I was numb by now, my tears dried at least for a while.
I don't know how long I waited. It seemed like a long time, or perhaps not long enough. Then the door opened, and two new officers appeared, a man and a woman.
"Melissa Walsh."
"Yes," I said.
They took a DNA sample and tested it with a scanner, confirming my identity.
"You are charged with one count of operating a motor vehicle while under the influence of alcohol," the man read. "Do you understand this charge?"
"Yes."
After that, he read me the rules. I would be escorted into the courtroom. I would go peacefully where I was led. I would sit when told to sit and stand when told to stand. I would keep my mouth shut unless I was responding to a question.
"Do you understand these rules?"
"Yes."
They each took an arm, and I was led from the cell. We went down a hall and took a brief elevator ride up two floors. There was another short walk, and then I was led into a courtroom.
My lawyer was waiting for me at the table, and I saw the prosecution was also waiting. There was a black-clad judge waiting behind his bench, looking at me sternly. He was middle-aged and fearsome.
The bailiffs led me to my place next to my lawyer. They did not release my handcuffs. They stood me in place and stepped back. I waited.
"You may be seated," the judge said. My lawyer sat and pulled me into my chair. He slipped a piece of paper to me. I glanced at it. It was a simple will. He handed my pen, and I was able to sign it, the chain of my handcuffs stretching just far enough to do so.
"Thank you," I whispered.
The judge was reading from a file. In this day and age, and legal documents were still on paper. Finally he looked up. "The facts of this case appear cut and dried. I am going to review them. This past Thursday, May eight, at six-twelve in the evening, Ms. Walsh's automobile was involved in a motor vehicle accident in which there was a fatality. Ms. Walsh's car was struck from behind and propelled into oncoming traffic. Ms. Walsh is not deemed at fault in the accident, as she was legally stopped at a stoplight. However, it was Ms. Walsh's car that was propelled into oncoming traffic. Her car was struck, causing significant damage to her vehicle and the death of the front seat passenger of the car that struck hers."
He paused, reading further.
"Ms. Walsh was extracted from her vehicle by emergency personnel and transferred to Clanton Hospital. She was treated for her injuries at Clanton and a blood sample was taken. Analysis of the blood sample detected the presence of alcohol in her blood. Ms. Walsh was in the presence of medical personal from the moment the first responders arrived on the scene until after the sample was taken."
He looked up. "Does the defense wish to contest these facts?"
My lawyer stood up. "No, your honor. However, we would like an opportunity to speak."
"Do you have something meaningful to add that would address the guilt of your client, Mr. McGuire."
"No, your honor," he said, "but given the serious nature of the crime and the likely penalties, perhaps the court would be so kind as to indulge us."
He looked over to the prosecution, a young lawyer. The man stood up. "The prosecution has no objections."
"Very well, Mr. McGuire, but please be brief."
My lawyer spoke for two minutes, most of which was spent explaining how I was a valuable member of society, a gifted artist, with no past charges of any sort. He mentioned I was on an errand of mercy, and asked permission for me to speak.
The judge looked exasperated. "And how long does your client wish to speak?"
"I believe she can constrain herself to ten minutes," my lawyer said.
"Make it five, not a second longer," the judge said.
My lawyer was prepared. He thrust a sheet of paper and a time in front of me. He quickly set the timer to count down for five minutes and told me to go ahead.
I stood up, glanced at the paper, and then looked at the judge. I looked more closely at the statement my lawyer had prepared. Finally I set the paper down.
"You honor," I began, ignoring the paper. I spoke briefly. I told him I had run the dog for my elderly neighbor, and he interrupted.
"That is this Mrs. Benchley?" he asked.
"Yes, your honor. I ran the dog, then when I got back, she told me she needed her medication. The deliveryman for the pharmacy was gone for the day, so I agreed. I was going to run, but then she said they closed early, at six. I tried to find someone else to drive, but I couldn't find anyone, and then I ran out of time."
I paused. "I drove carefully. I drove so carefully. I was stopped-"
He stopped me. "You are not being charged with the accident."
I nodded.
"I didn't want to drive, but I was worried about Mrs. Benchley. I got to the pharmacy with two minutes to spare. I wouldn't have made it if I had run, and I wouldn't have made it if I spent any more time looking for someone else to drive. I-" I paused. "I was worried about Mrs. Benchley. She said she gets palpitations. I don't know what those are, but she seemed frantic. I-" I paused again. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else I was supposed to do."
I looked at my lawyer, and he nodded, then whispered to me, "mercy."
"Your honor, I'm sorry. I don't know what else I should have done. I hope there is room for mercy."
Then I sat back down and waited.
The judge looked at me for a while. He turned to the prosecution. "Mr. Finley?"
The prosecutor stood back up. He looked over at me. "Our investigations would corroborate Ms. Walsh's testimony," he said. "Emergency personnel reported Ms. Walsh was highly distraught and repeatedly stated concern for Mrs.-" he consulted his notes. "For Mrs. Benchley's medication. They discovered the medication on the floor of Mrs. Walsh's vehicle." He spoke for another minute, basically confirming everything I had said. "Your honor, I did not wish to prosecute this case, but the law is clear."
