Page 59 of Ghosted in Arkadia
“Kira Blackwell.” It’s the man who speaks first, reading my name from a sheet of paper. “Lifelong mateless. Former officer of precinct 16-M. You have been charged with rogue operations that resulted in the murder of William Roman. How do you plead?”
The man looks up from the paper, into the camera as if looking at me directly. The woman by his side has a softer look, but I recognize thegood cop, bad copbit.
A voice sounds over an intercom speaker. “Kira Blackwell. How do you plead?”
“This is some bullshit,” I huff. “Bill Roman kidnapped me and my partner. He tried to kill us.”
The intercom hums back to life. “Kira Blackwell, you will present your argument to the Bonded Bench in one week’s time for recognition.” The line cuts off, filling the room with silence.
Recognition. What a fucking joke. There are only two results of recognition: insanity or execution.
An officer comes in a few moments later. He doesn’t speak, just hurries to unlatch me from the chair and then leads me to my cell. The walls are white and slightly padded. Can’t have anyone trying to hurt themselves before they are executed after all. A metal toilet sits in the corner of the room, and there is a small sink next to it. What will serve as my bed is nothing more than a white cot mattress lying on the floor.
I don’t even get a fucking blanket.
The officer leads me into the room, makes me face a wall, then removes my binds. I’m instructed to stand still. The consequence for noncompliance is a zap from a taser, something I look to avoid since I’m not a fan of pissing myself. I don’t move an inch until I hear the door to my cell shut with a loud click.
I exhale all the breath I’ve been holding in one long trembling stream while tears threaten my eyes. My throat feels like someone is choking me.
Where the fuck is Ghost? Killian? Fucking anybody. What the fuck happened?
The pain in my shoulder flares, as if my body is trying to help me remember the last moments inside the warehouse. Bill Roman’s body, jerking back as he was shot. But I hadn’t pulledthe trigger. Ghost was supposed to kill Bill, but Ghost wasn’t there. Killian was.
Where is Ghost?
I need answers. A plan. Fuck, I just need somebody, anybody, to tell me what is going on. I get up and inspect my room, looking for anything I can use to make me bleed. But there’s nothing. Nothing except for my own nails and teeth. Sitting cross-legged on my mattress, I get to work tearing at the skin on my wrist.
“Kira Blackwell,” the first judge of the Bonded Bench speaks.
I lift my head, taking in the sight of the ten judges seated around me in a circle. They alternate between male and female, all mated pairs, all here to recognize my crimes. Behind them sits the rest of the courtroom, where mated pairs sit in rows with stern looks.
They’ve come to witness a show.
“We are gathered here today to recognize Kira Blackwell,” the same judge that spoke the first time says, but we all know this show is scripted. “Kira, would you like to explain your actions to the Bench?”
I look down at the bandage on my wrist, the one placed by the prison doctor after I ripped open my skin trying to contact Ghost. I had writtenhelp me. There hasn’t been a response.
“I would like to plead insanity.” I raise my head, staring at the judge in front of me with an intensity made to make him feel unsettled.
The judge looks at me and smiles. It’s a mocking smile, as if his only wish for the day is to make sure I do not get what I want.
I’m out of options. I’ve been left to the wolves, and there’s only two routes out of this building.
“Pleading insanity seems like a rather sane thing to do,” one judge mutters, and I turn my head, trying to pinpoint who said it.
“I heard she tried to kill herself the first night in prison,” says a different judge, and I try but fail again to determine which one is speaking.
“If she wants to die, why wouldn’t she pick execution?”
“Pride. It’s probably pride.”
“See the bandage on her arm? The guards said it looked like an animal had attacked her.”
“Only someone insane could hurt themselves like that.”
“Can you all stop?” I say, ducking down and placing my hands over my ears to the best of my ability. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
“Kira,” one of the female judges says and when I lift my head, she smiles softly. “We just need to understand what happened. We are trying to help. Why did you kill Bill Roman?”
