve been feeling ill because you haven’t been eating anything?”

“It’s different.”

“Mmhm,” Zeke hums, “it’s a good thing I’m here to make sure you don’t starve.”

After some hesitation, Lewis’ nasally voice barely dusts the air, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You already knew, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?” Zeke asks, and by the way Lewis’ brows furrow into light frustration, he figures out what he’s referring to. He adds, “oh. That you have, like, a criminal record? Um,” and feels this ache in his chest thinking about it, “I mean, no. You never told me.”

“But somebody else did,” Lewis clarifies.

“No. Nobody told me.”

Lewis contemplates this deeply for a moment, and he really looks like he’s struggling to understand that. He darts his eyes over to briefly meet the teenager’s gaze, “really?”

Zeke nods his head, “really.”

This relieves a bit of the tension Lewis wears on his shoulders and face. He peers back down towards his hands as he fidgets with them, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“What? Dude. You don’t owe me anything. Seriously. What did I bitch about on my first day at the Hotel? Keeping personal lives and work lives separate. I don’t give a rat’s ass about if you have a criminal record or not.”

“Yes, but… I feel like maybe I was deceiving you a bit.”

“Deceiving me?”

“Yeah,” Lewis keeps his focus down as he explains, “everybody in town knows about… Ah. What I did. And it just feels disingenuous of me. I think you deserved to know before I hired you.”

“Well, you thought I was from Heart Hollow when I first got hired, right? You just said it yourself; if everyone in this town knows about it, then I assume you’d think I already knew when you hired me.”

“I - Zeke,” the ginger’s tired voice rings out, “to be honest, I had a slight hunch that you were new to Heart Hollow from day one.”

“Oh. Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you know?”

“You - well,” Lewis stumbles on his words, “I mean, you voluntarily applied for a job at the Hotel. It’s… The Hotel’s been on the decline for years, but it’s been a ghost town since news got out that I work there. It’s unthinkable to even consider renting a room.”

As he says this, things start to make a lot more sense. Lewis doesn’t get looked at in public because he’s some beloved celebrity from a prominent family. Yes, he wears a locally famous surname, but he’s a criminal with a history of… What was it? Battery? He works for a sleazebag of a man, and he manages a run down sex hotel. Oh, and apparently it’s common knowledge around town that he’s gay.

Zeke shakes his head and says, “who cares what happened. What I wanna know is what gives everybody in this town the right to pry into your personal life like that? Watch you like a TV show and stir you up for some drama?”

“I’m a Heart,” Lewis states hollowly, “it comes with the name.”

“It’s just… Alienating. We’re all human at the end of the day. We all make mistakes and do dumb shit. Big whoop.”

The ginger hums, “Zeke, you don’t even know…”

He glances over towards Lewis and notices this haunted look that cracks through his expression. Zeke just asks, “honestly, do you think I’m in danger being around you?”

Lewis’ face drops, “the last thing I’d want is to hurt you.”

Zeke tries to ignore how his chest flutters ever so slightly at the man’s tender inflection. Instead, he says, “cool. Then I’ve got no problems with you.”

Lewis shakes his head as he bites at his bottom lip, “how do you know that I’m being honest?”

“I dunno,” Zeke mumbles, “I guess I just feel like… Sure, I may not know every single little thing about you. But I do know you, Lewis. I mean, we’ve worked side by side every damn day over the last two months. You’re the first person that I see in the mornings, and you’re the last person I see at night. I make your coffee four times a day just the way you like it, and I judge you silently as you pull out a single granola bar for lunch,” Zeke pauses, because Lewis is starting to wear a shy, but honest smile atop his warm pink face.

Zeke continues, “like… Okay, when we got stuck in that elevator together for, what, five hours? I was being a complete dickhead, and I never once felt like you were gonna... I dunno. Jump me, I guess,” he grins, and he watches as Lewis dips his head into his folded arms with a few hopeless laughs.

Zeke adds, “I’ve probably spent more time with you than your own family this summer. So I think I can say, with full confidence, that I trust you, Lewis. And I know that you have a kind heart.”

A stray sob escapes the man’s chest as he struggles to catch his breath, and Zeke inhales sharply, “shit, sorry,” he bites his lip and furls his fists as he decides on what to do. Lewis’ face is hidden, but the tips of his ears are cherry red with emotion.