The judge reviewed the papers further. I thought perhaps he was stalling while he decided what to do. Finally he looked up. "Do either of you have anything further to say?"
"No, your honor," was the collective statement from both lawyers.
"Ms. Walsh," he said, "please stand."
I stood, my throat in my heart.
"Ms. Walsh," he said. "What you should have done is told Mrs. Benchley you'd had a glass of wine and perhaps called the pharmacy to see if the pharmacist could deliver the medication herself."
"Oh god," I said quietly. The latter half of that had never occurred to me, but it should have.
"The law, however, is clear. I find you guilty of the charge of operating a motor vehicle while under the influence of alcohol."
I began to cry, although my verdict was a foregone conclusion.
"However, you have asked for mercy, and I will give you as much as the law allows. The judicial guidelines for this offense call for you to be made a blood slave for the remainder of your life."
I began to sob, my efforts to control my reactions ineffective.
"Your sentence is this: you shall be remain in custody and offered for sale as a blood slave. You shall remain a blood slave for a period of at least one year and not to exceed three years."
And then he banged his gavel.
* * * *
No one moved.
I stood there, sobbing. It was a death sentence, I was sure of it. I waited for them to haul me away, but no one moved. Someone pushed a box of tissues onto the table in front of me, and my lawyer picked it up, offering it to me. I brought my sobs under control and then did what I could to clean myself up, bending over to reach with my hands to my face, barely able to reach. When I stood up, the judge was watching me, and he didn't look as frightening as when I had arrived.
Even if he had just sentenced me to bleed to death.
"Ms. Walsh," he said gently, "This is not necessarily a death sentence. I cannot promise you will live; that will be up to the vampire who purchases you. I will give
you some advice if you wish to survive. Go with your head high, and do not fight what is about to happen." He paused. "My wife has one of your pieces."
"Which one?"
"It is a single rose on a green background."
"White rose with pink highlights?" I asked. "Or a red rose with a ribbon?"
"The white rose," he said.
"An early piece," I said. "I kept it for a long time before I parted with it."
The judge looked at me for a moment longer. "Do not fight, Ms. Walsh."
I nodded understanding. Moments later, the bailiffs stepped forward, and I was led from the courtroom.
That was justice in the vampire-ruled world.
* * * *
They took me back to a holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. I waited there for several hours, or so it seemed, but I had no access to a clock, so I couldn't be sure. But they released my hands and legs, and they fed me. I choked it down.
Eventually two new officers arrived. They were big and burly. The first one entered and said, "If you need to use the toilet, do it now." Numbly, I shook my head. "We need to search you again."
"One of you?" I asked.
"No." They both stepped out and two female officers stepped in. They were almost as big as the men.
"Undress."
They were thorough and not as kind as the previous searchers. They had a new jumpsuit for me, bright red, and they put me in it themselves, not leaving it to me. They finished by reattaching restraints to my ankles and wrists, but this time my arms were locked behind me. One of them knocked on the door while the other held me firmly.
The two large officers returned. The female officer handed me into their less-than-gentle care. One of them roughly pulled a hood over my head.
I was led from the cell and through the building. Then we stepped through a doorway, and the sound changed. A moment later one of them said, "step up". I climbed into some sort of vehicle, was led a very short distance, then pushed into a seat. They fastened me in place with belts around my stomach, legs, and chest, pulling them tight.
Around me, I heard crying, at least one woman crying softly and a man crying more loudly. I couldn't tell if there were any other victims of this cruel system or not.
My throat was a lump. I'd had everything, and due to my own kindness, it was all being taken from me. And I had no one to blame but myself.
I vowed then and there I would never again risk myself for someone else.
I sat there, hooded in my own personal darkness, and then there was a lurch, and the vehicle was moving.
It wasn't a long drive, perhaps twenty minutes. It is difficult to judge time when you cannot see and have no reference. But it didn't seem long. I had never thought about it. I had no idea what was to happen next or where it would happen. Nor did I know if I would be alive by this time tomorrow.
It was clear when we entered another parking ramp of some sort. The noise changed, and the motion changed. We came to a stop. There was a several minute pause before the doors opened to our section of the vehicle. From the noises, they were removing prisoners one at a time, and I sat there with dread, in no hurry to take my turn.
But finally hands reached for me, releasing me from my straps, and I was lifted to my feet. But they allowed me to walk in a prisoner's shuffle, a firm pair of hands on each arm.
I was led inside; I could tell by the noise, and the change of surface beneath my feet, and then it was a lengthy walk, doors periodically opening and then closing behind us. My captors didn't speak, and I didn't ask any questions.
Finally we came to a stop. They turned me sideways then forced me backwards several steps. "Sit."
It was the first word that had been spoken to me since we arrived.
