Chapter 2 "FALLEN SPRINGS" – Part 2

[Scene]: Across the Country ...

It was midday in a Bay Area courtroom, where three affluent law school students were awaiting sentencing for their involvement in a drug bust gone wrong. These young adults were no strangers to the perfidy of the spotlight. They were the offspring of high-profile town socialites, and the media went crazy, as these mini celebs were now awaiting the verdict of their lives. The assailants were:

[1] Ducque Phuong Li-Song, son of Mr. and Mrs. Li-Song – the famous restaurant tycoons. Known as 'The Asian-Biebs' of the Bay; he was a tall, attractive first-generation American with striking blonde hair and exquisite fashion sense. With his athletic stardom and academic excellence, no one would ever even suspect that he was a serial rapist of impressionable young jocks, mostly Filipino. He was caught with a dead boy's body in the trunk of his car.

[2] Delphine ('Fi') Shuster, daughter of Alexa Shuster – the TV actress turned 'Housewife' reality star. Fi was not your ordinary geek-goddess. The freckled-faced, voluptuous brunette for a long time hid behind her plain-Jane facade. She was a clandestine personality, constantly manipulating everyone around her, as evinced by her use of her mother's fame and connections to run a lucrative drug trade on campus. However, she was set up that night, and caught red-handed fleeing the scene of the crime with cocaine in her possession.

[3] Lastly, Amyra-Rose Moore, daughter of the illustrious town mayor, Lydia Kallie Moore-Braun, Esq. Amyra was a legal mastermind and a pillar of her law school's LGBTQ Collegiate society. She was a tall, beautiful young woman with a sexy, slender frame and luscious long, raven rouge hair. Her gorgeous hazel eyes paired nicely with her glowing almond-buttered tone, giving the angelic antagonist a visage that most certainly did not match the crime. Unlike her fellow L-gunners, she was innocent of any serious offense but had just fallen prey to the "wrong place, wrong time" scenario. Her ex-lover, Emma Blacque, was lying in her arms for several hours when the police busted onto the scene. When they found the two women, Amyra was cloaked with Em's blood, crying over the battered corpse of her lifeless girlfriend as she bled out. Hours that police alleged might have saved Em's drug-addled life if reported immediately. Because Amyra didn't call the police and subsequently moved the body, the cops asserted that was powerful evidence of her nonfeasance. With the media churning the story into a racial frenzy, all to ignite community riots, Em's father, a local minister, seized the opportunity to ruin the mayor's credibility instead of seeking justice for the crime.

To the world, these young adults were born into privilege with bright futures and promising expectations. Although they were not as influential as the 'Trump' or 'Gates' heirs, everyone felt that they were undeserving of their excess.

As Amyra sat nervously in her black pinstriped suit, she reached for her unresponsive mother, who was directly behind her, sitting alongside her close friend, Council President Romena Kline, the first openly LGBTQ politician in the community with strong ties to many influential players.

As the jury returned, the three assailants held each other's hands in solidarity, all more than a little terrified towards their respective destinies. They had too much to offer to be amidst the detritivores of society, not to mention the horrors facing them in prison, as rumored in the media. Amyra felt an ailing chill run down her spine. For the first time in her life, she couldn't control her situation.

Then attention quickly shifted as the Bailiff approached the center stage to address the courtroom. "ALL RISE! THE HONORABLE JUDGE JB. MATHEWS IS NOW PRESIDING." The crowd stood, and all eyes were fixed on the accused. Upon seating, the room became dreadfully quiet, as sounds from the outside media speaking of the "HILLSIDE SLAUGHTER 3 VERDICT READING IS NOW COMMENCING" started to creep in. Poster-boards and tee-shirts with images of an angelic and ethereal Emma Blacque were seen throughout and in the courtroom as parishioners from her father's church flooded the area awaiting the outcome.

