Chicago, Illinois, Cook County Criminal Courts, 2009
The only time they got to see each other was in the court room. They would be escorted in separately; feet shackled and hands cuffed in front. They would be positioned on either side of the two very expensive lawyers Luke's maternal grandmother, Lucinda Walsh, found for them.
Fat lot of good they are when the whole affair is rigged to the nines!
The chains would be removed but they weren't allowed to touch. They weren't even allowed to speak to each other unless it was through a formal request made by their lawyers. And then only if the judge felt it was in line with the trial.
That hurt more than anything.
The day of the sentencing was hot and stuffy because a rat had chewed through a cord in the air-conditioning system.
Noah had never seen Luke look more scared. The blonde kept wiping his hands down the front of his black trousers.
Of course Noah tried to take the blame. After their arrest, during the first round of questioning, he was quick to realize just how thoroughly they were being set up. So Noah told the cops he'd gone after his father in a frenzied rage; and Luke had found him there. Luke was totally innocent.
What Noah didn't count on was Luke, sitting in the room opposite, telling the authorities the exact same thing. Except Luke was the shooter in that version.
And so, in trying to save each other, they inadvertently dug themselves into a much deeper hole.
Confessions of guilt from both suspects. Fingerprints all over the weapons. Gun powder residue all over their hands.
"All rise," called the bailiff, a large round man with bushy moustache. "This court is now in session. The Honorable John Crichton presiding."
As the court preliminaries continued, Noah could hear Luke's mother and grandmothers, sniffing in the gallery just behind him, where the Snyders all sat.
During the course of the trial, Noah never once looked their way. Instead he kept his head bowed, ashamed for everything his presence in their lives had come to mean.
A curse.
He especially couldn't bear to witness the disappointment he was sure he'd find in Holden Snyder's kind blue eyes; another father-figure, whose expectations he'd failed to measure up too.
"…Has the jury reached a verdict?"
Noah pulled his collar away from his neck in an effort to breathe better. His vision blurred.
"We have, your Honour."
"Would the defendants please rise?"
Noah looked up at the judge but found he couldn't move. His lawyer patted him on his shoulder and he was suddenly standing on legs of jelly.
He looked over at Luke, who at that moment stared down at his feet.
I'm sorry.
"In the case of State v. Luke Snyder, as to Count 1, Murder in the First Degree, we the jury find the defendant… guilty."
Out of the corner of his eye, Noah saw Luke stagger slightly; and he heard a women cry out behind him.
"In the case of State v. Luke Snyder, as to Count 2, Conspiracy to commit murder, we the jury find the defendant…"
Noah knew what the verdict would be for both of them. They were guilty from the word go and no jury was ever going to acquit them. This was the way the entire case had been orchestrated, planned. They were pawns in a much, much bigger game.
The only major achievement of their lawyers was to get the death penalty off the table. But, unpopular in Illinois at the time and under review, it wasn't that difficult. Instead they were served with seven life sentences with no chance of parole.
Even though Noah knew the verdict was inevitable, it still shook him to hear it read out loud. He turned his head to see Deputy Director Stanley Marsh in the gallery; small smirk on his thin lips.
As the proceedings were brought to a close and with permanent separation imminent, Luke defied the rules to push past the lawyers and grab Noah in a death grip; so tight, it took the court security five minutes to pry them apart. The last thing Noah did was to capture a whiff of Luke's honey-scented hair.
They were allowed a few minutes to say their good byes to the heart-broken Snyders, but Noah stayed away. He couldn't face them. He turned his back so as not to witness Luke's tearful farewell. Even when Luke's mother, Lily, called his name he simply shook his head and closed his eyes to her pleas.
I'm so sorry…
Their ankles and wrists were shackled once more and they were led away down a long concrete corridor to two transport vehicles parked in wait. Bulbs flashed madly as news reporters struggled to get shots of the convicted twosome from behind the high razor-wire topped fences.
Their heads turned toward each other, their eyes locked for the last time; promises of eternal love reflecting back and forth before they were helped into the individual vans, ready to be transported to separate prisons.
