The Gypsy (July 2003 Summer Daze Challenge)
 
Author: Romantique
 
Email: dolph1n@sbcglobal.net
 
Rating: PG-13 for language
 
Summary: This fanfic contains the required challenge words: bohemian, leech, and 
duchess. Nick deals with a most unusual witness.
 
~*~*~
 
Allegheny Courthouse
 
On this day, Judge Damson’s courtroom is filled to capacity with persons related 
to a child custody case. Laurie Solt is also present, representing Social 
Services.
 
A dramatic silence hangs in the air as every eye in the room fixates on a fiery 
exchange between an elderly witness and the young guardian ad litem. Nicholas 
Fallin waits breathlessly for the matriarchal witness to respond to his 
question, but she says nothing. She merely stares through him with dark, steely 
eyes until finally, he repeats his question. Again, there is no response.
 
“Perhaps you can rephrase,” the judge directs Nick.
 
He takes in a deep breath to maintain his composure and does just that. “Isn’t 
it true you used unorthodox methods to treat your grandson?”
 
Dressed in long and colorful embroidered silks, the shrunken woman looks so very 
small seated in the large witness chair. The frail, old woman begins to slowly 
wag a crooked finger in the air as she begins to speak, “I use methods that have 
been practiced for hundreds of years. That would make them very orthodox, would 
it not?” she counters in a thick, eastern European accent.
 
“I’m the one asking the questions,” Nick shoots back. “I need a simple yes or 
no.”
 
She returns fire with a daggered stare and says nothing.
 
“May the record reflect the witness is unresponsive?” Nick asks Judge Damsen.
 
“So noted,” she replies to her clerk.
 
“Mrs. Holub,” a frustrated Nick decides to try another angle. “You are a Roma 
Czech . . . uh . . . your family is from Bohemia, correct?”
 
“I am Bohemian,” the woman nods her snow-white head.
 
“A gypsy,” he continues. “And you use ancient, Bohemian customs to treat 
illness, isn’t that also correct?” he methodically steps through the 
questioning.
 
“Of course,” the woman nods again.
 
Pleased he is finally getting somewhere, Nick continues without missing a beat, 
“You are also the grand duchess of the Holub tribe, uh, the Holub family, 
holding a very powerful and respected position?”
 
The woman agrees and utters, “Yes.”
 
“And when your grandson, Emilian, became ill, isn’t it true that you put leeches 
on his body to treat him?” Nick asked, trying hard not to grimace at his mental 
picture of the blood-sucking worms.
 
Again, the elderly matriarch just stares through him with piercing dark eyes.
 
“You must answer the question,” Judge Damsen gently reprimands the willful 
woman.
 
After a moment, the old woman finally speaks, “I saved his life.”
 
Turning his back to the woman, Nick walks back to the counsel table to pick up a 
file. “Not according to the emergency room physicians.” He begins to bore into 
his finer points. “The truth is . . . your grandson almost died . . . of 
aplastic anemia, isn't that right?” He is now reading directly from the file 
folder.
 
“That is not true!” the woman raises her voice. “I wasn’t finished with the 
treatments.”
 
“No,” Nick stops her. “Isn't the problem that your treatments weren’t working? 
In fact, weren't they harming Emilian? And then, did you not refuse to allow 
your daughter and son-in-law to take him to the hospital?”
 
Sitting in the back row, Mrs. Holub’s daughter, Lina, dabs her tear-rimmed, dark 
eyes with a handkerchief. She almost lost her six-year-old son; and now, she can 
do nothing but watch as the skillful, young attorney pummels her mother’s 
character. She thinks the lawyer is unfair, as she knows her mother would never 
do anything to harm her family.
 
Nick continues as a rising passion trembles through his articulate speech, “You 
refused to allow him to be taken to a hospital until a school teacher stopped by 
your home to find out why Emilian had been missing so much school. Isn't that 
true?” He then approaches the witness stand in a deliberate cadence. “Had it not 
been for the unscheduled visit of a teacher, your grandson would be dead. I 
repeat, isn't that true?” 
 
