Categories > Original > Drama
You're Crashing, But You're No Wave
0 reviews-NOT ABOUT RYAN ROSS- Ryan Lewis is on trial for the assault and murder of many teenage girls. Will he be convicted, or will the jury set him free? Songfiction to the song of the same name by Fall ...
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You're Crashing, But You're No Wave
Chicago's streets were drenched with rain as the courthouse was filled with never-ending amounts of press; cameramen and reporters, people with microphones and note pads. In the prep room, it was nearly silent, save one voice.
The D.A. is dressed to the nines
In the mirror he practices all his lines...
"Your honor, today we, the Prosecution, intend to prove that Mr. Ryan Lewis, the defendant, raped and killed Sandy Jones, Elizabeth Dalton, Michelle Taylor, Anne Thomas..."
The list went on. Lewis was going to be tried as a serial killer; a grand total of twenty victims were his to call for. Twenty young girl's lives ripped away far too soon. The D.A. shook his head, sandy hair falling into his eyes.[1]
*
"You will see sufficient evidence that the defendant, Ryan Lewis, committed atrocities to these twenty girls, all of them less than 18 years old. Not even adults, ladies and gentlemen."
The D.A. leaned forward to make his impact on the jury. "As old as your daughters. Your granddaughters. Seventeen is much too young to suffer and die...such a horrible death."
To his closing argument, twelve hearts beat in favor
I'm guessing that he read the morning paper
The headline reads "The Man Hangs"
But the jury doesn't...
Ryan Lewis hung his head. It was over. Finished. He was done for.
And everyone's looking for relief
United States vs. Disbelief
Mothers cast tears on both sides of the aisle.
Twenty mothers and twenty fathers sat, faces covered in tears for their dead daughters. Ryan couldn't look at them. "The defense calls Ryan Lewis to the stand."
He walked steadily, took his vow, and sat. His eyes turned up and he saw a sea of faces staring at him, including his own mother's and father's. He saw the faces he couldn't see, the American public; the cameras trained on his every move. He pulled at his tie.
Clear your throat and face the world
The verdict falls like bachelors for bad luck girls
Only breathing with the aid of denial.
"Is it true that you raped and murdered these twenty women?" Asked his lawyer. He looked at his hands, but he was choking back a smile.
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
The judge bid him answer. Ryan looked to his left for a brief moment. He shouldn't have.
He glances at his peers
Sitting seven to twelve
Stacked on one to six
The gallery is hushed.
As Ryan gave his answer, Sandy Jones' boyfriend's fists clenched. How he'd like to rip out the throat of that man who was only a little older than he was...!
That man was an abomination, a blemish on the face of the world; he deserved to be snuffed out. He wanted to stand up and tell the court how he'd felt when he'd heard about Sandy's fate; how just and right it was to kill that scum!
Boys in three pieces dream
Of grandstanding and bravado
The city sleeps in a cell
Notwithstanding what we all know
Hang on a rope or bated breath
Whichever you prefer.
Ryan was asked another question. "The so-called 'Ace of Spades Killer' has been killing for 5 years. How old are you, Mr. Lewis?" He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Twenty," he answered truthfully. His lawyer beamed, facing the Jury.
"If my client, Mr. Lewis, is the killer, he would have had to begin raping and killing women when he was fifteen years old, younger than the youngest victim! How many fifteen-year-olds do you know who can suffocate a girl one year his elder?" The Jury's reaction was unreadable; they could have nodded, they could have sighed. Ryan once again hung his head.
"Ryan, what were you like when you were fifteen?" Asked his lawyer.
"Relevance, your honor?" Asked the D.A.
"Leverage," answered Ryan's lawyer. The Judge nodded.
"Make it quick."
"Slight, I guess. Short. Thin," answered Ryan. Once again, his lawyer smiled.
"So you see, at the time of Sandy Jones's death, when she was seventeen and Mr. Lewis was fifteen, he was smaller than her, as Sandy was tall for her age and athletic," the Defense said simply. It was a weak defense and he knew it.
And everyone's looking for relief
A bidding war for an old flame's grief
The cause, the kid, the cost, the charm and the curse.
Not a word that could make you comprehend
Too well dressed for the witness stand
The press prays for whichever headline's worse.
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
Ryan took his seat as the Jury went out. Court was adjourned briefly, until they reached their decision. Ryan cast a look at Michelle Taylor's sister, who looked so much like her.
Michelle is coming to, her beautiful eyes fluttering open and shut. Ryan watches as she finally gains proper consciousness and begins to fight. Emotionless, as if in a trance, neither in pleasure nor pain, Ryan holds her down. She fights harder, the reality of the situation coming to a head when the smart, though naive, girl sees her assailant for the first time.
Hovering over her, neither a smile nor a frown on his face. He is moving in and out of her blurry vision; forwards and back, tearing through her body. Finally, Ryan sits on her stomach, pressing the air from her lungs.
