Johan's verdict was about to be read out, and he couldn't help but feel a wave of terrible fear appearching as the jurors filed into the room to take their seats. They were about to decide on his future...set was setting on the day, he couldn't imagine feeling more relieved. All that mattered to him were those words. Not guilty . Everything else was incidental and he would deal with it when he had to

The trail was not going well. Anyone could see that. Johan wasn't terribly surprised, as he had done the thing they were all here to prove was not his fault. He could feel the eyes of the jurors, judging... as he was wheeled from the courtroom by a prison guard, he whispered, "happy birthday, Alastair." Though it was not happy. And Johan only hoped that his words had reached someone. That they had mattered

Sometimes, Peter found, complaining was a fantastic way to get what you wanted. He had learned this because he not only had seven children, but he also had...Deirdre. And complaining to the cops that he... Peter would watch over him until the guards insisted he leave, and even then he would put up a bloody good argument. If Johan was still fighting, Peter sure as well was going to keep fighting too

The transfer to a holding cell while he awaited his trial had not been put back after the news of Werner's death. Apparently, in the minds of the justice system, Johan had had his time off, and now he...his arms as well. "As you wish, Master Whitney." And Johan ceased his stalling, and once again re-hashed that terrible day when he had ended his beloved step-son's suffering with one shot to the head

Peter was sitting on the kitchen bench, eating an apple and debating reading more of his mother's correspondence when his Uncle Gabriel entered the kitchen. Peter squeaked and jumped off the bench as if...the tiles." Gabriel left Peter standing there and Peter just stared after him, dumbstruck. And then, because he could, he hefted himself back up onto the kitchen bench and crossed his arms in protest