Chapter 11: Face of the Courthouse

We watched it together on his phone, standing in the dark courtroom with our shoulders touching.

The station was running a segment in its six-thirty news.

The anchor smiled at the camera and said, "Tonight in Face of the Courthouse, our resident artist captures the moment a stone face cracked."

My sketch filled the screen.

It was the woman in the witness box, with the lifted corner of her mouth and warm eyes.

Under it, in bold white letters, was the caption.

"The Ice Queen Who Laughed at a Fire."

Under that, in smaller letters, it said, "Sketch by Tobias Rudd."

I read it twice.

The anchor and a second man began to laugh about the ice queen, and the camera cut to a photo of a burned storefront.

Tobias made a sound I had never heard from him.

"No," he said. "No, that's not what I..."

I turned and looked at him.

His face had gone white.

I watched it happen in the half light.

His brows were lifted, his mouth was open in horror, and his eyes would not leave the screen.

"I didn't give them that," he said.

"I know."

"They keep my archive. It's in my contract."

"They pull from my old work and run it, and I never get told."

He pushed his hand across his beard.

"I drew that for the trial. I never wrote that caption. I never said ice queen."

"I know you didn't."

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