Although the community rallied around her, the trauma manifested in quiet, painful ways. Loud police sirens caused her to panic and freeze in place. She threw away her favorite yellow t-shirt because the sight of it reminded her of the scalding metal car door. Whenever she walked past the intersection of Laurel and Mercer, her heart rate spiked, and her hands began to shake.
Simone arranged weekly sessions with a pediatric trauma therapist. Slowly, through art therapy and grounding techniques, Aaliyah began processing her pain.
"Mom," Aaliyah asked one evening while sitting at the kitchen table, "if we win... will it stop him from doing this to someone else?"
"Yes, baby," Simone said softly, kissing her forehead. "It means he will never wear a badge again."
"Then I want to testify," Aaliyah said, her young voice suddenly filled with remarkable determination. "I don't want to hide anymore."
In February, seven months later scorching July afternoon, the federal criminal trial of United States v. Trent Mallerie officially commenced at the Edward A. Garmatz US District Courthouse in Baltimore. The courtroom was packed to maximum capacity with journalists, civil rights activists, local citizens, and family members.
Defense attorney Gavin Sloan prepares an aggressive defense strategy, intending to grill twelve-year-old Aaliyah on the witness stand and convince the jury that Mallerie was simply a hard-working officer making a split-second judgment call in a dangerous, chaotic environment.
Federal Prosecutor Daniel Cho delivered a searing opening statement that sets the tone for the trial.