Superposition

^{CHAPTER 26}

Terry stood and announced the next and final witness. Me. I felt the eyes of everyone in the courtroom on me as I walked to the stand. The room looked different from this perspective. I felt the jurors watching me, and I met their eyes with as honest an expression as I could muster, just like Terry had coached me. He said jurors always liked when a defendant testified. It gave them a chance to hear the defendant’s side of the story, something that seemed strangely missing in most trials. Despite the appeal to the jury, defendants almost never testified, and for a very good reason. It gave the prosecution the chance to ask tough questions and bring things into the court record that might otherwise be kept out, like a criminal past or incriminating statements previously made. It also meant a guilty client would have to lie, straight-faced, to the court and make the lie stick. Not many lawyers were willing to take the risk.

Terry thought this was one of the rare times that the benefits outweighed the risks. My story was so bizarre that presenting it in any other way but through my voice would be laughable. Jean had laid the scientific groundwork, and Marek had given his first-hand account; now I just had to tell them the story from my perspective. We expected Haviland to make my claims sound ridiculous, but we had set a trap for him which might just turn the trial around, if it worked.

Terry had coached me on how to behave. Don’t smile. Don’t fold your arms across your chest. Keep your hands away from your mouth. Never say, “To the best of my knowledge.” Don’t mumble. Speak confidently. Sit up straight. I was so busy trying to remember all these tips, I barely had time to worry about what I was going to say. Maybe that was part of the idea.

At the lectern, Terry shuffled his papers and took his time. I guessed he was trying to raise the suspense, to heighten the sense that whatever had gone before, this was the part of the trial that really mattered. I hoped he was right.

“Mr. Kelley,” he said. “Did you kill Brian Vanderhall?”

I waited a beat, just like he taught me, then leaned forward into the microphone. “I did not.”

“Did you cause his death in any way?”

“No, I did not.”

“When was the last time you saw Brian Vanderhall alive?”

“On the afternoon of December third.”

Terry paused to let that sink in. “Other witnesses have testified that Brian’s dead body was found, by you, on the morning of December third.”

“Yes, that’s true,” I said, enunciating clearly. “I found Brian’s dead body in the bunker in the morning. I also saw him alive that afternoon.”

Even though Marek had said essentially the same thing, the courtroom erupted in a buzz of noise. The camera flies whizzed around my face. Haviland actually laughed and clapped his hands together, apparently thinking his case was as good as won. I kept my face solemn, neither smiling nor acknowledging the reaction.

Judge Roswell pounded her gavel—I wondered how often she actually got a chance to do that—and the room quieted.

Terry pretended to be astonished by my claim. “Are you suggesting Brian Vanderhall rose from the dead? Or is it time travel, perhaps? Or does he have an identical twin who was hidden away by his parents at birth?”

“None of those,” I said. “This admittedly unusual event was a direct result of Brian’s research into quantum fields.”

Terry stepped me through it, point by point. We could have taken a different tack, tried to frame my story in completely normal terms, leaving Brian out of it, or else not told my story at all. But I had told the police the truth when they interrogated me, which meant the whole story was on record. If I left out the unbelievable parts, Haviland could just trot them out and use them to make me look ridiculous anyway.

It was better to come out with it and treat it seriously, in hopes that the jury would do the same. Jean had already laid the scientific groundwork for Brian temporarily being in two places at once. I reiterated Marek’s testimony about how the note Brian had left led me to the CATHIE bunker. I described the pair of resonators I found there, and what they meant in terms of the macroscopic realization of quantum effects. I said nothing about the spinning objects in the room, or the man with no eyes, or of Marek being pulled into pieces. Instead, I skipped ahead to when we found Brian in the back of his car.

Here, Terry stopped the narrative. “Are you certain it was Brian Vanderhall?”

“Completely.”

“How could you tell?”

