On the day of his preliminary hearing, an angry mob was waiting for Lester Crowe at the door of the Hernando County Justice Court. There were at least thirty people, mostly men, yelling and cursing as the deputies lead Lester across the street from the jail. When they saw him up close, his appearance only provoked them further. His beard was longer now, spilling down onto his neck, and his ratty, oily hair obscured his eyes. The orange jumper, which still bore a deep red stain on the front, didn't help his cause.

When Lester made it across the street and onto the sidewalk in front of the small courthouse building, the crowd began hurling insults.

"Murderer!"

"Dirty piece of shit!"

"Give him the needle!"

Lester walked with his head held high, never looking to either side. If the insults bothered him, he didn't show it. His face was somber, but I thought I caught the slight hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. It wouldn't surprise me if he was actually enjoying himself. When he reached the crowd, they parted and allowed the deputies to lead him through. Thankfully, there was no violence. When I met him at the door, he gave me a sly wink before being led inside.

The Hernando County Justice Court was extremely small. The single hall was lined with people waiting to be called into the courtroom on their cases. I followed Lester through, trying not to step on anyone's toes. The courtroom was not like the ones you see on television. It was painfully small; fifteen steps heel-to-toe would get you from the door to the far wall. In the back, twenty office chairs were arranged in two rows of ten and were filled with people. In front of that were two tables, one for the prosecution and one for the defense, which could barely seat two people each. Several more office chairs were lined up against the far wall for the defendants who'd been brought over from the jail. The officers who'd been subpoenaed to testify on cases stood against the wall by the door, waiting. With so many people tightly crammed into such a small space, there wasn't much room for ventilation. Two fans spun furiously on the ceiling but failed to relieve the smell of sweat and body odor permeating the room.

Once the deputies who'd brought Lester over left, I asked the bailiff if I could take him to a private room to talk. He nodded. The Judge would be on the bench soon, so I only had a couple minutes. I gestured for Lester to follow me and led him out of the courtroom and into an empty office across the hall. I shut the door.

"You can sit down," I said.

Lester shuffled over to a faded leather chair and plopped down. He looked like hell.

"We're gonna have to do something about your appearance for the next hearing, Lester. I don't mean to be rude, but don't they have showers over there?"

He grunted. "Showers, powers, flowers, sours. Which one of these does not belong?" He started spinning his neck in a circle like a yoga instructor stretching for her class.

"Lester, can you focus for me?"

He stopped and looked up at me. Sometimes I couldn't tell whether Lester was truly crazy or whether he just liked making me nervous. "Okay, Jack. What's next?"

"That's better. Because you're in jail, you're entitled to a preliminary hearing. The State will call the investigator assigned to your case as a witness and will question him about the facts that led to your arrest and charge. All the State has to show is that there is probable cause to believe you were involved in the murder. As I said before, it's an extremely low burden."

"I already know what they have."

"Yes, you've said that, but this is for the judge's benefit. After the investigator testifies, I can cross-examine him. Once that's done, the judge will bind the case over to the grand jury and we'll wait on indictment."

"I don't get to say anything?" he smiled.

"Absolutely not," I said quickly. "You're going to keep your mouth shut. Anything you say at any point in this process can and will be used against you during your trial. You're just here to listen."

"Don't matter," he said, the smile gone from his face. "It ends here. As long as you say what I tell you to." When I didn't say anything, he raised his eyebrows and gave me a menacing stare.

"I heard you," was all I said.

I took Lester back into the courtroom. Judge Evans was already on the bench and was running through the first case on the docket. When he finished, he asked the prosecutor for the next case. He dug into his accordion file and handed the judge a manila folder.

"Court calls State v. Lester Crowe," Judge Evans announced. There was some mumbling from the back of the courtroom. He banged his gavel lightly. "I won't have anyone in here talking out of order. If you can't be quiet, the bailiff will show you out." The mumbling quieted down. "How are you, Jack?"

Judge Evans was a personal friend of mine. He was one of the first people I'd met after moving to Coles Creek and he'd taught me most of what I knew about Justice Court practice. I slid between the two tables and stood before the judge. "Doing just fine, your Honor."

"That's good. I hope your wife is doing well. You want a preliminary hearing today? Is your client in jail?"

"Yes, he is."

The judge looked at the prosecutor. "Is the State prepared to go forward?"