Zeke takes the plunge and rests a cautious hand on the guy’s broad back: I’m here, he says passively. He feels the way Lewis’ body hitches with each choppy breath, and he thinks about the meltdown that the guy had in the employee restroom. Zeke tries to shake it off, because that whole thing was an accident. A rare slip-up by the prim and proper Lewis Lockheart. It was an overflow, a mistake, an error, a miscalculation… Everybody makes those. Zeke bites his lip; was Lewis’ offense just an accident, too?

“You know,” Zeke starts to say in order to fill the air, “these people are gonna have a lot to talk about after today. But! Hear me out. I think I was the highlight of the show so far. I mean, I made an absolute fool out of myself during my testimony,” he laughs. Lewis lets out a broken, desperate laugh through the wave of negative emotion. Zeke continues, “frankly? Those nosy bastards can talk about me all they want. I don’t care.”

“You really don’t want that,” the words struggle to make their way out of Lewis’ throat, “trust me.”

“Yeah, well,” Zeke shrugs, “I’m not really planning on sticking around here for too much longer. So, ya know. They can start all kinds of rumors about how I was here for a few months to… I dunno. Smuggle drugs or something stupid.”

Lewis chokes out another futile laugh, and Zeke bites his tongue because he’s not sure that his casual sense of humor is helping right now. So instead of saying anything more, he just pats Lewis’ back. His hand brushes the silky fabric, but he’s more focused on the heat radiating from under the man’s shirt. Through flesh and fabric, the ginger’s muffled words barely register in the teenager’s ear, “I’m gonna miss you, Zeke.”

A gentle, “ahh,” escapes from within the brunette’s body, and that familiar lump in the back of his throat swells as he tries to compress his own feelings on the matter. Frankly, he was hoping it would be an easy good-bye; it doesn’t help that there’s this new-found ache deep within his chest.

Zeke removes his hand from the furnace of Lewis’ skin so he can scootch over to the stall’s toilet paper dispenser. He folds a solid stack of single-ply toilet paper and offers it to Lewis. The guy does his best to hide his bright red face and puffy eyes as he takes the wad and begins trying to dry himself off. Zeke diverts his gaze down to his own lap in order to give him some semblance of privacy. In his hand, the brunette plays with that little pink cube, but the nerves in his fingertips still carry the lingering memory of Lewis’ body heat.

The ginger cleans himself up, and Zeke debates on if he should say something to break the ice. Instead, he opts to stay silent and patiently waits for his boss to get back to managing. In his peripherals, he watches as Lewis sits up straight, inhales deeply, and exhales even longer. He runs his freckled hands over the fabric of his slacks a few times, presumably working up the courage to croak out, “thank you, Zeke. For being here with me.”

“Yeah, man. Of course,” Zeke says, because it comes so easily.

“We should probably go back out there, huh?”

“You sure you’re ready?”

“Ahah,” a light, bashful smile wipes on Lewis’ still-pink face, “as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Zeke just raises his brows skeptically, “alright, boss man. You lead the way then.”

Lewis wipes his face one more time with his hands and musters up the strength to get up off the cool marble floor. Zeke follows his lead and hoists himself up onto his legs. As Lewis gathers himself, a small, “goodness,” escapes the ginger’s throat as he locks eyes with himself in the stall’s mirror. He turns the faucet on, bends over the sink, and splashes water on his face. Zeke just leans against the wall. Should he tell Lewis that he saw him break that mirror?

After he’s done, Lewis dabs his face off with a paper towel and tries to look as fresh as he can. Zeke hands him his coat, “you ready?”

“Sure am,” Lewis hums as he puts on his outer layer. He cautiously pushes open the stall door, and he treks across the restroom with a small brunette at his heels. He halts once he puts his hand on the door to exit. His green eyes dance down to meet Zeke’s gaze, and there’s a moment of pause as Lewis seemingly wants to say something.

Seeing him struggle, Zeke hums out, “what’s up?”

A coy smile rests on Lewis’ freckled face as he responds lightly, “I just... I hope you know that I appreciate you a lot.”

Zeke gleams honestly, “and I, you.”

Lewis clears his throat, “alright. Let’s get back to it then,” he says before pushing back out into the hall. A few folks look their way curiously, but Zeke follows Lewis’ lead by ignoring them. They make their way to the double doors that lead into the courtroom, and Lewis pushes through as silently as he can. A few spectators peer over their shoulders to gawk at the pair, however the majority of folks keep their attention towards the back of the room.

