Diversion Pt. 03

The next thing I'm aware of are bright lights all around me and sounds coming from the hallway outside. I must have drifted off to sleep. I hear Beth Anne say, "Marlene, get up and fix breakfast. Our new guests are going to court this morning."

I hear Marlene's cell door being unlocked. A moment later Beth Anne appears in front of the bars off my cell. She glances at me and then at the sponge and tape on the floor of the cell.

"Well, aren't you the clever one. I'm impressed. But I'm going to have to remember this."

I say nothing. Then she moves on to Sheree's cell. I don't hear any verbal exchange, and then Beth Anne walks back past my cell down the hallway, ignoring me.

I don't hear the door leading out of the hallway opening, so Beth Anne must still be inside the jail. I want to talk to Sheree, but decide it's not wise to do so with her still here. I stretch out on my flimsy plastic-covered mattress. She said we've going to court today; I'm try to convince myself that we'll be getting out of this soon.

Then I smell bacon, and it reminds me of how hungry I am! A few moments later, I hear the jangling of leg irons and then see Marlene with two small trays in her hands.

I walk up to the bars of the cell and she slides one of the trays through. She has a fair complexion, but with skin that has been exposed to the sun over the years, judging by the wrinkles. Her brown eyes flicker as they take everything in. She doesn't miss a thing. She smiles when she sees the sponge and the tape on the floor.

"You are clever. I admire you for that. Keep up that spirit."

"Thanks for talking and keeping talking. It helped."

She shakes her head. "I wish I could have done more."

I take the tray from her hand as she says, "Soggy microwaved bacon, a piece of toast and instant coffee. Sorry."

As she steps away, taking the other tray to Sheree, I sit on the mattress and eat my breakfast with my cuffed hands. It tastes as bad as Marlene described, but I don't care. This is the first food I've had since our meal at the camp site.

As soon as I finish eating, I hear footsteps approaching and see Beth Anne outside my cell door with long chains and some other things in her hands.

"Get over here," she says. "Put your hands through the slot".

As I stand and start walking to the door, she turns and moves toward Sheree's cell, and I hear the sound of a chain dropping to the floor. As soon as I reach my cell door, Beth Anne steps back from Sheree's cell holding a black rectangular thing and a long chain.

"Hands through the door," she orders and I comply. What choice do I have? As soon as I stick my handcuffed wrists through the door, she snaps the black box over the chain separating the cuffs, and fastens it in place with another piece. It eliminates any movement between my hands, and covers the keyholes of each cuff; even if I had a key, I couldn't unlock the handcuffs. She lifts the long chain, and tells me to hold one end and turn around. As I do so, I feel the chain wrapping itself around my waist. When my hands return back to the slot between us, she grabs the short end of the chain, runs it through the black box, pulls it extremely tight and connects it with a padlock to the other side of the chain. She reaches through the slot, grabs the remainder of the chain hanging down from the black box and directs me to turn around again. As I do, she tells me to stop when my back is to the slot, and then I feel the chain tighten even more and hear the click of a padlock. The chain is tightly fastened around my waist with my hands tightly cuffed to my waist.

Then she opens my cell door and says, "Down the hall. Sit on the bench".

She follows me without a word as I make my way slowly down the hallway, leg chains jangling on the floor. I look inside Marlene's cell, but she's nowhere to be seen. When I get to the bench, I sit and Beth Anne immediately chains me to it. She turns and walks back down the hallway, all the way to Sheree's cell.

A few minutes later, Sheree emerges from her cell and makes her way toward the bench. She has a numb, defeated look on her face. Her wrists are chained to her waist and separated by the same black box, with one difference. Beth Anne ran the chain from the black box tightly between her legs. I'm sure it's fastened with a padlock in back to the chain around her waist.

Beth Anne motions her to sit on the end of the bench, about three feet away, and chains her in place. She says, "It may be a while before the officer comes to escort you to court. So, sit tight." She walks through the door at the end of the hallway out of the jail.

"Look at us," Sheree says as soon as the door closes. "We're chained up like serial killers. She kicks her shackled legs in anger, causing one of her flip-flops to fly off of her foot. As she struggles to reach it, she says, "That bitch put these on as tight as she could. She even put a chain between my legs, and it's as tight as the others. Fuck! She can't do this."

"We'll get this worked out in court. This was a minor traffic offence, for god's sake. But whatever happens in there - if we end up right back here, don't provoke her."

"Wade, I spent hours yesterday with my wrists cuffed to my ankles and Marlene's panties stuffed in my mouth with tape wrapped around my head! I'm not saying another word to her to provoke her in any way. I can't go through that again. Gagged with someone's dirty panties! No, I won't go through that again. We've just got to get out of here."

She fidgets from side to side, wiggling her hands in her cuffs, and trying to reposition her ankle cuffs with her feet. "She didn't have to put these on so tight! Goddamn it."

She tugs at the chains and the black box to try to reposition them to ease her discomfort, then says, "Look, we've got to get a lawyer."

"How do we get a lawyer when we can't even make a phone call?"

Before Sheree can respond, the door at the end of the hallway opens, and a police officer we haven't seen before says, "Time for court. Let's go!" Beth Anne appears behind him and walks around him to unchain us from the bench. We stand and slowly make our past her to the door, which is being held open by the cop. As we go by her, she smiles sarcastically and say, "I'll be here waiting for you."