"Yes, Judge. May we proceed?"

"Okay, go ahead."

Lester shuffled over to the defense table and I took my seat beside him.

"The State calls Investigator Brian Murphy." The prosecutor motioned his witness toward the stand. Brian Murphy, a Captain at the sheriff's department, peeled himself from the wall and walked across the courtroom, shooting Lester a basolith's stare. At 6'3" and over 250 pounds, Captain Murphy was a walking battering ram. His blonde hair was buzzed to his scalp and he wore a mustache of the same color. The equipment attached to his belt combined with the bulletproof vest (standard issue since the new Sheriff had taken office) made him even more menacing. I'd dealt with him on plenty of cases before; Captain Murphy was the kind of officer who never outright lied, but always managed to bend the truth just enough. And he didn't take lip from anyone.

"State your name please," the prosecutor began.

"Captain Brian Murphy."

"And Captain Murphy, are you an investigator with the Hernando County Sheriff's Department?"

"Yes, I am." he replied.

"Did you have occasion to come into contact with Lester Crowe, the defendant, on or about August 1st, 2016?"

"I did."

"Can you tell the Court how that occurred?"

"The sheriff's department got a call about a thin man with dark hair walking down Highway 50 near Lake Baldwin around the same time we thought Amanda Dunbar had been attacked."

"Were you able to speak to this caller?"

"Yes. We asked the witness to come in on Sunday and we questioned them about what they saw and the paper released the description that Monday. That same day, we got another call from someone stating they'd just seen a man matching that description trying to thumb a ride on Highway 66, heading south out of town."

"Did you investigate that information?"

"Yes. I responded to the area where the caller stated he'd seen the suspect and that's when I came in contact with Lester Crowe."

"What was he doing?"

"He was just walking down the road. On the right side of the road in the direction of traffic, heading south like I said."

"What happened then?"

"I called for backup, then parked my cruiser and approached the suspect. I tried to question Mr. Crowe but he refused to answer me. He smelled awful, like he hadn't showered in weeks. When I searched him, I found an iPhone on his person with a neon green case. This phone was later identified as belonging to Amanda Dunbar." The spectators, once quiet, began to talk amongst themselves.

"Is the defendant related to Amanda Dunbar in any way?"

"We don't believe so."

"Would he have any reason to have Amanda Dunbar's phone on his person?"

"He would not."

"What, if any, additional evidence did you find that you believe links Lester Crowe to this crime?"

"Ms. Dunbar had dirt under her fingernails. We've sent it off to the state crime lab to determine whether Mr. Crowe's DNA is there as well. We also have a shoe print—a Nike, around size 12, I believe—that was found near the body."

My pulse quickened. Lester had mentioned the shoe print at the jail.

"What, if anything, were you able to determine from that print?"

"Lester Crowe was wearing size 12 Nike tennis shoes when we arrested him. We're working on matching the prints. We also collected samples from the soles of his shoes and those have been sent to the crime lab along with samples of the mud from a footprint we found at the lake."

"Thank you, Captain. So, in sum: Lester Crowe was identified at or near the scene of the crime; you found him with Amanda Dunbar's phone; he was wearing the same sized shoes as a shoeprint at the scene; and you've sent various samples to the lab to determine whether Amanda had his DNA under her fingernails and whether the mud on his shoes matches the mud from the scene. Is that a fair statement?"

"That's all correct."

"Thank you, Captain. I tender the witness."

I spoke from my chair. "Captain Murphy. Did Lester make any written statements to you or your office?" I asked.

"No, he didn't."

"Did he tell you how he came to have possession of the victim's phone?"

"Well, he — "

"It's just a yes or no question, Captain," I interrupted.

"Your honor," the prosecutor objected. "The witness should be able to explain his answer."

"The witness will answer 'yes' or 'no', and then may explain his answer," the judge said.

"No," the Captain began, "but he would have no reason to have her phone."

"Captain, as we sit here today, you have no physical evidence linking the Defendant to the crime scene. Isn't that correct?"

"Well, no, not exactly. We're waiting on the crime lab. But they were wearing the same sized shoes." Lester tapped on my shoulder. I leaned in.

"Ask him about his shoe size," he whispered.

"What size shoes do you wear, Captain?"

"I object. Relevancy." The prosecutor stood up this time. The judge looked at me for my response.

