Crisscross in Time

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, what say you?” The judge’s authority filled the courtroom.
Trish held her breath. She had experienced this before in her warped past. The memories raced across the backdrop of her mind. She glanced across the courtroom. Would the jury see the case as she had or did they believe her presentation purely theatrical? Had she succeeded in swaying them?
The jury foreman stood. “We the jury find the defendant . . . guilty . . .”
Trish heard no more, dropping her head to her hands. The courtroom buzzed around her.
He remained in his seat, watching her.

What dawned as a bright and cheery day in a valley of Southeastern Idaho would change by nightfall. Trish could never have imagined where the day would take her. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a vivid imagination, for a legal mind she possessed what some might consider creative genius. Her creativity would one day serve to advance her career, if she survived long enough.
Having worked hard all week, she promised herself a solitary relaxing ride on Yedi, her prized Arabian. She looked forward to the ride in the brisk morning air as she guided Yedi to the west side hills of the valley. The ride invigorated her. She soon found her own laughter mingling with a gentle breeze; laughter that seemed out of place in the office and even more inappropriate in the courtroom.