by S. G Mark
Above in his glass box, Jack gulped back the lump in his throat as the rest of his body went numb.
“I now call Steven Lennox to the courtroom,” Sir Richard demanded and the room erupted into excitable whisper.
Jack shot a look at Matthew, who was already by the door, inviting the guards to come in.
“What’s happening?” Jack asked, panicked.
The guards unlocked his chains, but kept his handcuffs on. They led him from the glass box back through the oak doors and down a grand stairwell, where a flash of stray photographers congregated.
Trembling with fear, Jack was maneuvered into the entrance of the courtroom. The black door exhaled a madness about it. Looming on the other side was a cacophony of hate, a myriad of raw resentment. With heavy clunking, the doors pulled open and Jack was dragged through into hell itself.
He felt like a man being taken to the gallows, the noose being tied as he was shoved into the stand where so many of his friends had stood before. Jane, his first girlfriend; his father and even little insignificant Charlie. So many lives intertwined through his own.
From the stand, the courtroom was insurmountably frightening. He could see his glass box, now vacant, and wished above all else to be back there - for just one more day, that was all. Tomorrow they could hang him, they could throw him to the lion pit and do whatever justice they served fit - but not today. He scanned the room and the faces staring back at him were both frightened and angry. Many looked at him with disgust, contempt and anguish. Jack had guessed who his audience was a long time ago. Victims of the bombings and their families. People out for blood, and blood it seemed was the currency of justice.
“Mr Steven Lennox?” Sir Richard addressed him.
Jack turned to him, now able to fully appreciate the man’s second chin rolling over his collar; spectacles perched on the tip of his rotund nose as the white wig framed his creased features.
“Yes,” Jack said, his voice wavering.
This is it, he thought privately. Any second he would hear his fate being read out, broadcasted to the nation. He felt weak, damaged and drained. He clutched the edge of the witness box for support and turned away from the Judge and into the crowd.
Piercing through the dazzling eyes that watched him so religiously, were a set he could never forget. At first he thought he’d imagined them, and maybe he still did but he allowed the dream to continue. In this very moment he needed her like no other. To feel her soft skin on his, to revert back to that one day they shared together so many years ago. Before life became complicated, before Jack knew too much.
Eliza smiled weakly at him, her long flowing hair shielding her from the television cameras on either side. For weeks he had suspected she would be standing where he was right now; and though he found it curious, he was glad that day never came. But she was here now, and the connection they shared across the courtroom told him that everything he had hoped for was still alive in her heart; beating ever onwards.
As Sir Richard continued, he never once broke eye contact. Gazing into her beautiful face made the words fall less painfully on his ears as the Judge’s gravelly tones swam amongst the hushed silence and his own thumping cardiac rhythm.
“Mr Steven Lennox it is my duty to this country to ensure that you are never released back into the public domain. You will remain incarcerated for the remainder of your life at a secure facility, where you will live in solitary confinement. You will never be granted parole. You will never again be allowed to harm the country you have fought so ferociously to destroy.”
Hands grabbed his arms. His mind was melting as it came to accept what had been said; but still his eyes didn’t stray from Eliza’s.
Drowning: it felt as if he were drowning. The courtroom burst into commotion. Tears trickled down Eliza’s cheeks, as did Jack’s; save he could scarcely feel them. It was both real and a nightmare, mingled in some hellish cocktail he wished he could wake from. The guards pulled him backwards from the witness box, but his feet dragged like deadweight. Items rained down on him from the steep slopes above, batted away by the frustrated guards.
He wanted to say something - a poignant last speech before he disappeared into the obscurity of the justice system. Never again would he be allowed this opportunity to speak such savage truth to the public. However, he was too wise for such dramatics. What would a few fine words achieve where actions could not? They all shared the same miserable struggle, witnessed the same toxic cycle. If they weren’t able to see if for themselves, then why should he waste his last precious moments on them, when he could gaze across at the ever shrinking diamond amongst the coal. Never again would he see her, and that was the death sentence he had feared all this time.
To be continued in....
The Glass House