Chapter 49 "The Arriagnment"
EMBER
Ember didn't sleep.
How could she? fluorescent lights never turned off, just dimmed slightly after what she assumed was midnight. The bench was too narrow, too hard. Diane snored like a freight train. And every time Ember closed her eyes, she saw those photographs her own face staring back at her from security footage, walking away from places where people had died.
She sat on the cold concrete floor, her back against the wall, counting the cracks in the ceiling. Twenty-three visible cracks from where she sat. She'd counted them seventeen times now.
Somewhere around what she guessed was 3 AM, Diane woke up and used the toilet without any apparent shame. The sound echoed in the small cell. The younger woman she'd finally said her name was Kris, short for Kristina didn't even stir.
"First night's always the worst," Diane said, settling back on the bench. "You'll learn to sleep through anything eventually."
Ember didn't respond. She didn't plan on being here long enough to learn anything.
"What'd they get you for?" Diane asked, her voice casual. Like they were making small talk at a bus stop instead of locked in a cell together.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Fair enough. But word of advice?" Diane shifted, getting comfortable. "Whatever it is, don't let them see you break. Cops, lawyers, judges they're all looking for weakness. You show them you're scared, they'll use it against you."
Ember pulled her knees tighter to her chest. "I am scared."
"Yeah, well. Don't let them see it."
Morning came without fanfare. No windows meant no sunrise, just a gradual awareness that more activity was happening in the hallway. Doors opening and closing. Officers calling out names. The sound of other prisoners being moved around.
A different officer appeared at their cell male, younger, with a name tag that read "TORRES."
"Breakfast," he announced, sliding three trays through a slot in the door.
The trays contained something that might have been oatmeal, a small carton of milk, and a piece of toast that looked like it had been made yesterday. Possibly the day before.
Ember stared at her tray, her stomach turning. She hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday a sandwich she'd grabbed between classes but the thought of food made her nauseous.
Diane ate her oatmeal with mechanical efficiency. Kris ignored her tray entirely, still staring at the wall with that thousand-yard stare.
"You should eat," Diane said, noticing Ember's untouched tray. "Court days are long. You'll regret it if you don't."
"I'm not hungry."
"Didn't say you were. Said you should eat."
Ember forced herself to take a bite of toast. It was dry and tasteless, but she chewed and swallowed. Then another bite. By the time she'd finished the piece of toast and drunk half the milk, her stomach felt marginally better.
"Winters!"
Officer Torres was back at the door. "Arraignment's in an hour. Let's go."
Ember's heart jumped into her throat. This was it. This was really happening.
She stood on shaky legs and followed Torres out of the cell. They went down a different hallway this time, stopping at what looked like a locker room.
"Clean up," Torres said, gesturing to a row of sinks. "There's a toothbrush and soap. You've got ten minutes."
The toothbrush was still in its package cheap, prison-issue. The soap was industrial-strength, smelling vaguely of antiseptic. Ember brushed her teeth for the first time in twenty-four hours, the mint taste making her feel slightly more human. She washed her face, scrubbing away the tear tracks and grime.
When she looked up at the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were hollow and red-rimmed, her face was pale. The grey prison uniform hung on her like a shroud.
She looked exactly like what she was: a scared girl who'd been arrested for murder.
"Time's up," Torres said. "Let's go."
He led her to another holding area larger this time, with several other people in prison uniforms sitting on benches. Two men, one woman. All of them looked as exhausted and terrified as Ember felt.
"Sit," Torres instructed. "When they call your name, you'll be escorted to the courtroom. Your lawyer should meet you there."
"What lawyer?" Ember asked. "I haven't met with anyone."
"Public defender's office will assign someone. They'll talk to you before you go in front of the judge. Just a few minutes to go over the basics."
A few minutes. To discuss three murder charges. Sure. That seemed totally adequate.
Ember sat on the bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Around her, the other defendants sat in their own private hells, not making eye contact, not speaking. What was there to say?
Time crawled. Ember watched other prisoners being called, watched them disappear through a door marked "COURTROOM B." Some came back quickly. Others didn't come back at all.
"Ember Winters?"