"Judge, I'm making a point about the circumstantial nature of the shoe size. The Captain's response goes to supporting my point."

"We operate under slightly relaxed rules here. Go ahead and answer, Captain," the judge urged.

Captain Murphy's eyes darted from the judge to the prosecutor as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He finally let it out: "Size 12." I could tell by the look on his face that it wasn't true.

A woman behind me snickered and several other spectators began to talk amongst themselves. I heard a click and saw the brief flash of a camera. When I turned around, I recognized one of the photographers from the Sentinel who I'd missed earlier. I should have known they'd be there.

"Order!" Judge Evans banged his gavel. "Quiet down, now, y'all."

Lester had been mostly quiet, but at that point he leaned over to me and whispered, "Maybe the ol' Cap-i-tan did it. I can tell he likes 'em sweet."

I ignored him. "Last question, Captain. You also don't have any physical evidence linking my client, Lester Crowe, to the act of the murder, itself, do you? No blood on his clothes? No murder weapon? No eyewitness who saw him do it? You don't have any of that, do you?"

He hesitated. "Not at this point."

"Nothing further, Judge." I said, leaning back in my chair.

"Does the State have anything further?" the judge asked.

"We don't, Judge," the prosecutor said, adjusting his tie. He shot me a sideways glance before he sat back down.

"What says the Defense?"

"Defense rests, your Honor."

"Arguments?" the judge inquired. The prosecutor stood up clasped his hands behind his back. He glanced over at me, a slight smirk on his face.

"Your Honor, we submit the evidence clearly shows there is sufficient probable cause to send this case to the grand jury for consideration."

"Counselor?" Judge Evans was looking at me.

Lester leaned over again. "Showtime," he whispered. "The case is purely circumstantial Judge. My client has been falsely accused and the State has failed to show sufficient probable cause to believe that Lester Crowe was involved in the murder of Amanda Dunbar. Say it just like that."

I hesitantly repeated what Lester said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I broke into a sweat. Up until that point, it had been all fun and games. Now, people lives would be affected. I had really crossed that line, wherever it was, and there was no turning back.

"Thank you both," the judge said. "I know this is a serious case. I see some of the victim's family are here, and many others who're concerned about this case. I've listened to the evidence, and I've made my decision. My job today is to determine whether a crime has been committed and then whether the defendant was more likely than not the one who committed the crime."

I whispered in Lester's ear. "I've never seen a murder case dismissed at this stage. They have probable cause." Lester just smiled.

The Judge went on. "Obviously, a crime was committed. A young lady was tragically killed. It has really rocked this community. However, on the issue of whether I believe it's more likely than not that Lester Crowe was involved in the murder, I find that the State has failed to show sufficient probable cause to warrant binding this case over to the grand jury. This case is dismissed."

The crowd exploded behind me. Time slowed, almost to a halt. Everyone was talking and yelling at once. I heard the Judge bang the gavel, but that didn't quell the rowdy spectators. Just then, something whizzed by my ear. Before I could track where it was heading, I heard Lester cry out and double over, clutching his eye. I looked over and could see blood trickling between his fingers as he applied pressure to his left temple. I still hadn't moved.

"Clear the courtroom!" the judge yelled.

The bailiff and several of the Sheriff's deputies, including Captain Murphy, started grabbing people and forcibly removing them from the small courtroom. Someone lunged at Lester, but the bailiff grabbed him just in time, dragging him out by the arms.

"Watch your back, Crowe!" yelled the man from the hall outside. "This ain't over!"

Once the courtroom was cleared, Judge Evans stepped down from the bench and took his robe off. "Mr. Crowe, are you hurt?"

"I reckon I'll be fine," Lester replied, still clutching at his eye.

The bailiff walked back in. "Earl," the judge said, "We gotta start patting these people down. How many times has something like this happened since the county took our metal detector?"

"A few, Judge, true enough," Earl replied. "Though I may not have caught the rock." He pointed in my direction. I'd leaned down and picked the smooth stone up from underneath Lester's chair. It was about half the size of a golf ball—smooth and dense. It must have hurt.

Captain Murphy finally made it back to the courtroom. "I'll take him back over," he said.

"Can you make sure he gets some medical attention?" I asked. "Looks like he may need stitches."

He grunted. "Sure thing. I'll get right on that."