Ryan moves both hands to her neck, squeezing. Her eyes open wide, her face turns purple, and she gasps for air. I'm too young to die! Please...please...I'm not ready to die yet! She struggles, scratching his arms and face as best she can. But he is fueled by an inhuman need to kill and to harm and to cause fear.
Still without a smile, Ryan watches the light leave her eyes.
The Jury was back in. Ryan shook, his hands folded in his lap. He refused to believe that this was it. I'm too smart. They can't catch me. They can't...
Fresh pressed suit and tie
Unimpressed birds sing and die
Can talk my way out of anything.
Ryan's mother gasped sharply as the foreman stood, clearing his throat. She watched the back of her baby boy's head as she remembered distant voices from a long ago (or so it seemed) conversation.
"Mrs. Lewis, in spite of obvious and pressing evidence that your son is the 'Ace of Spades Killer', you still believe him innocent?" Asks the D.A. She nods stubbornly.
"My baby, my only son, did not kill those girls," she says strongly. Tears come to her eyes. "He couldn't! He would never. He's my son." The D.A. sighs.
"Despite the numerous packs of slightly burned cards we found in Ryan's garbage, all with the Ace of Spades missing?" She nodds, tears spilling over onto her blouse.
"I believe in my baby."
"In the case of Ryan Lewis vs. the State of Illinois, the defendant Ryan Lewis is accused of raping and killing Sandy Jones, Elizabeth Dalton, Michelle Taylor, Anne Thomas...we the Jury..."
The foreman reads the verdict:
"In the above entitled actions
We find the defendant...GUILTY."
"I hereby sentence you to life in prison without the possibility of payroll. Officers, take him away."
The court seemed to scream in agreement. The sight became blurry as the press began yelling and taking pictures of the 'Ace of Spades Killer', a “handsome, long and raven-haired youth with pale skin, blue eyes and a peaceful demeanor." Ryan's life passed through his mind, from his first memories, to just last night, when he'd laid in bed and cried for himself.
The victim's mothers cried, throwing themselves into their husband's arms. Ryan hung his head as the court was adjourned and two police officers cuffed him. He wouldn't last a day in minimum security.
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
The front-page news the following morning:
[1] In this case, "D.A." stands for "District Attorney," not "Defense Attorney."
Chicago's streets were drenched with rain as the courthouse was filled with never-ending amounts of press; cameramen and reporters, people with microphones and note pads. In the prep room, it was nearly silent, save one voice.
The D.A. is dressed to the nines
In the mirror he practices all his lines...
"Your honor, today we, the Prosecution, intend to prove that Mr. Ryan Lewis, the defendant, raped and killed Sandy Jones, Elizabeth Dalton, Michelle Taylor, Anne Thomas..."
The list went on. Lewis was going to be tried as a serial killer; a grand total of twenty victims were his to call for. Twenty young girl's lives ripped away far too soon. The D.A. shook his head, sandy hair falling into his eyes.[1]
*
"You will see sufficient evidence that the defendant, Ryan Lewis, committed atrocities to these twenty girls, all of them less than 18 years old. Not even adults, ladies and gentlemen."
The D.A. leaned forward to make his impact on the jury. "As old as your daughters. Your granddaughters. Seventeen is much too young to suffer and die...such a horrible death."
To his closing argument, twelve hearts beat in favor
I'm guessing that he read the morning paper
The headline reads "The Man Hangs"
But the jury doesn't...
Ryan Lewis hung his head. It was over. Finished. He was done for.
And everyone's looking for relief
United States vs. Disbelief
Mothers cast tears on both sides of the aisle.
Twenty mothers and twenty fathers sat, faces covered in tears for their dead daughters. Ryan couldn't look at them. "The defense calls Ryan Lewis to the stand."
He walked steadily, took his vow, and sat. His eyes turned up and he saw a sea of faces staring at him, including his own mother's and father's. He saw the faces he couldn't see, the American public; the cameras trained on his every move. He pulled at his tie.
Clear your throat and face the world
The verdict falls like bachelors for bad luck girls
Only breathing with the aid of denial.
"Is it true that you raped and murdered these twenty women?" Asked his lawyer. He looked at his hands, but he was choking back a smile.
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
The judge bid him answer. Ryan looked to his left for a brief moment. He shouldn't have.
He glances at his peers
Sitting seven to twelve
Stacked on one to six
The gallery is hushed.
As Ryan gave his answer, Sandy Jones' boyfriend's fists clenched. How he'd like to rip out the throat of that man who was only a little older than he was...!
That man was an abomination, a blemish on the face of the world; he deserved to be snuffed out. He wanted to stand up and tell the court how he'd felt when he'd heard about Sandy's fate; how just and right it was to kill that scum!
Boys in three pieces dream
Of grandstanding and bravado
The city sleeps in a cell
Notwithstanding what we all know
Hang on a rope or bated breath
Whichever you prefer.