We're led through the outer office and out into the bright sunlight. I reflexively try to block my eyes with my hands, but they're chained tightly to my waist. The police officer slips his sunglasses on, while we blink and try to walk while experiencing sudden sun blindness. We manage to get out of the door without tripping or otherwise entangling our feet in our leg irons, while our eyes begin to adjust.

Anywhere other than in a small town such as this, we'd be climbing into a transport van to take us to the courthouse. But not here. The cop directs us around to the front of the police station. He stays behind us to watch our every move. When we get to the sidewalk, he points down the street, and says, "Middle of the next block; keep walking."

He stays behind us as we start a block and a half humiliating orange jump-suited and shackled walk through the town. Cars are driving by and each one slows down to gawk at us. People stare at Sheree every day because of her looks; but seeing her paraded down the sidewalk as major felon, no one can look away.

"I've never been this embarrassed in my life," Sheree says to me in a subdued, but angry voice.

"Nobody knows who you are. There's no press here, taking pictures. The courthouse is right up ahead."

"This damn chain she ran between my legs is pinching me every goddamn step. Every move I make, I feel it. And if they gave some fucking socks, my feet wouldn't hurt as much. They were healing until Beth Anne started beating on them yesterday."

"Whatever happens in court, we'll be seeing her again. Hopefully, just to process our release. You know I feel the same way about that bitch as you do, but don't say anything to her. Please."

She doesn't respond, just shuffles along with her head down. The cop directs us around the back of the courthouse. We encounter two people walking toward us; when they see us, they step far aside, stand and stare.

He steps in front of us when we get to the rear of the courthouse and opens a door marked, 'authorized personnel only'.

He motions us through and we are met by a person in a different type of uniform, who we learn is the court bailiff. He waves goodbye to the cop and we are now under the authority of this guy. He directs us down a hallway, pointing toward a door on the right-hand side. Once we get to the door, he tells us to hold up. He steps past us, opens the door and peers inside. Then he directs us inside and says, "Take a seat on the bench to your left, against the wall, just inside the door."

We step inside a courtroom with about two dozen people gathered inside. The ongoing conversations, laughs and banter all cease as soon as we step through the door. The only sound in the courtroom is the jangling of our leg irons against the floor. Everyone is staring at us as we make our way to the bench. Sheree walks a few feet ahead of me, with her head down, not looking out into the courtroom. Once we sit on the bench, conversations resume and the staring begins to cease.

"I've never been this humiliated," she says in a whisper. "Everybody is staring at us like we're murderers or something."

"Don't look at them. Look at me. We're getting out of this! Just stay calm. We'll be out of here; then we're going home."

We sit side by side, so we can talk quietly with each other until the bailiff tells us to shut up. The bench is wooden with a straight back, not designed for comfort. The padlock on the chain in my back presses into me if I lean against the bench. Sheree's fidgeting indicates she dealing with the same discomfort. We're the only shackled inmates, everyone else in the courtroom are either litigants in a case before the court, or their attorneys.

Get us out of here.

But that doesn't happen. The judge appears, pulling on his robe as he walks up to his seat behind his bench. We hear, "All rise", and we stand up with everyone else.

The judge is a balding, older man with a stern expression. He sits behind his bench, pushes his glasses up and motions everyone to sit back down, which we do. He proceeds to deal with everyone else in the courtroom, except us. He schedules divorce trials, sets hearings on motions filed in civil cases and enters eviction orders after attorney arguments. About an hour and a half later, when everyone else is cleared out, he turns to us.

"The chief was called out on an emergency. We thought he would be here earlier. Sorry for your wait. So, sir, you're charged with obstruction of government operations, no state driver's license and no proof of insurance. Ma'am, you're charged with obstruction of government operations, resisting arrest and open container of alcohol."

Sheree says, "Your honor, we want an attorney."

"Okay," the judge says. "Is he on his way?"

"No, we weren't given a phone call."

"That's out of my hands, but I know the folks at the jail let people use their phones to do just that."

Sheree starts to respond, but I cut her off. "Will you appoint counsel for us?" I ask.

"Only on felonies and these are misdemeanors - serious ones. But no, you do not get appointed counsel.

We look at each other in exasperation, not liking where this is going.

"Look," the judge continues, "I've reviewed the chief's arrest notes and I see the factual basis behind the charges. We'll give you a trial, but up here in this rural part of the state, I've got three counties under my jurisdiction. I travelling to another county after lunch. I don't like having to waste time on misdemeanor trials. I've got major cases to deal with in all three counties. I'll set your cases for trial - that'll be at least two weeks away - but based on the facts the chief laid out in his report, I'll be finding you both guilty. I take obstruction cases very seriously. You'll both be sentenced to a minimum of six months."

Sheree begins to protest, but the judge cuts her off.

"Six months is the minimum, if I hear aggravating facts it can go up to a year."

Sheree is shaking so much I can hear her chains softly rattling. I am numb, my mind reeling in disbelief.

"This is what I'll do. Enter a plea of guilty today, and I'll give you one week to serve and you'll serve that here. Doing work for the county. If you insist on a trial, and I find you guilty - which I will - your sentences will be served in the penitentiary. Our local jail isn't equipped for long-term sentences."

The judge pauses and shuffles papers around on his desk while we anxiously and nervously glance helplessly at each other and fidget in our chains. Sheree's eyes are pleading with me to do something. Her fear and uncertainty are palpable. I can do nothing but shake my head from side to side.

"So, what do you want to do?"