"Back over?" Lester mewled. "The case is dismissed, right?"

I got up from my seat and sat down on a chair beside him. There was something I hadn't told him.

"It is dismissed, technically. Once you get back over to the jail and your dismissal gets processed, you'll be free to go. However, the Justice Court in Mississippi is a non-binding court, which means the Sheriff can take your case straight to the grand jury and seek an indictment anyway, regardless of the dismissal."

"Backwoods sons-a-bitches," he muttered. "You didn't tell me that, Jack. That ain't right."

"I'm sorry Lester." The real reason I hadn't told him was because I hadn't allowed myself to believe for a second Lester's plan would really work. "I still didn't believe..."

"Do you believe now, Jack?" Lester asked as the blood ran down his face. He narrowed his eyes. "I don't expect you'll be hiding anything else from me, will ya?"

"I won't Lester." I stood up to leave. "Again, I'm sorry."

"Let's go, pal," Captain Murphy said, grabbing Lester by the arm and jerking him off the chair. The judge had already retired to his chambers, so he never saw the Captain run Lester right into the left side of the doorframe on his way out.

"Oops," was all he said after Lester grunted in pain.

***

That evening, Rachel went out with some girlfriends, so I was alone in the house. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch, crack open a cold one, and forget about Lester Crowe for as long as possible. There would be a front-page story in the paper tomorrow. If I was lucky, there'd also be a picture of Captain Murphy's face immediately following his testimony about his shoe size. Smug bastard deserved that one.

If everyone in town didn't already despise me, they would when they found out about the dismissal, but that was the least of my worries. There was something wrong with Lester. Something really, really wrong. And deep down, I got the feeling that he had killed Amanda Dunbar, had probably done other horrible things, too. I'd won, sure, but wasn't thrilled about the fact that Lester Crowe would be roaming the streets freely while he waited on indictment.

When I went to the fridge to grab a beer, I noticed I didn't want one anymore. That's odd, I thought. It was the first time in months my mouth hadn't watered at the mere thought of beer. I reached in and grabbed a Coke instead.

By the time I sat back down, I knew something was different —like a key in my brain had been turned to the off position. I could almost feel the cold imprint on my skull where Lester's grimy fingers had been, poking, prodding, twisting, already beginning to deliver on his promise. We were partners now, after all. Partners. My breath hitched at that thought, a tourniquet of dread cinched tightly around my lungs. I inhaled deeply through my nose, trying to fill my lungs to their capacity. In and out, over and over, but the suffocating bonds wouldn't break. The edges of my vision blurred, dark tendrils obscuring everything as I stumbled down the hall and towards the bedroom.

I awoke to a grey sky and the sense I was falling.

I shot my arms out, grabbing only empty space. Then I realized that I wasn't falling at all—I was standing. I looked around.

I stood atop a barren hill, the grass long since wilted into yellow and brown. Wilted? Or was it burned? Something metallic in the air stung my nostrils and stuck to my tongue. Enormous black thunderheads were rolling in above me and had almost obscured the last of the azure sky. The land beneath was one long, dark shadow.

Before me was a great, dusty plain, treeless, that stretched for miles in every direction. Lightning twisted and cracked on the horizon as thunder rumbled in the distance.

I'm not supposed to be here, I thought. Will Rachel be worried? I closed my eyes as tightly as possible. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

When nothing happened, I opened them again and was startled to find I was no longer alone. A man in a black suit stood beside me on the hill. It wasn't like regular black fabric though, which still reflects some light. His suit devoured it, twisting and bending his edges. There was something twisting and swirling in the darkness, too. I felt his pull and knew, somehow, that if I stared too long I'd be dragged inside of him. I looked up at his face, the only place my gaze felt safe. And then he spoke.

"Hello, Jack," he said.

He was thin, with short, dark hair cleanly parted on the left side of his scalp. His face was entirely too smooth, his eyes too black. I recognized the high cheekbones and angular chin immediately. It was Lester Crowe.

"Good boy," he said, patting my shoulder with his right hand. "This part is always difficult."

"Lester," I whispered. The sound of his name hung heavy in the air between us.

"In the flesh," he laughed. "Metaphysically speaking."

I looked around. "Where are we?"

"You're on the floor of your room. I'm in a cold, dirty cell." Anger flashed across his face. "But this?" He spread his arms out before him. "This is my Kingdom."

