Kennedy In Denver (In Denver Series Book 1) (3 page)

"Eww, he may have been hot, but he was all kinds of sleazy!"

"He was basically like, 'Hey, I'm Henry, I'm a millionaire wanna fuck in my Aston Martin?' ...and you know big mouth Whitney said 'Hey, douche face, you’d have to be a billionaire, and come back when you have a Bugatti to fuck.' Then Pilar chirped in and said, 'If the first thing out your mouth is millionaire and Aston Martin your dick must be really small'... oh shit Kennedy, you should have seen the guys face! He turned purple called us whores and slapped a drink out of Emma's hand and stormed off! It was hilarious. I can't believe this is our last Friday night doing this! By this time next Friday, Pilar you will be in Ibiza with your mom; Whit, you will be L.A. auditioning for all kinds of things and Emma will be in Chicago getting ready for her role in Wicked and I will be in Boston getting ready to teach my first year of Music to future musicians of America."

"How the hell do you take a three hundred thousand dollar education and turn it into teaching music in one of the worst School systems in the country?” Whitney asked. "Kennedy’s gonna make a difference in the world. She is going teach something she loves to kids who never get a chance in hell and if she hates it, she can always come to Chicago. Someone with her talent could making a killing there teaching in a private music Conservatory.” Emma said.  "Nah, I will leave the fancy to you guys. I'm good in the hood."  I put the car in park never noticing that someone was watching us from inside the house.”

"Kennedy, are you ok to continue?” my mom asked. "Yes, can I have a drink, please?" I say returning to the present.

I continued, "I went to sleep and woke up to someone on top of me. He told me to be quiet. He told me he wouldn't hurt the others if I didn't scream. I froze up—I was too scared to move or speak. He just kept ranting about how we were whores letting him pay for drinks and then dismissing him."

I closed my eyes remembering that night.

"He said he would kill me fast because I didn't drink any of the drinks he bought, I felt him pull my pants down I thought he was going to rape me but he licked the side of my neck. He made a remark about never killing a real redhead before. I was about to scream, but he slit my throat. I tried to scream again, but all that came out was gurgling sound. A sound like air being let out of a tire. Then he licked the knife. ‘Hmm, I thought you would taste like a ginger snap,’ he whispered in my ear.

Then he stabbed me three times in the chest. I lifted my arm up to try and stop him, but he stabbed at my arms and hand. I think the knife was slippery so when he stabbed me on the side of my head the knife didn't go in very far. He got up and peed on me then went next door."

The heart monitor is going crazy.

"I heard Whitney screaming she was begging for her life and then the screaming stopped. I heard Pilar praying when he dragged her out to the hallway I heard her say she would pray for his soul, then there was silence."

"The worst was Emma's screams; she was screaming please don't rape me, please, and then she was begging him to kill her. When he walked by my room, I played dead. I lay there all night. I knew it was morning because I could feel the sun from the window on my face. I recognized Tristan’s voice. He was on the phone calling 911, when he walked by I grabbed his pant leg. I felt him sit next to me holding my hand. He kept telling me over and over help was on the way. He told me, ‘just hold on a few more minutes.’ The next thing I heard were the sirens. That's the last thing I remember until two days ago when I woke up."

Everyone in the room was silent. My parents sat in the corner crying. I could see Nurse Deena trying to mask her emotions. The police looked pensive. "Kennedy, as you know the defendant is saying he has a mental disorder," said Mr. Perez.

"How did you catch him? How did you know it was him?”

Detective Bliss answered," His parents turned him in. They saw the news coverage and recognized him on a few of the pictures posted on Facebook. The media was circulating pictures from that night asking anyone with information to come forward. When they saw he was around the Barton Campus, they called and notified us about his obsession with getting revenge on Tristan Cooper."

The detective continued, "He blames Tristan for getting kicked out of Barton; he hasn't had any contact with his parents since that happened. They wanted to get him help, have him committed, but he was an adult so he disappeared. He has been living off the trust his grandparents left him and plotting his revenge.”

“He has been connected to sixteen rapes, tortures and murders by DNA. He's been traveling up and down the East coast perfecting his killing methods," the ADA said.

"It looks like you girls were collateral damage in his plot to frame Tristan for the Barton murders. He saw you guys were close, and it was no secret that Tristan has feelings for Emma. He took what Tristan wanted most which was Emma."

The ADA added solemnly, "You, Pilar, and Whitney were just a means to an end.”

Everyone was gone, and I was able to cry.

After four months of intense rehabilitation and physical therapy, I was released from the hospital. I was released into a life that no longer made any sense to me. Instead of starting my job in Boston, I was sitting in my childhood room looking at pink walls and boy band posters. I was twenty, but I hadn’t taken any steps forward in life like planned, instead I’d taken two steps back.

Barton had taken care of all of expenses. Since my story had made worldwide news, strangers as well as celebrities had donated money to make sure I could continue to get therapy.

The
September 4
had become the new poster girls for violence against women. Every media outlet had experts on to talk about how it has become an epidemic, not only in this country but also all over the world.

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 extensive 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.