“No!” The woman disagrees, emphatically shaking her head. Her face shows that 
she is visibly angry with the young man standing before her. And she reaches 
into her pocket and pulls out a red, silk Putsi with ancient symbols embroidered 
all over the pouch. Once again, she stares through the man who is telling lies. 
And she begins to chant over and over again as she strokes the small bag with 
her fingers.
 
“katar rook
katar puv
katar mamus
akai sor mi ruzlapen
 
katar rook
katar puv
katar mamus
akai sor mi ruzlapen”

“Mrs. Holub,” Judge Damsen addresses the woman from the bench. “Mrs. Holub!”
 
But the woman continues to chant with amazing concentration.
 
“What is she doing?” the judge asks the family members present in the courtroom.
 
The son-in-law answers, “She is casting a spell.”
 
“A spell?” Nick utters extemporaneously.
 
The dark, young gypsy man continues, “He wants to take Emilian away from us,” 
the man points an accusing finger directly at Nick. “So, Mother is casting a 
spell on him.”
 
Nick first looks at the man and then at Judge Damsen. “This is absurd!” he 
gasps, not knowing what to make of this most unusual predicament.
 
“Mrs. Holub!” the judge raises her voice. “I’m ordering you to stop now, or I 
will have the bailiff remove you from my courtroom!”
 
Suddenly, the old woman emerges from her self-imposed trance and blinks her 
eyes.
 
“I have nothing more for this witness,” Nick raises his eyebrows in disbelief.
 
“You may step down now,” the judge instructs Mrs. Holub. The frail, little woman 
hobbles down from the oversized chair and makes her way to the back row of seats 
to join her family.
 
The judge then takes in a deep breath. “I’m ready to make my ruling. I will 
accept Mr. Fallin’s recommendation and appoint Mr. Fallin as the child’s 
temporary legal guardian. Mr. Fallin, you will authorize and oversee Emilian’s 
medical treatment. I will allow regular, supervised visitation by the parents 
only. And we’ll revisit custody in three months.”
 
And with that, she slams down her gavel. The room is filled with the sounds of a 
family who feels it’s been wronged.
 
Laurie Solt stands from the counsel table and approaches the bench. To the 
judge, she chides, “Better hope the duchess doesn’t put a curse on you.”
 
“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” she answers Ms. Solt in a very low 
voice.
 
~*~ 
 
Later that afternoon
Fallin & Fallin Conference Room
 

“Owww!” Nick yells. The roof of his mouth is burned by a slice of pizza.
 
Jake glances up at his partner. Nick is obviously having some difficulties with 
their working lunch. “You okay?” he asks.
 
“I burned my freakin’ mouth,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. In obvious 
discomfort, he grabs for a napkin and wipes his mouth.
 
“That’s strange,” Jake replies. “Mine’s not that hot.” And Jake takes an 
exaggerated bite from a piece of the pie to prove his point.
 
Nick barely notices Jake’s demonstration, as he chugs cold bottled water into 
his burning mouth. The pain begins to subside a bit, and Nick is slowly able to 
chew. Then, all of a sudden, he utters a loud, “Ohhhh!” His hands immediately 
shoot up to hold the side of his face.
 
“What’s wrong now?” Jake is almost laughing.
 
“I bit my tongue,” he responds in garbled tones.
 
“After you finish mutilating yourself, Nick, we need to get back to this brief. 
The hearing is at 9 a.m.,” Jake is quickly becoming irritated.
 
After a moment, Nick composes himself and is ready to get back to work. “Would 
you hand me Bronson’s deposition?” he asks Jake.
 
Jake is deep in through as he quickly scribbles notes on a legal tablet. Without 
looking up, he reaches over to his left and hands Nick a file nearly five inches 
thick.
 
Taking the file, Nick yells from out of the blue, “Shhhhhhiiiiii…..!”
 
Under the gun to make an impossible deadline and with his concentration 
interrupted, an irritated Jake looks up at Nick. “Jeez! Now what?”
 
Nick looks down at his right hand and responds, “This!” And he holds up his hand 
to show blood. The slick polyurethane file cover had sliced the entire palm of 
his hand.
 