…
Chicago, Illinois, En Route, 2009
It was so typical of Noah to blame himself. His blue eyes radiated guilt and he shied away from Luke's family like a scolded puppy with its tail between its legs.
It was one of Luke's greatest regrets. He could do nothing to help alleviate Noah's misplaced sense of guilt.
Since their arrest contact was minimal and now, sitting in the back of a transport van on his way to prison, final.
His eyes were bone dry from crying all night in his holding cell. There wasn't a single tear left to shed yet his eyes still painfully stung. He lifted his cuffed hands to rub at them.
He could still see Noah's transport through the square window at the back of the van. It followed behind them, flanked by three police motorcycles with blue lights flashing. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off it, knowing that at some point it would vanish; ferrying the love of his life across state lines; parting them forever.
Eventually that moment of dread came; and the two vans parted as they reached a complicated spaghetti junction. It happened too fast for Luke and he gasped, instinctively trying to rise to his feet in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable.
"Remain seated!" There were two guards riding in the back with him. The one that spoke pushed Luke back down by one shoulder.
Luke hardly had the time to right himself, when a loud bang was followed by a shudder that sent them all tumbling in a heap to the floor of the van. As they struggled to untangle themselves, Luke's gaze flittered to the window; where Noah's transport could be seen speeding away in the distance.
He blinked and watched as a cargo truck deliberately swerved into the side of Noah's transport sending it spinning out of control and over the central reservation.
It's them! They want us dead!
"Noah!" Luke screamed.
He tried to reach the van's door, as the tires screeched beneath them. He barely made it to his feet before their own vehicle was once again rammed from the right. The van rolled, once, twice, three times.
At one point, Luke actually felt the vehicle fly through the air and he squeezed his eyes shut, stomach lurching in anticipation of the sickening impact to come.
…
Noah was too exhausted to ask questions. Two strong men manhandled him into the back of a Mercedes; hands still cuffed in front of him, although the leg shackles had been removed.
He drifted in and out of consciousness; lying across the back seat of the sedan. His head throbbed in places where it had slammed into the side of the van as they rolled down a steep embankment.
Where's Luke?
"Luke?" he tried to ask, although he knew he wouldn't get an answer from these people.
He figured he'd be taken to a derelict building somewhere and shot because the legal system screwed up and failed to give them the death penalty.
Maybe it would be for the best. Surely death was better than life in prison. At least they'd be together.
Noah vomited behind the driver's seat. It seemed to go on forever and he wondered where it came from. With all the stress of the trial, he hadn't really been eating and drinking all that much.
"Ah Man! Somebody upfront moaned, "Shit! I just had this baby cleaned!"
They drove for what felt like hours and Noah wished it would just end. He'd reached the lowest point he thought it was possible for a person to sink mentally. He simply couldn't take any more. He welcomed death.
Then the road surface changed. Noah knew that sound from life on the farm. They'd passed onto a dirt road.
Soon now.
When they finally parked and pulled him from the car, the sun was setting and the light shone bright in his eyes. He saw sparks and nothing else as his captors dragged him across a filthy chicken yard.
He could barely walk and kept falling over his own feet.
They entered a large warehouse where he was dragged down a long dark corridor filled with the sound of clucking birds and the overpowering smell of chicken manure.
A door opened out into a cavernous room where a lone figure stood swaying in the center; frightened, lost and confused.
It was Luke.
"Noah...," Luke's voice sounded so small. He reached out with two cuffed arms.
They let Noah go and his feet found their way to Luke. With his hands still cuffed at the wrist, Noah had to lift his arms over Luke's head to pull the man into somewhat of an embrace. They fell like that to the straw-strewn floor; each gripping the other's wrist; faces pressed into chests.
They made no sound but for the occasional gulped breath. They said nothing; both petrified. They were simply a mass of skin and muscle and clothing; shivering and amazed by some chance that found them here; back in each other's arms.
I'll never let you go again! Never!
"Well Luciano," a man's accented voice faded vaguely through Noah's consciousness. "We've got a lot of work to do, my son…"
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