Diversion Part 4
My girlfriend, Sheree, and I stand shackled hand and foot before a small-town judge, charged with criminal offenses that will result in our incarceration. We have no counsel, can't contact a lawyer, have no access to money for a retainer even if we could contact one, and the judge won't appoint attorneys on misdemeanors, with which we are charged. But our misdemeanors are very serious ones according to the judge. He says we're looking at a six-month sentence in the penitentiary - at a minimum - and it can increase up to a year upon a trial. The other equally horrible option is to enter a guilty plea in exchange for a week locked up, and performing 'work for the county', under the thumb of the sadistic woman who runs the local jail. We both ran afoul of her the first night, and she made it miserable for us while we were locked in separate cells - chained, beaten and abused. A week with her controlling our every waking moment is the equivalent of six to twelve months in the penitentiary.
We ended up in this horrible position after being abducted from our weekend getaway campsite and subjected to physical and sexual abuse at the hands of a maniacal couple hooded in leather masks. We managed to escape, while shackled at the ankles and wearing harness ring gags locked in place. We were able to locate my car and find help to free us from the shackles and gags. But we ended up being arrested shortly thereafter, when we were pulled over while driving my car with no license plate, registration papers or driver's license. They all had been removed, stolen and disposed of by our abductors. We aggravated the situation by foolishly providing false names to avoid problems back home over an estate inheritance issue involving Sheree's deceased husband. The repercussions from her arrest - and her arrest with me, right after her husband's death - could present serious problems for her, or so we thought. But avoiding problems back home created far more serious ones here.
And here we are.
Sheree shakes her head, saying "No, no, I can't do this," in a quiet voice.
"Listen," I whisper frantically to her. "We have no choice! The penitentiary? For six to twelve months?"
I glance at the judge who is impatiently shaking his pen in his hand, while looking at us and awaiting our decision.
"We've got to get a lawyer," Sheree says as her voice grows louder. The fighting instinct in her that had just been beaten into submission by our jailer, Beth Anne, is resurfacing in reaction to our dire circumstances. "They can't do this!"
This is not where we need to go. That becomes quickly apparent, because the judge hears her and turns to his bailiff, saying, "Set the cases on the next trial docket. When's that? Ten days out? Right. Cash bonds set at two thousand dollars."
He stands up to leave the bench, and I quickly turn to Sheree and desperately try to make her understand. "We'll be in her jail for ten days, awaiting trial, since we won't be able to make that bond! Do you hear me? And then he's sending us to the penitentiary! We've got to take that deal". Sheree sighs with reluctant understanding, and in painful resignation silently nods in agreement.
"Wait! We'll do the week!"
Sheree closes her eyes and silently shakes her head from side to side in anger, but says nothing to retract her decision. The judge returns to his seat behind the bench and says, "Okay, my bailiff will have some paperwork for you to sign, entering pleas of guilty to the charges and you'll be remanded into custody for one week to serve and to perform labor for the county".
The judge leaves and we sit back down on the uncomfortable wooden bench. I feel the padlock on the back of my waist chain pressing into me if I lean back against the bench. Sheree shakes her shackled ankles and pounds her feet against the floor in helpless frustration at the predicament in which we've found ourselves.
"A week! A week with that bitch! Wade, I can't handle this."
"No other choice, Sheree. The other option is six to twelve months in the penitentiary! We've got no other choice."
"She'll have me all cuffed up and hogtied with that woman's panties taped in my mouth! I can't go through that again."
"Remember what Marlene said - 'don't provoke her'. She hasn't treated Marlene like that the short time we've been there. Listen to what she said, and we'll get through this."
We sit for what feels like an hour while the bailiff completes whatever he has to complete. Why do you have to sign papers to go to jail? None of this makes any sense. We fidget, rattle our chains, try to reposition the cuffs of our leg irons to keep them from biting into our ankles, and whisper to each other.
"Wade, I'm trying hard to keep from crying, since I can't reach my eyes to wipe the tears away. She locked my wrists to my waist as tight as she could! Can you lift your hands from your waist?"
"No. I can move my fingers back and forth a few inches, but my wrists are locked to my waist. Tightly locked. How about these black boxes she fastened over our handcuffs? Overkill? I'd say so."
"Yeah, this is what they do to fucking murderers! She didn't have to do this to us. And to make them so damn tight. At least you don't have a chain between your legs! Goddamn her; and we've got a week to serve in her jail!"
The bailiff finally returns with the damn paperwork for us to consent to go to jail! I take a moment to read it - I'm not signing it any other way - and it sets out what the judge said. I take the pen he's offering me, and scribble my name. He has to hold it in front of my hand on a clipboard so I can sign, with my hands restrained as they are. When he hands a separate paper to Sheree, she looks at me. I nod to her and she signs her name. We are now officially prisoners of the county for a week.
He says, "They're shorthanded right now at the jail, and somebody has got to come get you to escort you back. The problem here is I'm about to leave with the judge for another county - he's got a docket there this afternoon. The courtroom is about to be locked up, and there's no other security to stay with you until you picked up by someone from the jail. I hate to do it, but I've got to chain you out back to wait for them."
Sheree and I look at him incredulously; he's going to chain us outside, for who knows how long, while we wait to be taken to jail! He might as well put us in a set of stocks in the town square, so everyone can gawk at us.
Sheree begins mumbling, "No, no, no." She turns to me, and whispers, "Please tell me he's not going to chain us up like animals."
"I think that's all we are to them," I reply in helpless fury. "We're the lowest of the low!" The bailiff ignores our commentary and motions for us to get up and to follow him.
As I stand, I move my shoulders from side to side to relieve the stiffness in my back, arms and neck from sitting so long while tightly chained. Sheree stretches also when she rises and then we follow the bailiff back down the corridor leading out of the courtroom, and out the rear of the building. My eyes reflexively blink with the sudden bright sunlight blinding me, and I glance down to watch my steps so I don't trip over my leg irons. He directs us to the side of the building where a wire fence separates the small parking lot for courthouse personnel from the adjacent property. He produces a chain and padlock from the satchel he carrying, bends down and loops it around the bottom of the closest metal fence post. He motions us over and threads each end of the chain through our leg irons, then locks both ends together with the padlock. We're now chained to the fence post. He makes a point of showing us the key to the padlock which he places on a window sill on the back of the building, several feet out of our reach. Without another word, he turns and walks back into the building. He and the judge exit together a minute later and walk to a car without glancing at us, then drive away.
Sheree yells after the departing car, "What kind of town is this that chains people outside like dogs?"
"We rode straight into a nightmare from hell. Fuck."