“I’ve known Brian for more than a decade. It was his face, his hair, his voice, his mannerisms and style of speech. He talked to me about the resonators, which practically no one knows about, much less understands. There’s no question it was him.”

“What happened to him? Where is he now?”

“The quantum waveform resolved.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the two Brians—the one who was dead on the bunker floor and the one who was sleeping in the back of his car—combined to become one again. There was just as much chance that the resolved version would be the living Brian, but unfortunately for him, it turned out to be the dead one.”

“So ultimately, it’s still true that Brian was killed by the gun in the underground bunker?”

“Yes. It’s just that a shadow version of himself—another possible Brian, if you will—persisted for a short time afterward.”

“Could the shadow version of Brian have killed the first version in a bizarre form of suicide?”

“As Dr. Massey testified, it’s scientifically possible. My professional opinion agrees with her analysis.”

“Do you know who killed Mr. Vanderhall?” Terry asked.

“No.”

“Were you there when he died?” Terry asked.

“No, I was still at home in bed.”

“How well did you know Mr. Vanderhall?”

“Quite well, for more than ten years, as I said. We attended college together and worked together. Before last December, I hadn’t spoken to him in two years, however. Not since I left the NJSC.”

“Were you good friends before that?”

“Yes. Best friends, I would say. He was the best man at my wedding.”

“And now you’ve been accused of killing him. Had you ever been convicted of a crime before this?”

“Nothing more than a speeding ticket.”

“No felonies? No driving under the influence?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell us, how has this accusation of murder impacted your life?”

Terry persisted on that topic at some length, trying to paint a picture of me as an upstanding citizen and gain the jurors’ sympathy for my wrongful imprisonment. It would have been easier if Elena and the kids were here, and he could show a tearful family. It all felt fake to me, though it was in fact true, and I understood it was necessary to gain a rapport with the jury. Finally, he covered the physical evidence and had me explain how I ended up in possession of the Glock and with Brian’s blood on my shoes. As his last question, Terry asked me again, point-blank, whether I had killed Brian Vanderhall or in any way caused his death.

“No, I did not,” I said.

“Thank you, no more questions.” Terry sat down.

It was the best I could do. I had told my story, hopefully seeding some doubt in the minds of the jurors, and now I just had to survive cross-examination. Haviland stood to take the lectern. He was practically cackling with glee as he took the stand, rubbing his hands together and barely keeping back a smile. He obviously thought he was going to roast me alive.

“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re claiming to have seen the victim, Brian Vanderhall, alive and walking around after he died.”

“Yes.”

“And you expect the court to believe that this is”—he made a show of holding a document out in front of him, as if reading from the official record—“‘scientifically possible.’”

“Yes.”

Terry had warned me not to rise to Haviland’s jibes. He would try to bait me into an angry or defensive response, but I was supposed to remain calm. The trick was to answer the questions, not the tone.

“Mr. Kelley, is your wife in the courtroom right now?”

“No.”

“Why not? Doesn’t she support you during this difficult time?”

“My wife is dead,” I said.

“Oh yes? Did you kill her, too?”

Terry shot to his feet like a rocket. “Objection. Harassing the witness.”

“Overruled,” Judge Roswell said. “Mr. Kelley, you may answer the question.”

“I did not kill my wife,” I said. “I have never killed anyone.”

“You said your wife was dead. How did she die?”

“I don’t know,” I said. This wasn’t quite true, but the truth would completely derail my testimony, and no one would believe it.

“You don’t know?” Haviland said. “Didn’t you tell the police that ‘a strange man came into the house and killed them’? Are those your words, Mr. Kelley?”

“Yes, they were my words to the police interrogator.”

“Do you retract them now?”

“No. There was a man there, and I believe he killed them, but I don’t know for certain.”

“Was the man Brian Vanderhall?”

“No. This was after Brian’s probability wave had already resolved.”

Haviland gave me his incredulous look. “So let me get this straight. Your story has two disappearing magicians in it, one who came back from the dead, and one who killed the rest of your family?”