Pastor Emmanuel Blacque was on a rampage for justice. In truth, Pastor Blacque has always hated Mayor Moore-Braun. He knew her when she was the former District Attorney, trying to make a name for herself. Back then, she brokered deals with gangsters and criminals to game the system. To jump-start her political career, she got rid of him and his associates ferociously by locking them up in jail. All of which eventually won her the mayoral seat.

Now that the tides have turned, it was his turn to make her suffer, and he loved every minute of it. Although there was no evidence or murder weapon to tie Amyra to his daughter's death, he was going to see for sure that the Moore's paid dearly for everything that had happened to the Blacque family. All over the news, the infamous Reverend Blacque joined forces with other militant-religious Afro-American leaders, constantly provoking the mayor and the media with messages of the pain of racial injustice and inequity in the town. Although they were there to present a united front, Mayor Moore knew better.

Someone was funding this, someone powerful. But who? Why?" she thought.

Now that the media was on his side, he used this platform to spark a nationwide frenzy of the hypocrisy of 'minority justice' regarding his daughter Em, stating, "if she were white, this would have already been resolved." His sights were fixed on Amyra; not because he believed she was responsible. but because he knew Em told Amyra a little secret. A secret about a father and daughter that should never have happened, ever. Either way, to the good-reverend, Amyra was the answer to two problems: her mother's past sins and his daughter's precious little tongue. And he had just the solution waiting for her cute, skinny, tight ass, in prison.

As the judge requested the verdict, Amyra (nauseated with anxiety), noticing the jury's determining faces, began to look away, not paying attention to the preface. As her tension heightened, she started to feel heavy eyes on her. Staring at the many angry disconcerted faces in the room, she noticed a different glaring coming from the court's back. In the ominous section of the last row, an elderly, lavish dressed gentleman kept his steely eyes fixed in her direction. His dapper clothes were striking, and he was leaning on a very extravagant cane. He appeared too distinguished to be a parishioner from Blacque's church, and his demeanor seemed peaceful, somehow friendly, but it was too dark for her to be sure. Although she could not make him out, his eyes emerged as clear as day; blue.

Now the Bailiff told the accused to rise. As the accused stood to hear their respective verdicts, Amyra reminded herself that no matter what happens, she did nothing wrong. The evidence about her was inconclusive, as she was incapacitated that night, and there was no murder weapon. Everything was going to be okay, she thought.. Then the jury's verdict was in; all accused were found; "GUILTY." WHAT? As an aghast, Amyra lowered her head in shame; she then turned to see her mother crying in the arms of her constituent Romena instead of her.

Fi's mother grabbed her darling baby, hugging her lovingly, even if just for a photo opportunity.

Ducque's parents just stood there, awaiting the complete translation to be conveyed.

Disheartened by this mortifying development, Amyra looked towards the back to see the dapper gentleman getting up to leave but turning back once more to see her again and still with the same calming smile. The only sense of genuine compassion she'd experienced in over nine grueling months. The darkened area still hid his face.

The news of the verdict ruptured in the area. Cheering roared through the crowd, hammering the entire courtroom like an explosion. The throng stood up, praising the judge and jury in gratitude for relinquishing the correct and necessary justice the people believed was well deserved.

As they were taken away, Amyra noticed that she was brought to a different area than the others.

She was stuck contemplating what went wrong with her case? Guilty, she thought. Guilty of what?

Later that day, Amyra could hear the various lawyers walking in and out of the judge's chambers, arguing amongst themselves. As she leaned closer to the door, she overheard that both Fi and Ducque got the max sentencing at distant county correctional facilities, which was harsh.

Hearing the news, Ducque's father attacked his son, striking him across the face before completely disowning him. Then his entire family turned their backs on him, stating he would get no help from them or their money in prison. He then spat in his face before finally walking away for good. His mother followed her husband mechanically, mutely crying as she marched firmly in his shadow. Feeling the fear and pressure cave in, Ducque tried to escape by fighting off two officers then running down the stairwell. However, his efforts ended tragically when he was gunned down near an emergency window. His mother heard the news and tried to reach him while he was still breathing. She quickly pushed past the police, holding her baby as the world watched him take his last few breaths. As the cameras rolled, he cravingly whispered to his mother, "請告訴父親,請原諒我.我祈禱我的死將恢復他的榮譽" -- right before dying in his mother's arms. His father was nowhere in sight.

