Chapter 9 - Handcuffs in Reverse
Deputy Miller stepped up to the witness box, unholstering a pair of heavy, steel Smith & Wesson cuffs. The metallic *ratchet-click* echoed off the walls.
"Step out of the box, Mrs. Vance. Hands behind your back."
"Take your hands off me!" Eleanor shrieked, backing into the corner of the wood paneling, swatting frantically at the deputy’s arms. "Marcus! Call my attorney! Belle, call Edward! Call the firm!"
The deputy did not hesitate. He caught Eleanor’s wrist in an iron grip, spun her around with practiced efficiency, and forced her hands behind her back. The steel clicked shut over her wrists with brutal finality.
"Ouch! You're hurting me! This is silk! This is a five-thousand-dollar coat!" Eleanor wailed, her chignon coming undone, strands of graying hair falling wildly across her face.
At the same time, behind the gallery railing, two more officers closed in on Belle.
"Belle Vance," Karen Miller announced loudly from the prosecution table, holding up a freshly signed document. "Pursuant to the medical examiner’s evidence and the admission you just shouted into an open record, Briarcliff Police Department has issued an immediate warrant for your arrest for assault in the first degree, assault with a deadly weapon, and conspiracy."
"No! No! Mom, do something!" Belle screamed as the female deputy wrenched her arms behind her back. Belle thrashed, kicking her heels against the wooden floorboards, but the deputy shoved her down onto the pew, snapping the steel cuffs over her wrists. "Laurel, tell them! Tell them it was an accident! Laurel, look at me!"
Laurel stood up slowly.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, Laurel did not feel small. She did not feel broken. The bandage on her ear was still blood-spotted, the throbbing pain was still real, but as she stood up straight beside Marcus, her eyes were completely clear.
Belle was weeping hysterically, mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks, her hair plastered to her sweaty forehead as the deputies hauled her up by her elbows.
"Laurel, please!" Belle begged, her voice cracking into high, pathetic sobs. "You're my sister! You can't let them take me to county! I can't go to jail, Laurel! Please!"
Laurel walked slowly to the wooden divider. She stopped just two feet from where Belle stood in cuffs.
She remembered the way Belle had pinned her to the floor. She remembered the blinding, agonizing sound of the pencil puncturing her ear. She remembered Belle leaning down in the precinct hallway, whispering with that cruel, triumphant smile: *“Enjoy prison. You’ll never get out.”*
Laurel leaned in slightly, her voice quiet, steady, and chilled like winter ice.
"Enjoy prison, Belle. You'll never get out."
Belle’s eyes widened in sheer horror. She opened her mouth to scream, but the deputies were already marching her down the center aisle, her heels dragging against the marble floor as she sobbed uncontrollably.
Eleanor was paraded right behind her, her head bowed in humiliation as court spectators and press reporters in the back row snapped photos with their smartphones. The flashbulbs flared against Eleanor’s pale, sweat-streaked face.
"Marcus," Laurel whispered, her hands finally resting flat against the mahogany table. "Is it over?"
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Marcus looked down at her, his face softening with deep, genuine warmth. "The criminal case against you is over, Laurel. You are free. But the truth about what they did? That's just getting started."
***
