HARMONY

Part 30 "The Hall"

Alone, Michelle goes to Juvenile Hall to try to bail out Drew

Russ promised to meet Michelle at 'the hall' with a friend from college who specialized in juvenile delinquents. Michelle cringed at those words, but couldn't muster the energy to argue.

Her car pulled into a grungy gas station within a few blocks of the juvenile detention center. She bought a pack of cigarettes and a diet soda. Leaning against the wall next to the broken bathroom door, she took a slow drag. She coughed and choked and spit. She took a swig and sprayed brown across the stained cement. She took another drag, then another, each going better than the last. Her lungs filled with the vile toxic smut and she welcomed the damaging burn.

Everything around her was dirty. Dirty air, dirty cars, dirty people. Hot summer winds brought more filth and stirred wrappers at her feet. She had figured she'd be picking up Claire here one day, but never Drew. The last embers crushed beneath her Jimmy Cho into the filthy ground. The reflection in the door caught her image as she walked to her car. Michelle noted how good she looked—rich, tailored, together. She stuffed the pack of cigarettes into her purse and got into her car. 

Drew's thin mattress crunched beneath him as he rolled to stare at the only other furnishing is his room—a stainless steel toilet. Next to it—his bowl of oatmeal that had been slid into his 'intake cell' at six a.m. He never touched it.

The iron door opened. "Let's go, Kingsley." The officer held a set of martin chains and pointed to Drew's shoes outside the cell door. "Those first, then these."

Clanking down the hall, Drew struggled to find a walking rhythm with his chained ankles and wrists. "Is this my arraignment?"

"Nope." The cop led Drew through a series of grey hallways and secured doors.

"Am I meeting my—" tears choked out the next word, "parents?"

"Yep."

Drew let out a long sigh. He was led into a classroom-sized room with long metal tables, folding chairs and an assortment of parents. Michelle and Uncle Russ stood out like rose bushes in a bowling alley.

Michelle's hand pulled to her lips and Russ put an arm around her shoulder, whispering a few words. Drew's chains were unlocked and he sat across from them.

"Are you," Michelle struggled to speak, "are you okay?"

"No," Drew said. His pale face rippled with marks of a sleepless night. "Uncle Russ, how quick can you get me out of here?"

Russ smoothed his tie. "This isn't exactly my area, but I've done some research the past twelve hours."

Michelle reached over and touched Drew's arm. "Honey, we're going to get you the best attorney and you'll be free of this nightmare in no time."

Drew pulled his arm away and looked at Russ. "The cop who brought me here said at least six months."

"Well," Russ said. "That is a, um, conservative estimate."

"What?"

Each word landed with thud of a cannon ball. "Tuesday is the arraignment. Charges will be read. I suspect the DA will ask to try you as an adult and request a direct file."

"How long?"

"There's a lot of moving pieces here and—"

"How long?"

In a far corner of the room, a fight broke out. In a spastic clash of cursing and metal chains, guards quickly dragged two struggling boys from the scene. The room returned to the desperate and muffled conversations.

"Again," Russ said. He looked everywhere, but at Drew. "I've never dealt directly with a criminal case before—"

"Uncle Russ," Drew's eyes narrowed. "How long?"

Michelle slowly turned her gaze from where the scuffle took place and looked firmly at her brother. "Good God, Russ. How long will he have to stay here?"

Russ cleared his throat. "Maybe a year."

"Oh my god," Michelle said.

Drew slumped in his chair as if he'd been cracked over the head with an axe.