Author's note: Thanks to Lange and Sweets for reviewing the last part. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. J
Jail cells were not created in such a fashion that permitted the occupant the luxury of a good night's sleep. Unlike the other cells in the Refuge, where pickpockets and gang members and children who had swiped loaves of bread so they could feed their starving families resided, there hadn't been a bed where Shadow could recline in some form of comfort. She hadn't even been tossed a thin, threadbare blanket or a worn pillow. Attempting to ignore the rats, she had slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, and leaned her head against the stone wall. Sleep had been difficult to find, and the few times the newsgirl had momentarily drifted off into a restless slumber, her dreams were filled with nightmarish creatures- juries composed of monsters with knives lining their mouths instead of teeth, women in scant clothing hanging from trees, and familiar cadavers rising up (their eyes yellow like those of one possessed) and reaching their bony hands out to her neck. Shadow would awaken with a start, her breathing heavy and icy perspiration gathered at her nape. When Detective Sarmons, Snyder, and the current warden appeared at her door early that morning, Shadow vaguely wondered if she should attempt to escape. However, her muscles simply would not carry out such a task, and she was handcuffed without offering resistance.
As soon as Shadow stepped into the courtroom, the fatigue melted away and anxiety swiftly appeared in its place. Her stomach began to twist violently as she was led (or rather, shoved) to a particularly uncomfortable wooden chair at the table usually reserved for the defense. Shadow knew she didn't stand much chance of being defended; she had no lawyer, no witness to speak on her behalf. And even if I did, who'd believe my side of da story anyway? she thought bitterly.
So dis is it, she remarked to herself with calm surrender. Because I tried ta save my own life t'ree years ago, now I'se gonna be killed for it. I shoulda used dat bullet for myself when I had da chance.
The clamor of several pairs of heavy boots treading against the polished wooden floor of the courtroom interjected into Shadow's thoughts. She turned slightly in her chair, eyes widening as she caught sight of the noise. Shit, she thought and tried in vain to maintain a cool demeanor at the sight of the newsies shuffling into the courtroom, why didn't I know dis soonah? She closed her eyelids, willing the puddles of teardrops pooling in her eyes to disappear and turning away from the newsies, and listened to the dull noise which now filled the courtroom. The newsies were whispering amongst themselves about if Shadow would be able to get out of this one, and if she didn't what would happen to her? Although she couldn't see him, she knew that Detective Sarmons was seated calmly and silently at the table for the prosecution along with Snyder and the new warden of the Refuge. A tall, stocky policeman with a thick brown mustache (which seemed to compensate for his receding hairline) stood beside the mahogany bench, arms folded over his chest and occasionally clearing his throat. Shadow strained her ears, hoping to catch a few syllables of any conversation that might be occurring in the judge's chambers. She prayed for an understanding magistrate, someone who would believe her story despite the evidence against her. A voice in her head remarked bitterly that she might as well be praying for a miracle, and miracles rarely seemed to occur in New York City.
"All rise, all rise," the bailiff bellowed, silencing all discussion and causing Shadow to open her eyes and leap to her feet. When she caught sight of the older man clad in well-pressed robes the shade of shoe polish, her heart contracted and seemed to splinter into a thousand pieces. A unified gasp would have been emitted from the newsies, had they all not been stunned into silent defeat. "Court is now in session. Judge E. A. Monahan presiding."
I ain't got a prayer, Shadow told herself as she slid back into the chair and began to imagine what death sentence she would be given.
Specs grew a bit paler at the sight of the judge. He knew all too well the corrupt workings of the legal system, particularly when dealing with low-class criminals as he as been years prior. He recalled standing before Monahan himself when Specs had been a young boy, already hardened against a world that seemed to take pleasure in kicking him down. Now it seemed as though by fighting against such a world, Shadow would be put to death.
"Cause of Lucia Navar, aka Shadow," the bailiff announced as Monahan sifted through some papers laid out on his bench and studied them meticulously. "Prostitution. First-degree murder. Resisting arrest. Robbery." The newsies glanced at each other, fearful for Shadow's life and wondering what would have caused her to commit so many crimes (if she had indeed committed them). Shadow felt the hateful eyes of the present and former wardens burning into her flesh. She couldn't turn to face either of them or the newsies in fear of the tears gathering yet again; instead she focused on Monahan as he stared at the papers in his hand, sifting through the newsgirl's past and considering her future.
Monahan set the papers in a neat pile on his bench once again and raised his eyes to meet with Shadow's. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought she caught sight of something flash in his eyes for a split second. She couldn't be certain, for then he turned to Detective Sarmons, who had risen to his feet.