I searched the plain below us. "Why are we here?"

"I figured it was time to show you who I am. Now that we're partners." That word again, like a punch in the gut. He turned to face me. "Care to guess? I think you may already know."

I hesitated. "Are you the D—?" I found I couldn't bring myself to say it. "The..."

"Devil?" His eyes lit up. "Great guess! The answer is no—and yes. God and the Devil, as you know them, are figments of Man's imagination, Jack." He thought for a moment. "You know, it astounds me that out of all of the gods Man has created over the millennia, he would be so fixated on those two jokers. A jealous old man with a white beard and a red demon with a forked tail?" He shook his head. "Now, Ares, there's a god for you."

"Then what—who—are you?"

"Let me see how best to put this." In the distance, lightning crackled. "I'm your hate, Jack. Your anger, your fear, your lust, and your pride." He looked me in the eyes. "I'm Man's true nature." His words were cold, heartless, like he'd read them from the dictionary.

"You're evil," I spat.

"Evil?" he scoffed. "You're smarter than that. Is wanting your wife evil? Is your desire to kill the man who took your daughter evil?" He waited, gauging my reaction, but my face was blank. "Of course it's not. Calling instinct evil is the biggest scam Man ever concocted. Why was Man given emotions if not to use them? Are his eyes not meant to see? His hands to caress? His teeth to bite? Should he take his strength and his cunning and drown them with his own two hands, like children in a bathtub?"

"You're sick, Lester." I turned away from him, looking out toward the horizon. "That's not instinct—it's evil. Man wasn't created to connive and kill."

"What then?" he asked. "And don't tell me to love."

"Love, yes, that's one thing."

"Always with the love!" he laughed. "Tell me, Jack, where has love gotten Man?"

"Farther than fear has gotten him."

"I beg to differ!" Lester shouted. "It was Man's fear of the elements that brought him out of the rain and into caves, his fear of starving that taught him to kill for his food. And his fear of dying is what drove him to create the gods in the heavens."

"It was the other way around, Lester."

"Not hardly," he shot back. "The man with the white beard is a myth. But there is someone like me—my better half, I guess you could say—who wants Man to forsake the skin he was born into, to renounce his very nature and neuter himself in the name of some higher purpose. He wants you to think he created this world—everything, really—so you believe you owe him something." He frowned. "He didn't. And you don't. And know this: purpose is a crock o' shit. It's a false bill of goods, Jack. No one ever gets what they pay for. Not here. Not ever."

"If you say so, Lester."

He looked amused. "He and I were both there when it all started. Do you believe me?" There was an explosion of light in the darkness that covered his body. I tried my best not to look. "Who made it all? Your guess is as good as mine. I certainly would have done it different. Or maybe it was always here, and we're all just some sort of big cosmic fuck-up."

I was getting tired of being preached at. "Why are you telling me this? We already have a deal."

He laughed. "Because I ain't no genie, or a trickster. I want you to know what you got yourself into. Informed consent, and all that."

"Fine. If you're being honest, tell me what you get out of all of this?"

"Listen, Jack. It ain't a big secret. I just want Man to follow his nature. I want him to be who he was made to be. When he does, he becomes a little more like me. And I like that. And if he doesn't, he becomes more like him. And that ain't any fun. For anyone."

"Yippee-ki-yay," I shot back.

"Indeed," he replied, smiling. He patted me on the back again. "You'll come around, Jack. They always do."

A moment later the clouds broke. First, a drizzle, then a torrent so heavy I could barely see three feet in front of my face. I was immediately soaked to the bone. Any minute I could have been swept down the hill. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but Lester stayed completely dry.

"Is that it?" I yelled. My teeth were chattering; the temperature felt like it had dropped twenty degrees. "Have you tortured me enough? Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Sleep?" he replied over the roar of the downpour. "Yes, it's time to go. But there's no time for sleep, Jack. It's morning."

My eyes fluttered open, the sunshine pouring in through the blinds. Rachel was next to me, fast asleep. I sat up slowly and swung my legs around so I could feel the carpet on my bare feet, wondering how I'd made it to the bed. Rachel stirred behind me. When I turned to see if she was awake, I noticed the dark spot on my pillow, nearly the size of my head.

I ran my fingers over it and felt it was damp. Only sweat, I told myself. But I knew better.