Obediently, with only the slightest of urging, I sat, and moments later new straps were wrapped around my body, holding me firmly in place. They left me there. I heard a door close, and then the only sounds were muted. I heard no one else, and I couldn't tell the size of the room I was in.
There was another long wait as I sat, hooded, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the strain in my shoulders, and I realized that while I didn't need to go to the bathroom earlier, the pressure was building.
And building.
And building.
Finally, a door opened, and I heard footsteps cross the floor pushing a cart. Someone stepped in front of me, and a moment later, the hood was pulled from my head. I blinked in the harsh light, looking into the middle of a woman dressed in a white lab coat.
"Wanda Walsh?"
"Yes."
She took a DNA sample and tested it.
Then she showed me a device. I stared numbly at it. It had my name, "Walsh, Wanda," and a number.
"Is that my prisoner number?"
"Yes. This goes around your neck. You will not be able to remove it."
"Won't-" I paused. "Won't it get in the way."
"The vampire who buys you may require you to continue to wear it, or he may have us remove it. Half the slaves leave here still wearing the collar, but you rarely see them in public."
I nodded understanding.
"There is a tracking device," she said. "If you are not where you belong, it contracts." She turned it around, and I saw two metal patches. "This will be against your skin and can be used to administer a correction."
"A correction?"
"I am obligated to demonstrate."
I tried not to cry.
"I am going to advise you not to fight me," she said. "I am obligated to demonstrate the collar. The severity and duration of the demonstration is at my discretion."
"I won't fight," I said.
She didn't wait. She bent over me, wrapping the device around my neck, snapping it closed. Then she turned around to her cart and picked up a small device. She aimed it at the collar, and there was a beep.
"It's going to grow tighter, just snug. Do not panic. Sometimes they panic." I nodded once, and she did something on the device in her hands. The collar tightened slowly, then stopped when it was snug. The woman adjusted the position of the device. It rested against my throat right at the most narrow location. It felt odd, but it wasn't unduly uncomfortable. I tried swallowing, and there was no impediment.
"As I said, I am obligated to demonstrate. The device is calibrated on a scale of one to ten. I am going to demonstrate a warning correction, which is a one, and then a three. Most prisoners find it difficult to remain silent. If you do not direct your comments to me personally, I will not demonstrate the higher settings."
She didn't wait but instead pressed a button on her device. Immediately I felt a sharp pain across my throat, and I jerked in my seat, letting out a loud, "Shit!" It didn't last long, only a moment, but it hurt.
I looked up at her. "That was a warning?"
"Yes."
I felt the tears welling in my eyes again.
"I don't know what you did to land here," she said, "but your tears will not help you. I will now demonstrate a three for five seconds. You will probably scream."
I did.
My scream lasted several seconds longer than the pain did, and I jerked around in my restraints, entirely unable to escape the punishment. Finally I sat there, slumped over, my head hanging.
The woman was very efficient. She set the device aside, and while I slumped, panting and trying to recover my composure, she stepped to my side and reached for my arm, still latched behind me. She rolled up the sleeve with one hand and jabbed me with a needle. I felt as she depressed the plunger and whatever was in the hypodermic needle entered my body.
"What was that?" I asked.
"It makes you complacent."
"The collar and shackles aren't enough?"
"With some, yes, with others, no."
I could feel the drug beginning to take hold. My panic receded, not entirely, but it receded, and my heart rate slowed. My thoughts also slowed.
The woman stood watching me. "It doesn't take long to work," she s
aid.
"No," I said, agreeing. "What- Um. What happens now?"
"There is a hold on your case," she said. "That is rare. Perhaps the judge feels he made a mistake."
"No," I said. "There was no mistake."
"Then I don't know why there would be a hold. We would normally process you straight through. When there are buyers, we can move a prisoner through in a few hours, sometimes even faster."
"What will happen to me?"
"We have cells. I will take you to one once I know the drug is working completely."
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"I will release your restraints in your cell," she explained. "Can you wait that long?"
"How long?"
"Fifteen minutes."
"I can wait."
"There is water, and if you are still here, dinner. You are obligated to eat everything we bring you. If you will remain here more than twenty-four hours, you are obligated to exercise. You will be assigned a certain number of calories to burn. The guard who brings you to the exercise facility picks how you must exercise. If you are polite, she may give you a choice."
I nodded understanding.
She leaned over me and tipped my head back, peeling one of my eyelids widely open, then flashed a light in my eyes. She did the same to the other.
"They require us during training to go through processing," she said. "Even though I knew it was only for training, I was terrified. The drug helped."
"Yes," I agreed, the word coming out slowly. "How long. Um."
"Does it last?"
"Yes."
"It begins to wear off in eight hours but can take an entire day to completely drain from your body. You will be given more every eight hours until the hold is removed from your case or the judge orders you returned to the courthouse."
"Is there water?"
"In your cell," she said. "You will remain shackled until I bring you to your cell. I will guide you with one hand, and the other is on the controls for your collar. If you misbehave along the way, you will suffer at the very least a five."
Blood Slave Page 3