"Your honor, if I may make an opening statement…" he requested in a voice so smooth that Shadow imagined him as a fat tabby who had just swallowed a canary.
"Go ahead, detective," the judge replied solemnly, nodding his head once.
Sarmons folded his hands behind his back and began to pace coolly in front of the bench. His confident, self-righteous tone filled the courtroom. "Three years ago, the praised Senator Bainesworth of Chicago, Illinois was savagely murdered by a young prostitute, Lucia Navar, who had worked in such a profession for at least a year before the murder. The senator was discovered slain on the evening of December 14th in his summer home. His wallet was empty-"
'Cause he already paid me, ya moron, Shadow growled inwardly and attempted to maintain a calm demeanor.
"-and a bullet was lodged in his brain. Lucia Navar was already on a train to New York City, hiding from the police for committing such a heinous crime. She managed to evade the police multiple times before capture."
Try turnin' myself in…conceited psycho, she thought as her eyes narrowed.
"Even now, after three years, she feels no remorse for her actions. This murderer is a severe threat to society and should be immediately and drastically punished for her vile crimes. On the behalf of the state of New York, I implore you to make certain that justice is served." The detective cast Shadow a swift glance of triumph and disgust before turning back to Monahan with a solemn statement. "Thank you, your honor."
Shadow's fingernails dug into the arms of her chair, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and her teeth clenched. As Sarmons moved to his seat and Monahan opened his mouth to speak, Shadow exploded from her chair. Her eyes blazed with dark fire.
"Ya're a liar, Sarmons, a damn liar!" she screamed, her voice filled with lightning that shocked the occupants of the courtroom into silence. "Ya make me sound like dis cold-blooded killah who don't got a conscience and who nevah even t'ought of dat night until tahday! And ya make Baineswoith sound like some kinda saint, when ya goddam know he was more of a killah den I'll evah be! Ya don't undahstand not'ing about dis; all ya know is dat ya want me dead jus' so ya can stop whatevah guilt you have. Ya're da one who should be up heah, not me, 'cause all I evah tried ta do was ta stay alive. Dat's all I evah asked for! And now you'se takin' dat away from me for somet'ing I had ta do. For somet'ing dat anyone else heah woulda done in my place!"
She paused, breathing hard and glaring ferociously as Sarmons, whose own rage was beginning to ignite. The sound of Monahan's controlled voice interrupted the furious electricity building between the two.
"Another outburst like that, and I'll hold you in contempt of court," he told Shadow, who slowly turned to face him with eyes as wide as soup tureens and feeling that it was all over for her now. She nodded and began to sink into her chair again, prepared for the worst, when Monahan continued, this time to the bailiff, "Bring the defendant to my chambers."
Shadow felt as though the ground was quaking as she rose to her feet. She sluggishly trailed behind Monahan as he marched to his chambers. Behind her, the bailiff was glowering at her suspiciously and irritably as he wondered about just what the judge was doing. As the door to the chambers closed quietly behind them, dozens of hushed conversations rose amongst the newsies.
"I ain't nevah seen Monahan do dat befoah," Pocket admitted in a high-pitched voice.
"Me neiddah," Dutchy said. "I dunno if dis is a good sign or a real bad one."
"What do you think he wants to see her for?" Ivy inquired, her voice quavering slightly.
"I dunno," Specs replied gravely as he studied the heavy wooden door separating them from Shadow. "I jus' hope it doesn't land her in any more trouble than she's already in."
*****
The aroma of expensive cigars was firmly imbedded in the leather and mahogany furniture of Monahan's chambers. Bookcases lined the walls, and were packed with leather-bound tomes of obviously the most serious reading material. A rosewood clock ticked away the time with strict preciseness. The room was carpeted with lush Turkish rugs and Shadow felt somewhat guilt that her battered boots were scuffing the intricate designs of pears and roses. The judge himself sat in a throne-like chair of the smoothest brown leather, staring at the newsgirl from his massive, organized desk.
"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to a smaller chair that was far less extravagant than his own and positioned in front of his desk.
Quaking slightly, Shadow did as she was told. She sat erect at the edge of the chair, as though prepared to bolt out of the room at even a condemning blink from Monahan. She wanted to burst out as she had in the courtroom, to tell the judge that despite what he must think about newsies such as her (she remembered all too clearly the events of Jack's trial), she hadn't murdered the senator out of some evil in her heart. However, demanding that she be let off and telling Monahan to go to tell didn't seem like the best of plans, especially with the bailiff glowering at her back.
"You are completely aware of the charges held against you?" he inquired solemnly, if a little condescendingly, as he folded his hands and placed them on the desk.
Shadow felt as though she were a troublesome schoolgirl facing a stern headmaster. She nodded, murmuring, "Yeah." Hearing the bailiff pointedly clear his throat, she swiftly added, "Your honah."