“Objection,” Terry said.

“Sustained,” Roswell said. “Mr. Haviland, please rephrase.”

“Did you recognize the man who killed your family?” Haviland asked.

I was getting irritated. “No. I said I don’t know who he was. I wasn’t there when it happened. When I arrived at the house, there was a man there, and I believe it was him who killed them.”

“Did the police apprehend this man?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you tell police upon your arrest that the bodies of your wife and two of your children were in the house?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did the police find those bodies when they went inside?”

“No, they did not.”

“Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that your family is missing, Mr. Kelley? After all, it’s been months, and neither your family nor their bodies have been found, isn’t that right?”

“Missing may be an appropriate description,” I said.

“Did you and your wife have a fight the night before she went missing?” Haviland asked.

“No!”

“Did you hit her?”

“I didn’t hit her. I have never hit her.”

Haviland turned a page of his notes. He stacked the pages and rapped them against the lectern to even the edges. I thought he was probably giving the jury a chance to consider why a wife might take her children and leave home without a trace.

“I see,” he said finally. “Mr. Kelley, have you ever struck someone in anger?”

I paused. I knew exactly what incident Haviland was referring to, and I really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Answer the question, please,” Haviland said. “Have you ever struck someone in anger?”

“I was protecting my wife.”

“I’ll ask again. Have you ever struck—”

“Yes. We were at the health club, and this guy was harassing my—”

“Yes or no will do.” Haviland gave me a patronizing smile. “Who was the man you struck?”

“His name was Martin Slosser.”

“Where did this incident take place?”

“At the Granite Run Health and Fitness Club.”

“How many times did you hit him?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Four or five times?”

“Something like that. I’m not sure.”

“You weren’t counting?”

“Of course not.”

“Is it safe to say you were out of control, Mr. Kelley?”

“He attacked my wife!”

“Did he attack her physically?”

“Not exactly. He was saying crude things to her, sexually suggestive things, with an implied threat.”

“So you made sure he knew what would happen if he harmed your wife.”

“I was angry. I hit him.”

“Just a little? Did you bloody his lip and send him off?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“What were the man’s injuries, Mr. Kelley?”

“He lost consciousness for a short while.”

“Was he not taken to Riddle Hospital by ambulance and treated for a concussion and contusion of the brain?”

“He was taken to the hospital, yes. I don’t know what he was treated for.”

“You told the jury a moment ago that you had never committed a crime. Wouldn’t this be considered assault?”

“No charges were pressed,” I said. “I don’t know what it would be considered.”

“So you knocked a man unconscious for speaking rudely. What would you have done if he actually touched your wife?”

“I can’t say what would have happened.”

“Is it safe to assume you would have reacted even more strongly?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t—”

“What if he threatened her with a loaded gun? What if he fired that gun at her head?”

I nearly lashed out with an angry response, but I caught myself just in time. I saw Terry at the defense table, making frantic, tiny shakes of his head. He had told me a dozen times not to fall prey to the rhythm of the prosecutor’s questions. Take your time. Breathe. Answer at your own pace.

I took a deep breath. I counted to five. “Your questions are hypothetical,” I said calmly. “I can’t possibly tell you what I would have done in a situation that never occurred.”

“I have another one for you. Think back to your time as a competitive boxer in Philadelphia. Do you remember a man named Vinny Russo?”

My muscles clenched. I knew he was baiting me, trying to goad me into a violent reaction. “I remember him,” I said through clenched teeth. “It was a long time ago.”

“He was in a sexual relationship with your mother?”

“Yes.”

“According to the police report, you found him and your mother engaged in intimate relations in your South Philadelphia home.”

“Yes.”

“You walked in on them while they were copulating on the couch?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hurt Mr. Russo?”

He had the police report. There was no point trying to color the truth. “I hit him as hard as I could.”