Ryan was asked another question. "The so-called 'Ace of Spades Killer' has been killing for 5 years. How old are you, Mr. Lewis?" He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Twenty," he answered truthfully. His lawyer beamed, facing the Jury.
"If my client, Mr. Lewis, is the killer, he would have had to begin raping and killing women when he was fifteen years old, younger than the youngest victim! How many fifteen-year-olds do you know who can suffocate a girl one year his elder?" The Jury's reaction was unreadable; they could have nodded, they could have sighed. Ryan once again hung his head.
"Ryan, what were you like when you were fifteen?" Asked his lawyer.
"Relevance, your honor?" Asked the D.A.
"Leverage," answered Ryan's lawyer. The Judge nodded.
"Make it quick."
"Slight, I guess. Short. Thin," answered Ryan. Once again, his lawyer smiled.
"So you see, at the time of Sandy Jones's death, when she was seventeen and Mr. Lewis was fifteen, he was smaller than her, as Sandy was tall for her age and athletic," the Defense said simply. It was a weak defense and he knew it.
And everyone's looking for relief
A bidding war for an old flame's grief
The cause, the kid, the cost, the charm and the curse.
Not a word that could make you comprehend
Too well dressed for the witness stand
The press prays for whichever headline's worse.
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
Ryan took his seat as the Jury went out. Court was adjourned briefly, until they reached their decision. Ryan cast a look at Michelle Taylor's sister, who looked so much like her.
Michelle is coming to, her beautiful eyes fluttering open and shut. Ryan watches as she finally gains proper consciousness and begins to fight. Emotionless, as if in a trance, neither in pleasure nor pain, Ryan holds her down. She fights harder, the reality of the situation coming to a head when the smart, though naive, girl sees her assailant for the first time.
Hovering over her, neither a smile nor a frown on his face. He is moving in and out of her blurry vision; forwards and back, tearing through her body. Finally, Ryan sits on her stomach, pressing the air from her lungs.
Ryan moves both hands to her neck, squeezing. Her eyes open wide, her face turns purple, and she gasps for air. I'm too young to die! Please...please...I'm not ready to die yet! She struggles, scratching his arms and face as best she can. But he is fueled by an inhuman need to kill and to harm and to cause fear.
Still without a smile, Ryan watches the light leave her eyes.
The Jury was back in. Ryan shook, his hands folded in his lap. He refused to believe that this was it. I'm too smart. They can't catch me. They can't...
Fresh pressed suit and tie
Unimpressed birds sing and die
Can talk my way out of anything.
Ryan's mother gasped sharply as the foreman stood, clearing his throat. She watched the back of her baby boy's head as she remembered distant voices from a long ago (or so it seemed) conversation.
"Mrs. Lewis, in spite of obvious and pressing evidence that your son is the 'Ace of Spades Killer', you still believe him innocent?" Asks the D.A. She nods stubbornly.
"My baby, my only son, did not kill those girls," she says strongly. Tears come to her eyes. "He couldn't! He would never. He's my son." The D.A. sighs.
"Despite the numerous packs of slightly burned cards we found in Ryan's garbage, all with the Ace of Spades missing?" She nodds, tears spilling over onto her blouse.
"I believe in my baby."
"In the case of Ryan Lewis vs. the State of Illinois, the defendant Ryan Lewis is accused of raping and killing Sandy Jones, Elizabeth Dalton, Michelle Taylor, Anne Thomas...we the Jury..."
The foreman reads the verdict:
"In the above entitled actions
We find the defendant...GUILTY."
"I hereby sentence you to life in prison without the possibility of payroll. Officers, take him away."
The court seemed to scream in agreement. The sight became blurry as the press began yelling and taking pictures of the 'Ace of Spades Killer', a “handsome, long and raven-haired youth with pale skin, blue eyes and a peaceful demeanor." Ryan's life passed through his mind, from his first memories, to just last night, when he'd laid in bed and cried for himself.
The victim's mothers cried, throwing themselves into their husband's arms. Ryan hung his head as the court was adjourned and two police officers cuffed him. He wouldn't last a day in minimum security.
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
Case open, case shut
But you could pay to close it like a casket
Baby boy can't lift his headache head
Isn't it tragic?
The front-page news the following morning:
"CONVICTED 'ACE OF SPADES KILLER' DIES IN POLICE CUSTODY"
Convicted rapist and murderer Ryan Lewis was found bleeding to death in police custody. Lewis, 20, had been convicted that day of being the 'Ace of Spades Killer', known well for assaulting and killing twenty young girls, all in the Chicago area. Officials are claiming that Lewis bit through his own wrists, creating wounds through which his blood flowed until he was discovered. By then it was too late. Says his mother, "Ryan was convicted for something he did not do. He wouldn't have been able to stand prison, even if he had committed the murders."
[1] In this case, "D.A." stands for "District Attorney," not "Defense Attorney."
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