When she has time to think about it later she realizes it was a set up from the go but sitting in the police station handcuffed to a table all she can think about now is how utterly and royally fucked she is at the moment.
"Name?" the booking officer asks looking at her with an interesting mix of boredom and disdain. She remains quiet.
"Didn't think I'd get an answer to that one, all things considered, so Jane Doe it is," the officer types the information into the booking file on his computer, "so do you want to at least give me your age or address?" She glares at him, her brown eyes focused on his face like two laser beams. Under the desk she pulls at the handcuff but the metal fails to yield. The booking officer looks at her with a tired smile.
"I would reconsider that if I were you. Unless of course you want to add resisting arrest to the charges." He points to the pile of documents sitting in an evidence bag on his desk and continues, "As it stands Ms. Doe you're looking at credit card fraud, identity theft, possession of stolen property, and forgery. Impressive wouldn't you say?" He doesn't wait for an answer.
She's processed into the jail and given a yellow jumpsuit that is comically too large for her small frame. The booking officer takes her to a cell at the end of the detention center and opens the door. Inside are two other females. One, a prostitute, is sitting crossed legged on the end of the bench and the other, a drunken co-ed, is attempting to get over being drunk by singing off-tune opera songs at the top of her lungs. It was she thinks, still better than her first time in juvenile detention when she was attacked by two older, bigger girls for her sneaker.
She's so tired it isn't long before she falls asleep curled up on the cement bench. She's woken up by the prostitute shaking her on the shoulder, "I think they're calling for you." She looks up. There is a different guard standing at the open door of the cell. He's holding a pair of handcuffs and leg irons and looking at her. She makes her way to the cell door and the officer cuffs her hands and attaches them to the chain running down her front to the leg irons he places on her ankles.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"You got a date with the magistrate."
He takes her to a room where a middle aged judge sits deciding bail for a couple of fraternity brothers who were running a pot business out of their frat house. The officer points to a spot on the bench along the wall and she takes a seat. For an hour she watches the judge decide who gets bail and who gets remanded to jail. Finally, a bailiff calls out her case number. She rises and makes her way slowly to the bench.
"Ms Doe, you've been charged with…"the judge's voice buzzes in her ears. When she realizes he has stopped talking she looks at him, it's apparent he is waiting for an answer. "I asked you, Ms. Doe, how would you like to plead?"
"Not guilty, your Honor," her voice sounds both rough and young to her ears. Her business done the prosecution and defense argue over bail. The prosecutor want to keep her in jail but the defense argues she poses no threat and has no previous criminal record. The judge weighs each side and makes his decision.
"Given the nature of the crime and its severity I'm inclined to remand you to jail till trial, but given you have no previous criminal record bail is set at 100 thousand dollars payable in cash or bond." He bangs the gavel and the bailiff calls the next case. Her heart sinks, she doesn't have that kind of money or "Let's face it," she thinks, "any money". What she had from the Academy was spent trying to get her new identity. The identity that turned out to be stolen and caused this whole mess. The identity she had for exactly 48 hours before police officers raided the hotel room she was renting and carted her off to jail. She doesn't have 100 thousand dollars. She doesn't have 100 dollars anymore. The officer leads her out of the courtroom and as she leaves she makes eye contact with a young man with brown hair sitting in the front row. She stares but breaks eye contact when he looks directly at her. She's taken back to lockup and placed in a new cell. This time her cell mates are yet another prostitute, this one older, and a very obviously tweaking meth head. She makes her way to the farthest corner of the cell away from the meth head and curls up on the bench. Despite her concerns about her cell mate she finds she can't keep her eyes open any longer. She falls asleep on the rough cement bench.
Hours later she feels a rough hand on her shoulder shaking her awake. She jumps up, fist at the ready. Some habits die hard and after her previous experiences with meth heads, she's ready for anything. It's not the meth head but the prostitute who takes a step back and thrown her hands up in submission.
"Woah sugar, calm down girl." The two let their hands drop, "The officer was calling for you." She points to the cell door where an officer stands waiting with a bored expression.
"You've been bailed out." the officer tells her. It takes everything she has not to stop and gawk at the man. There is no one who knows where she is or even if she's alive. A thought goes through her head that maybe the nuns at St. Agnes weren't kidding when they said all the kids were chipped so they could be found. She dismisses the thought. It would be too much of a miracle ever for her. The officer leads her to the front of the station. Standing near the booking desk is the same young man with brown hair from the day before.
"Sign here," the officer points to a spot on a ledger. He hands the man a stack of papers, "On top there is her court date. If she doesn't report there will be a warrant for her arrest so make sure she shows up." He turns to look at her, "You're lucky, normally we don't let people out this quick but frankly, the jail is overcrowded and you're considered low risk." He points at her," Make sure you show up and keep out of trouble." She's still in shock at the turn of events and nods dumbly at the officer. The man with the brown hair takes her by the arm and steers her out the front door. It's daytime and the harsh sunlight causes her to blink rapidly. The man stops at the edge of the station's front steps, turns to her and says, "I'm Miles, you hungry?"