Inside the courtroom, a terrified and tearful Amyra overheard the TV in the next-door breakroom; breaking news of Ducque's death was all over, trumping the story of a New England Town Catastrophe. She cried hearing so many mock Ducque's life as if he was the summary of his crime. They had known each other for almost a decade; he was like a brother to her. They were both only children and bonded in boarding school quite quickly, especially when families were no shows at pivotal times in their lives. He just got entrapped in a world where winning meant a lot of different things to different circles. Now he was dead. "Ducque... NO!" she exclaimed in a heart-rending cry of anguish.

Later that afternoon, as she sat in sheer disarray. Feeling famished, she reached into her purse to grab a stick of gum when suddenly, an upside-down crucifix fell out. Oh my gosh? She thought. It belonged to Em. "Baby," she said softly, crying. In sheer desperation, she recited a prayer Em taught her while awaiting her fate in despair. When meditating, she recalled Em forewarning her; "Just remember, you have to be willing to pay a price. The Baron doesn't work for free." With the dark rosary wholly wrapped around her hand, she spoke the ancient words, whilst hearing the analog clock behind her, ticking, tardily... seconds seemed to tire down. Then the crucifix pricked her thumb hard. "Ouch!" she said. What the fuck, she thought, quickly opening her eyes to assess. The blood dripped down to her wrist. She quickly suckled her finger to stop the flow when she recalled a tiny detail. She wore it that night, and it pricked her then too. However, she was too distressed to care for its relevance and continued to suckle when the door opened unexpectedly. Then Amyra swiftly put the bloody cross back into her purse.

It was her mother's aide. "She did it. It's time to go home, Amy," the aide said....

Later in the limousine, Mayor Lydia was thanking someone on the phone for their help. She was charming and grateful. Amyra didn't have to think about who it was; she already knew. It was Governor Larry Greene. Greene and her mother were friends since her mom interned as his council aid when he was the mayor. Since then, the two had always been close; to such, rumors of an affair surfaced, causing Greene's first wife to divorce him. However, the rumors quickly dissipated when Lydia swiftly married Benjamin Lucas Moore, Esq. then a successful civil rights lawyer from an affluent Jewish family. Yet Greene was always around.

As she listened to her mother's whispers, she rolled her eyes in contempt towards their inappropriate disposition.

Lydia Moore was saying, "We can't thank you enough. Give Soph my love, will you? Thanks again, Larr. Bub-bye."

The call ended. Amyra said, "Really, mother? You know he's just going to want something else in return."

An angry Lydia slapped Amyra hard across her face, causing her to knock her head against the limo's window. Then she grabbed her by the neck, villainously, yelling, "Do you have any idea the strings I had to pull just to keep you from going to fucking prison? What; you think a little shit like you can't get gang-raped or killed in there?

Breathing heavily, she ranted, "Have you any idea what this cost me? I've had it with you and your bullshit. It ends now."

"From this moment on, you are going to do what I say when I say it. If I tell you to fuck the Devil himself, you'll do so happily. There is no mercy for where you're going, and it's about God damn time. Now get the hell away from me, whore lover."

In a scratchy tone, she managed to say, "I'm sorry, Mother. I was out of line. It won't..."

Cutting her off, an angered Lydia was not having any of it, "Sorry won't do this time. You and I are done. Now, don't bother me again."

Amyra noticed the limo partitions slowly creeping up and thought, Great, here comes the gossip. She felt her anxiety instantly set in, suffocating her to suicidal desires again. She desperately wanted out of this life. As the chauffeur drove off, Amyra began to cringe in despair. She didn't care what her sentence was, so long as she could get away from here.