Code Dead – The intermission between “Glenda” and “I, The Jury” [Chapter 4, Part 5]
“I can say without a doubt that there are an infinite number of universes. Some are just like ours … but for one or two significant events, exactly the same.” – Lex Luthor
“I deeply regret my actions of the last month. They have reflected badly upon not only me as a professional but upon this most august office and my cherished colleagues. Y’all desire better. This lapse in judgment on my part, which falls squarely on my shoulders, will NEVER happen again.”
She’s surrounded by a small group of people composed of the person she works for [her boss, The Iron Lady: Margaret Thatcher, the DA] and the people she works with [her co-workers that are her peers which, by definition, excludes her boss], in the main briefing room. When she called this impromptu early morning meeting, her boss had feared the worst, based upon her recent erratic totally out of character behavior: a resignation from ADA Onatopp. Instead, much to DA Thatcher’s glee, what the prosecutor’s office was greeted by was the Xenia Onatopp that they all have come to know, love, and respect; an Onatopp with a heartfelt apology. For the past month, since the Ricky McCormick case, Onatopp had not been herself. People in the office had covered for her best that they could, but if her deviant behavior had continued much longer unabated, the integrity of the current cases that she was working would have been threatened. Something had to be done, and it looked like DA Margaret Thatcher was going to have to fire and have disbarred the rising star of the prosecutor’s office, then overnight seemingly out of the blue, Onatopp’s despair over the outcome of the Ricky McCormick case was gone.
Yes … It was the ipecac-based nanomachine concoction that Mondo administered to Onatopp last night that did sober her up toot sweet [yes, again that corrupt American usage of the French “tout de suite”] and left her with a prohibition for nothing more than social drinking [for at least a year]. But, it was Onatopp herself, her sheer force of will, the strength of her own “iron” character that pulled her literally up by the bootstraps from the verge of professional and personal self-destruction, and self-imposed oblivion. No one else can save you from yourself; only you can do that—strength of character—the mentally tough prevail whilst the weak willed fail. You just have to be strong willed, your own person, to succeed in life no matter the universe.
The liquor in the desk drawer in her office: gone. The liquor at home: gone, except for the fine wine for social drinking. No matter how much she empathized with Ricky McCormick and no matter how much she regrets being an unwitting assistant to that pitiful young man’s murderer, what’s done is done. And, to that end she must, and has, moved on with her life.
Yes, she was awash in celebration when the case had been decided the way that she thought it should have been. Caulk another one in the win column. The good guys, truth and justice, had prevailed again under her watch. Then the tragic aftermath: the truth came out and as a result of the revelation that she’d been duped into letting the guilty get off scot-free, her descent into self-flagellation, that plummet into the madness of blame.
When Onatopp looks into Mondo’s eyes, she sees pure evil. Yet what that evil bitch did for her, snapping her back to her senses with a much needed wakeup call, was anything but evil. Wisely, Onatopp does not see this as a contradiction nor does she see the Vampire as no less evil, because of this.
She does notice the fundamental change in herself, though. Subsequent to her close brush with evil [the Vampire, Mondo Kane], Onatopp now views Ricky McCormick differently. She sees him as a pathetic wretch [whose end was partly his own fault]. We make our own choices and ultimately we pay our own prices for them. She no longer sees him as someone to be pitied. She no longer sees his tragic life as to have been fated to end in some way like it did irrespective of the choices that he made most especially the person that he choose to turn to for solace that he NEVER should have trusted the least little bit. Maybe it’s just a coping mechanism. Maybe it’s something more telling and much darker. When you touch evil, it never leaves you cleanly. Some of it always remains. The stain that hardens you to the plight of others, more or less, depending upon your natural inclination toward callousness. The stronger the person, the more callous you become. The strong [even in their most sympathetic moments] are always hard toward the weak somewhat, more or less, from the git-go.