“Whoa!” Jake responds, pulling a clean handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. 
“It’s gushing! Here, hold this on your hand and apply pressure.”
 
Nick does as he’s told, and the two men watch as the handkerchief becomes fully 
saturated with bright red blood in a matter of seconds.
 
“Man, you’re going to need stitches,” Jake offers. “We’d better get you to the 
emergency room.”
 
Suddenly squeamish at the prospect of needing stitches, Nick reluctantly nods in 
agreement.
 
“C’mon, I’ll take you,” Jake helps his friend stand while instructing him to 
hold the wrapped hand above his heart. “I was a Boy Scout,” he assures his 
queasy friend.
 
The two make their way to the elevator and down into the lobby. Once outside, 
Jake instructs Nick, “Wait right here, and I’ll pull my car around.”
 
No sooner does Jake turn and walk away does he hear a booming clash followed by 
a series of low moaning and groaning. He turns around to find a bicycle 
messenger and his bicycle on the ground with Nick nowhere to be seen. Then, he 
realizes the cyclist is lying on top of his downed partner.
 
“Nick! Nick!” Jake races closer to the wreckage on the pavement.
 
The cyclist slowly stands and carefully lifts the twisted bike off of the man 
below him.
 
“Are you alright, sir?” Jake asks the messenger.
 
He looks none worse for the wear.
 
“Oh, I’m fine, but my bike isn’t. But this guy . . .”
 
“Ohhhhhh,” Nick groans lying sprawled on the pavement, as a crowd gathers 
around.
 
Kneeling, Jake searches for Nick’s face. “Nick, can you hear me?”
 
He is dazed, but conscious. “My leg,” he pants. “Damn it, my leg. It hurts.”
 
“Ahhhh, and his hand is badly bleeding,” the cyclist announces, as he points to 
pooling blood on the ground.
 
“Believe it or not, that was already there,” Jake informs the cyclist.
 
Although I can’t believe it! Nick and Jake form the same thought at the same 
time.”
 
“Lie still,” Jake instructs Nick, as he reaches for his cell phone and dials 
911. A moment later, he informs his partner, “An ambulance is on its way. You 
just relax. Everything is going to be okay.”
 
“Jake,” Nick mutters. “Can I tell you something?”
 
“Sure,” Jake is taken aback by Nick’s atypical willingness to share. Perhaps 
there is something he would like me to take care of for him?
 
“Wouldn’t you say that I’ve had an incredible amount of bad luck this 
afternoon?”
 
Jake looks at him for a moment before giving a response, “I’d say you’re on a 
roll.”
 
“What if I told you that today, in court, a gypsy put a curse on me?” Then, Nick 
looks up to read the reaction on Jake’s face.
 
The typically wisecracking Straka is left totally speechless, at least for a 
short while. Until finally, he breaks his silence at the same time a wail of an 
approaching siren echoes through the city streets.
 
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll meet you at the hospital . . . Not that I’m 
superstitious or anything.” Jake’s eyes grow quite large, as Nick’s become even 
larger. “Uh, be careful with him,” a fast exiting Jake instructs the paramedics, 
as they lift Nick off the ground and onto a stretcher. “He’s the victim of a 
gypsy curse!”
 
Jake then chuckles. He is quite amused with himself, but Nick flashes Jake a 
look as he is being loaded into the ambulance, a look that says he is definitely 
not amused.
 
~*~
 
Epilogue
 
The cyclist was uninjured, but Jake offered him a small settlement that more 
than replaced his bicycle as protection against a future lawsuit.
 
Nick made a smooth recovery from a fractured tibia, and the stitched wound to 
his hand healed nicely. No other mishaps occurred that terrible afternoon. 
However, to this very day, Nick isn’t sure whether he suffered an incredible 
streak of bad luck or if he was indeed the victim of Mrs. Holub’s gypsy curse.
 
Emilian is on a list for a bone marrow transplant and is holding his own. Nick 
can only hope the three month custody revisit with Judge Damsen goes well for 
the family . . . not only for Emilian’s sake, but also for his own!
 
The End