"And you are knowledgeable of what will happen to you if you are found guilty of murder in the first degree?"
"I'd be pretty stupid if I wasn't," she snapped automatically. "Um, your honah."
He paused momentarily. "How old are you, Lucia?"
The newsgirl raised an eyebrow and could only blink at the judge for a moment. Whatever she had suspected in his line of questioning, this was certainly not it. "Um, seventeen. I'll be eighteen in Novembah." Her forehead furrowed in confusion as she leaned back in her chair. "If ya don't mind me asking, why do ya wanna know?"
Monahan, sighing faintly, rose from his chair and strolled to one of his bookcases. Shadow vaguely wondered if he had a shotgun or noose concealed behind his myriad of books, but instead his fingers toughed upon a framed photograph of a man and a woman, both nearing middle age, surrounded by three children of various ages. They were all clad in expensive clothing imported from Paris, the woman's hair piled high in a fashionable style and the man bearing a gold pocket watch. Each person bore the same somber expression, as though they were prepared for a spelling bee rather than a portrait. Monahan presented the picture to Shadow, who studied it in bewilderment.
"This was taken many years ago, of course," he remarked, leaning against the edge of his desk. "My children are much older now, have married and gone on with their own lives."
Then the newsgirl realized that the tall, mustached man in the photograph was none other than Judge Monahan himself. Standing before him the courtroom both minutes ago and after the strike's first rally, she hadn't even considered the possibility that he had had a life outside of the legal system. Of course, he didn't commonly bear the aura of a loving family man; he had seemed more intent on getting through as many cases as possible than on attending his son's first violin recital.
"My youngest child- the girl to the far right," he continued, "is my daughter Cecilia. She gave birth to her first child, a girl, yesterday morning."
A small smile appeared at the corners of Shadow's lips as she gazed at the girl in the photograph. She imagined a curly-haired little girl, nose speckled with freckles, growing up to sing soprano selections from Mozart, to learn French at a young ladies' academy, to not be afraid of everyone and have to wondered how she would survive each day.
"This is my first grandchild," he remarked and absently stroked his mustache. "For the first time yesterday, I was present for the birth of a child. Naturally, I was not present at my own children's births." At first Shadow assumed that Judge Monahan was being serious, but then she glanced up to see a glimmer of facetiousness in his eyes.
"When I was a young man, I promised myself that I would be a great judge. I graduated from law school at the top of my class and decided that nothing would ever deter me from performing my duty as a judge." He stood erect and began to pace slowly in front of Shadow. "Not even my family."
Memories flashed in the judge's eyes, of case after case, murderers and rapists and juvenile delinquents standing before his massive bench. Move it along, he thought grimly. He thought of his children whom he had barely known; they met as strangers living in the same household. And yet yesterday, as he held his granddaughter in his arms for the first time, he felt not only love and pride, but genuine fear and regret for the first time in his life. Gazing down at Shadow, he wondered what kind of a childhood she had led.
"I asked you here," he explained calmly," to give you a chance to explain yourself. It's what I would want if my child were in the same position."
Shadow's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and the blood completely fled from her cheeks. She blinked at the judge and leaned forward in her chair. "Um, excuse me?" she murmured incredulously.
"Why did you kill Senator Bainesworth?"
She paused, listening to the sound of her own heart pounding and wondering if Monahan could hear it as well. Her body seemed to become a statue as a stubborn, caustic voice sliced through her mind. He ain't gonna believe ya, ya know. He's jus' like da rest of 'em, maybe even woise. Tellin' ya about his kids was jus' some kinda plot or somet'ing. He's gonna t'ink you'se not'ing but a whore and a murderah and he'll set you'se execution date befoah ya can get out da door. She gnawed anxiously at her lower lip and squirmed in her chair like a small child at church. Then a second voice, faint but kind, debated, Who knows? Ya t'ought da newsies would hate ya, but look at what happened wid dem. What's da woist dat could happen? Jus' trust someone already…
"Well…" she gulped down her fear and gathered as much courage as she could. "I knew dat if I didn't kill him, he was gonna kill me."
Silenced swelled in the room for a moment, as Shadow fearfully gazed down at her palms. Her heart beat madly against her chest so that she absently wondered if it would burst, ending her life before Monahan even had the chance to sentence her to hanging. Then she glanced up, with more hope in her eyes than had ever existed in her spirit, and saw that Monahan wasn't smirking, wasn't about to mock her or throw her back in jail for her crimes. For once, he waited patiently for a young criminal to speak.
Shadow drew a small breath and continued very quietly, "I guess it started when I was still a kid, in da Bronx…"
To be continued…please review