“Which, as a competitive boxer, was pretty hard.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hit him just once?”

“He got up, so I hit him again.”

“According to the police report, you broke his nose and knocked out three teeth?”

“If they say so.”

“They also say Mr. Russo was so frightened for his safety that he ran outside without his clothes.”

I stifled the sudden smile that came with the memory. “That’s right, he did.”

“But, according to you, you’ve never committed a violent crime.”

“I’ve never been convicted of a crime, no.”

“That’s not quite the same thing, is it, Mr. Kelley?”

“When I need to, I can protect those I love. That’s not the same thing as being violent.”

“Was your mother an unwilling participant? Did she want you to rescue her from this man?” Haviland asked.

“We all knew Vinny,” I said. “He was a jerk. He was taking advantage of her. If either of her brothers had found him instead of me, it would have been worse.”

“It’s safe to say, though, that you take a violent, protective stance about the sexuality of the women in your life.”

“What does that mean?”

“That if you feel the sexuality of your mother or wife or daughters is threatened, you react violently.”

“It’s not a crime to protect the people you love,” I said. “It doesn’t mean I killed anyone.”

“How would you describe Mr. Vanderhall’s romantic relationships?”

The sudden change of topic threw me off. “I’m sorry?”

“His relationships with women. His sex life, if you will. How would you describe them?”

“Varied and short-lived. He always had a woman he was with, sometimes more than one. He liked the excitement of the chase, but didn’t have the patience for an actual relationship. Somehow, women were attracted to him despite this.”

“Did he ever have relationships with married women?”

“Pretty commonly, yes.”

“Were their husbands aware of these relationships?”

“Not usually, no. At least at first. He got into some trouble that way.”

“Did you always know which woman he was with?”

“No. Not even when I was working with him, and certainly not for the past few years.”

“So you wouldn’t necessarily know it if Mr. Vanderhall was conducting an affair with someone you knew. Such as, for instance, Elena, your wife.”

I probably should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. He caught me blindsided, and I stood up in the witness box, seething.

“Mr. Kelley, you must sit down,” Judge Roswell said sternly.

It took me a moment to respond. I was drowning in a sea of rage, not just at Haviland, but at the whole impossible situation: at Brian Vanderhall, at the justice system, at the other Jacob, at the unreasonable absurdity of quantum physics, even at myself. It poured through me, half-blinding me, a torrent in my ears. Finally, I got control and took my seat.

Terry had been objecting loudly, and now that I was seated, the judge listened to his objection that the prosecution was harassing the witness. Roswell agreed. “Unless you are prepared to bring actual evidence that Mrs. Kelley was sleeping with the victim, then you will abandon this line of questioning. I will not tolerate fishing or baiting in my courtroom.”

Haviland apologized, but he didn’t seem sorry. I realized he had gotten just what he wanted out of me: an angry reaction in front of the jury. “Have you ever sought professional help to control violent tendencies, Mr. Kelley?”

“I don’t have violent tendencies.”

“Answer the question, please. Do you need me to repeat it?”

“No,” I said.

“No, you don’t need me to repeat the question, or no, you—”

“No, I’ve never seen a shrink about violence,” I growled. He was intentionally irritating me, and I knew it, but I still couldn’t help being annoyed. He was playing games with my life. I didn’t like his games.

“So just to review,” Haviland said. “You claim that, despite the fact that you were the only person able to enter and leave Mr. Vanderhall’s office, and despite the fact that you were found in possession of the gun that killed him and with his blood on your shoes, you had no involvement whatsoever in his death.”

I put as much honest certainty as I could into my voice. “Yes. I did not kill him.”

“Instead, you expect the jury to believe this fantastic tale of photocopied physicists?”

“It’s the truth.”

“That Mr. Vanderhall was both dead and alive at the same time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, perhaps you know what you’re talking about—you’re a scientist, after all.” This drew a few chuckles. “Tell me, from your experience, have you ever been dead and then walked around the next day?”

