Guilty.
GUILTY.
Benjamin Blake had been found guilty.
Murder,
MURDER.
Benjamin Blake had been found guilty of murder.
"Benjamin Blake, the jury finds you guilty of first degree murder."
He was trembling now, trying not to cry.
"The Judge will now pass sentence. All rise."
He shakiy rose to his feet. Eleanor rose slowly, dark eyes locking with his, as if making a silent promise. A promise to take care of Lauralie, a promise to protect Belladonna, a promise she did not intend to break.
"Benjamin Blake, I sentence you to fifty years hard labour in Australia.
Fifty years?
Fifty years away from his beloved wife?
Fifty years withou seeing Lauralie?
Fifty years, sweating in a living hell, unable to see his beautiful infant daughter blossom from a mere infat into a gorgeous young woman?
On that day, a monstrous perversion of justice had taken place.
Two days later, Benjamin was shipped off to Australia. He could only pack pyjamas, as he would be provided with a uniform when he arrived. As he looked out over the docks, a great longing gripped his heart. A longing to escape this nightmare that he could barely believe had become his reality.
"Don't go," it was Eleanor, tears streaming down her flushed, rosy cheeks. She gripped his waist, tightly, as if trying to protect hiim, as if trying to shield him from the officers. But they both knew what was coming.
Lauralie stood a few paces back, shimmering golden locks billowing out behind her in the wind, a melancholy expression plastered across the blank canvas that was her blemishless face. She watched, helpless, as right before her eyes, her husband was carried away.
Benjamin Blake was no more.