A/N: I apologize in advance to anyone who may take offence at my use of the Scriptures and anything relating to them. Considering this story takes place in Salem Village when Puritanism was the major religion, I had to look at things the way they would. If you have something against Puritans and what they believe, I suggest you not read this chapter. Otherwise, enjoy! Don't forget to review!

Trials, Chapter 2

"Lord, what did I do to deserve this?" I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself to preserve warmth.

I sit in the corner of a small room of the Salem Village prison, one leg chained to the stone wall. I am unsure as to how long I have been here now: without windows, it is always dark as night in here. There is no source of heat, so I move closer to the one who sits next to me in hopes of sharing her body warmth.

I have determined that there are at least 20 people crammed into this room at this time. There is not enough space for all to sit at once, so we take turns. We have not bathed nor been given clean clothes since our arrivals. My first day here, I could not stop retching from the smell alone.

Stale bread and well water is brought to us once a day in buckets that we pass around the room. Sometimes there is not enough for all. Two have been taken away so far, having died due to the conditions, though the guards claim it was because their sins found them out.

I sit beside one who is great with child. Her name is Elizabeth. She has been here longer than I, having already been tried and condemned of witchcraft, yet because of the babe that grows inside of her, she will not be hanged. At least, not until after she has given birth. She prays that the child will wait until after the madness has died down before he comes into this world.

I often wonder what has become of my mother. I miss her so much. Is she still here in Salem Village or has she been moved to Boston like so many others? Has she already had a trial? Has she been condemned? Has she been hanged? A tear rolls down my cheek. With no word from the outside on her, all I can do is wonder.

I could easily break out of here. My powers are strong enough to break the chain which holds me as well as the door to this prison. I could free all who were wrongfully accused and be as a savior to them. But then what? We are all so weak, having been here so long. Again, we would be arrested and all would confess to my being a witch so that they could save themselves.

"Is there no way out of this?" I ask no one in particular.

"No," Elizabeth answers bitterly. "None are found innocent. The judges and jury believe the lies of ranting children rather than the truth."

"What if I were to confess that I am a witch?" I ask, starting to feel somewhat desperate.

She laughs scornfully at me. "Ye are no more a witch than I," she scoffs. "Rather than be killed, ye would be placed in another prison, called upon to lie of the guilt of others. Could ye live with that for the rest of your life? Condemning others all because ye are afraid of dying?"

"I do not fear death," I retort, hearing my voice shake slightly.

"Well ye should," Elizabeth says earnestly, clutching one of my hands. "Especially if ye choose that path. Ye will become responsible for the deaths of so many others. Doth not the Scriptures say, 'ye shall not kill'? Ye will be condemning yourself to hell for all eternity."

"I do not wish to attend hell," I say quickly, remembering stories that were told me as a child. "Nor do I wish it upon my worst enemies. Is that what shall become of those who have wrongly accused us?"

"I believe so," Elizabeth replies sadly. "At least, if they continue on this path which they have chosen. One day, they will have to answer to God for the sins which they have committed. Whether He will forgive them or not has yet to be seen."

I close my eyes, feeling utterly miserable. "Then how do I get out of this?" I ask again.

"You don't," Elizabeth says softly, withdrawing her hand. "I was called to my trial where I had to stand before what was left of the village. I was asked questions of which I answered all truthfully, yet the magistrates were able to twist my words so that I sounded guilty.

"People who I once thought of as friends were called upon to give false testimonies against me. Young girls would cry out at random that I was torturing them through the use of my spectral, pinching and biting them and leaving marks behind as proof. In the end, I was found guilty, as were all who came before me."

"Then I am already dead," I say, feeling bereft and desolate. "Why do they bother to put me on trial if they are only going to kill me for crimes I have not committed? What is the point?"

"It is for their benefit," she says. "They try ye as though by the laws of the Lord, calling ye an innocent until ye are proven guilty, when really ye are guilty until proven innocent. Then, when your guilt is made public, they may kill ye without any guilt falling upon them.

"I do not understand."

"Do ye remember the story of Pontius Pilate when he tried Jesus? In the end of Christ's trial, Pilot gave in to the mob's request to kill Him. Pilate washed his hands, proclaiming he had nothing to do with the Crucifixion of this innocent, when truly he was most guilty because he could have stopped it."

"What are ye saying?"

"I merely ramble," she says tiredly. "I advise you, though, that when ye are called, hold your tongue. Speak nothing, for all ye say proves your guilt."

I look up quickly when I hear the faint sound of a key unlocking the door to this prison. I sigh, sure that it is merely another innocent wrongfully accused, all because he was a little different. Now I shall have to stand more often, I think sourly.

We begin to move around, allowing room for the door to open inwards so the newcomer may enter. He remains in the doorway, a candle held before him. It is practically blinding after having gone so long without light.

It is only one of the guards. He enters slowly, maneuvering around the bodies, moving the candle back and forth, searching for someone. The light reflects off the blade he wears at his side, as though reminding us what he can do if necessary.

"I have come here in search of Rebecca Roth," he says. His voice is slightly muffled as he holds a hand over his mouth and nose. "Is there a Rebecca Roth here?"

I look at him in surprise, forgetting for the moment to speak. Is it time? Elizabeth elbows me in the ribs.

"Ouch!" I cry out. The light comes back in my direction, and I look up, squinting against its harshness. "I mean, I am here."

"Come with me," he says curtly and heads back towards the door.

I begin to follow, unsure whether my legs will hold me, when Elizabeth grabs my hand. "Remember," she reminds me as I look down, seeing only shadows again, "to hold your tongue."

"Will they not kill me for this?" I ask softly.

"They will kill ye no matter what, my friend," she says. "At least ye may enter heaven with a clear conscience. The choice be yours."

I squeeze her hand lightly. "Thank ye, Elizabeth. May the Lord bless ye and your child." I release her hand and continue making my way slowly to the door, looking back once into the darkness before leaving.