It seems as though Mr. Wright is in the middle of his testimony, because he sits up in the witness stand. He watches as the two men take their seats with old gray eyes that look more alert than Zeke’s ever seen in him; the guy must be stone-cold sober. In front of him, Mr. Dean impatiently asks, “Mr. Wright, would you please answer the question?”

He peels his attention off of his associates, and he looks genuinely confused as he asks, “what’dya ask again?”

“Would you consider Mr. Lockheart to be a reliable employee?”

The Hotel owner doesn’t respond. His eyes jump from Zeke and Lewis to the bald man representing him as he deliberates on his response. Then, he rubs at his eyes with his index and thumb. The room watches the old man closely, and Zeke holds his breath because he isn’t sure what they just walked in on. When Mr. Wright comes to, he releases an exhausted sigh as he looks towards his attorney, “I’m not doing this.”

Mr. Dean stammers for a moment, “excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Mr. Wright retorts, “I’m too goddamn old to be a part of the theatre performances this town likes to hold.”

“I believe you’re mistaken, Mr. Wright - "

“I’m not,” he interrupts him, “I’m ending it here, Dean. I never wanted this trial in the first place.”

Mr. Dean chuckles nervously, “how about we call for a recess and take a few moments to reconvene?”

“No,” his loud voice fills the astonished room, “I don’t care how many tens of thousands of dollars my dad paid you. I’m not framing Lewis as some villain for this week’s edition of the Cupid’s Chronicle. He’s a good kid. Faulty, sure. But ain’t we all?”

Zeke whips his head to look at Lewis, and the ginger’s brows are shot all the way up his forehead in disbelief. Mr. Dean pleads, “Andrei, please, I have to ask you to reconsider.”

“Nope. No,” Mr. Wright barks as he gets up from his seat, “I’m done playing this game. Hearts or Wrights, it doesn’t matter. They’re all scumbags, except for us outcasts,” he gestures towards himself and Lewis. The ginger suddenly looks very aware of all the attention on him as his anxious green eyes dart from person to person in the crowd.

At his side, the judge says, “Mr. Wright, your trial hasn’t concluded yet. Take your seat.”

He completely glazes over the judge by ignoring him, “can’t you all see that it’s just a big game to the local hot shots? Pin the little guys against each other, make a big scene outta nothing. Meanwhile, they’re controlling our government, our news, our police, our land. Our liquor for hell’s sake!”

The room begins to rumble with a divided mix of disapproval and agreement. Zeke feels his stomach drop to the floor; maybe they should have just stayed in that bathroom. Even though the gavel does little to help the noise of the crowd, the judge commands, “tone it down. Don’t you want a fair trial?”

“It was never going to be fair,” he spits, “these people are made to hate me, to hate Lewis, to hate the Hotel. It’s all in the big shot’s twisted little narrative they’re spinning.”

The judge tries to get a word in edgewise, “Mr. Wright - "

He throws his hands up, “why the hell do you people think Wallace went missing, huh? The big guys pushed him until he broke. He’s dead because of their fucked up little mind games!”

Zeke gasps as the room loudens again; Mr. Wright knows what happened to Wallace, doesn’t he? Then, Zeke watches as the judge beckons Sheriff Stoneheart. Quickly, the Sheriff moves to the back of the room, and Mr. Wright exclaims, “be mad that I ruined this whole thing, I don’t care. I’m taking the plea bargain, just like I wanted to do weeks ago.”

Sheriff Stoneheart forces him into handcuffs, but it’s not like Mr. Wright is actively fighting back. He is, however, grunting out profanities towards the cop, towards the courtroom, towards the attorney, towards the judge, towards the town, towards his family. Next, the room watches in disbelief as the pink-shirts’ former employer is being escorted out of the room. Zeke can hardly comprehend what he’s seeing, but neither can his friends.

Lewis holds his nervous hands close.

Cherry cries, “poor guy.”

Kara hisses, “what a shit show.”

The gavel pounds over the boisterous crowd, and Zeke hears the judge call, “the defendant has agreed to a plea bargain. Andrei Wright is sentenced to a third degree felony, ten-thousand dollars in fines, and five years in federal prison. As for the land… The ownership of Heart Hollow Honeymoon Hotel & Resort will be transferred to Trueheart Property Management Company. Case dismissed.”