“No.”

“Have you ever read a peer-reviewed scientific paper that suggests that it is possible to do so?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been in two places at once?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have even one scrap of evidence that… what did you say?”

I smiled. “Yes, I have been two places at once.”

Haviland glanced at the judge and then back at me, unsure how to proceed. “Mr. Kelley,” Judge Roswell began in a stern tone, but I spoke up quickly.

“Your Honor,” I said, making sure everyone in the courtroom could hear me. “This is what I’ve been testifying to all along. Not only is it possible for a person to be in two places at once, I am doing so at this moment.” I glanced at Terry, who nodded. It was time. I pointed to the courtroom doors, which were just now opening to reveal a man dressed exactly as I was, in a simple black suit and tie. It was the other Jacob, my double. “In fact,” I said, “here I am now.”

There was a noise of shifting seats as everyone in the courtroom turned to look. Heads swiveled back and forth as they compared the other Jacob’s appearance to mine. I sat up straight, offering everyone a clear view of my face. My double walked confidently toward the front.

The showmanship was a risk, but it certainly captured everyone’s attention, and I knew the moment would be played on every feed in the country. Haviland was floored. He stared at Jacob and then back at me, for once at a loss for words. The jury looked back and forth as if they were viewing a tennis match.

Judge Roswell stood, her kindly face now rigid with fury. “Mr. Sheppard!” she barked. Terry stood, almost snapping to attention. “Is it your intention to turn my courtroom into a circus?”

“No, Your Honor. I apologize.”

“Bailiff, will you please remove this man from the building.”

“But Your Honor, this is one of my witnesses,” Terry said.

Her eyes narrowed. “You told the court that Mr. Jacob Kelley would be your last witness.”

“Yes. This is Jacob Kelley.”

“Which one, Mr. Sheppard?”

“Both of them, Your Honor. This is the defense’s case, and the whole point of Mr. Kelley’s testimony. This is no circus trick or identical twin—Mr. Kelley has no siblings. He is actually in two places at once, just as Brian Vanderhall was on the night of his death.”

“Your Honor, this is ludicrous,” Haviland said. He was red in the face and puffing. “I demand a mistrial.”

Judge Roswell used her gavel for the second time that day. “The jury will return to the deliberation room and await instructions,” she said, her voice cutting through the buzz in the courtroom. “Mr. Sheppard, Mr. Haviland, Mr. Kelley, and… the other Mr. Kelley. Come back to my chambers without saying another word.”

She left her dais with a swirl of black robes. The four of us followed her meekly through the doors and into a paneled office filled with the requisite shelves of law journals and mahogany furniture. There were only two chairs besides the judge’s. The lawyers took these, leaving Jacob and I to stand.

Roswell gave an exasperated sigh. “Terry, what’s come over you?” she asked, dropping the formality of address she used in the courtroom. “It was a tough case, but I didn’t think you were this desperate. I’m strongly considering a mistrial and slapping you with a heavy fine for wasting the court’s time and money.”

Terry laid a document on her desk, a few pages folded back to show a highlighted section. “It’s all true, Ann. I have the DNA results right here. These two are the same man.”

Roswell didn’t even look at the document. “Rubbish. Identical twins have the same DNA; you know that.”

“Look at them. Really look at them.”

Jacob and I moved so we were shoulder to shoulder and stood up straight. She looked. I knew the most remarkable thing wasn’t how identical we appeared, but the fact that, standing like this, you could see that we were mirror images. Our faces, side by side, were symmetrical in a way that neither twins nor any clever makeup could duplicate. She studied us carefully, but showed no sign of what she thought.

“David?” she said finally.

“It’s all nonsense, of course,” Haviland said.

“Don’t talk,” Judge Roswell said. “Look.”

He turned in his chair and studied us for a long moment. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “Really?”

We nodded in unison. “Really.”