Yeah.
My arraignment.
It didn’t get any more real than that.
After a short ride in the backseat of a police car, the officers hauled me into a precinct where I was booked—fingerprints, mug shot, the works. Then I was shuttled to Central Booking at the New York City Criminal Court for further processing. After being shoved into a holding cell with a dozen other women who, from the looks of them, were primarily hookers and crack addicts, I waited. And waited. A few hours later I was escorted into a courtroom that looked altogether too much like the one I had escaped from over a year before. The difference between then and now? I wasn’t leaving this room a free woman.
The arraignment hadn’t lasted more than five minutes. Ivers and the prosecutor had spoken rapidly, firing words at the judge. I caught phrases like one-ninety-fifty and remand. It was yet another code I couldn’t crack. All too quickly, I was being led out of the courtroom, and Ivers had followed me into a small room. His explanation of what had just happened, and what was going to happen next, had scared the hell out of me.
I’d been denied bail. Ivers had argued for an astronomical figure, but given the flight risk I presented, the judge had been resolute.
Nothing Ivers could have said would have prepared me for the reality of being chained to the arm of another woman as the bus chugged toward Rikers and then, upon arrival, being stripped of my clothes and my dignity. But three things he’d said stuck with me. First, his phone number, not that I could make calls from the bin. Second, Simon had ordered him to do whatever he could to help me. And third, I only had to endure this hell for 144 hours. Then they either had to indict me or conduct a preliminary hearing in front of a judge. Six days. I could survive anything for six days. I hoped. The second bit of information was all that was holding me together at that moment. The knowledge that even though he knew everything, Simon hadn’t given up on me yet. Which meant I wasn’t giving up either.
I wanted to smile at the thought of Simon, but my busted lip hurt too much. I rested my chin on my bent knees and tried to block out the woman screaming obscenities at me from where she was locked across the hall. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes for shit to unravel once I’d been escorted to the large bunkroom-type cell. I could still hear the ripple of whispers as my identity was passed from one inmate to the next. And then Bertha, as I’d dubbed her, had stepped up and told me that no skinny, rich, poser bitch was going to look sideways at her. I was still having a what the fuck are you talking about moment when her Mack truck of a fist had connected with my cheekbone. White spots had burst in my vision as she’d tackled me to the floor. The guards had been slow to pull her off me, and my scalp stung where she had ripped out a chunk of my hair. I’d gotten a few elbows in, but there was no question that I’d been the loser in that exchange.
So we’d both been thrown in the bin. While it was considered harsh punishment, I was thankful to be by myself and felt relatively safe within these four gray concrete walls. If I was still in the bunkroom, I would’ve been afraid to close my eyes, regardless of the fatigue dragging me under. But in here, once I blocked out Bertha’s threats, I could let myself drift off to sleep. Only 142 more hours to go…
I stepped out of my mother’s hospital room to answer my buzzing phone.
Ivers. I’d been waiting for him to call me all damn day.
“Please tell me you have good news.”
He cleared his throat, and my stomach dropped when he hesitated before speaking.
“Mr. Duchesne, I would have called sooner, but I wanted to be able to give you a full picture of what we’re dealing with here.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Unfortunately, Ms. Agoston has been charged with conspiracy to commit grand larceny in the first degree, and was remanded into custody following her arraignment this evening.”
My breath heaved out of my lungs like I’d been sucker-punched. I bent at the waist and tried to comprehend what the fuck Ivers was saying.
“What do you mean, remanded into custody? She’s in jail?”
“Yes, Mr. Duchesne. She’s at Rikers.”
“What the fuck?” My hands shook, and my words echoed off the sterile white walls of the hallway. The charge nurse glared and made a cutting motion across her neck. For the second time today, I sank to the floor, weak-kneed. “Can’t you get her out?”
“Mr. Duchesne, I pushed for the judge to set bail—even a ridiculous figure—and he refused. I have a meeting with Special Agent in Charge Childers tomorrow morning to discuss the information Ms. Agoston provided, and I’m hoping we can come to an agreement that will end with the state charges being dropped. We’ll do everything we can to get her out, as quickly as possible.”
Jesus Christ. What a clusterfuck. I closed my eyes and pictured Charlie in a prison jumpsuit. The dinner I’d choked down in the cafeteria threatened to come back up.
Ivers waited patiently for me to respond.
“Look, call me if anything changes. Day or night. Don’t wait next time. I don’t care if you don’t have the full picture or not. I want to know everything, as it happens.”
“Of course.”
I ended the call, dropped my head back against the wall, and squeezed my eyes shut. Charlie was in jail, and my mother was in a coma. In a matter of days, my life had morphed into a waking nightmare.
My father shuffled out of my mother’s room and jerked his head toward the bench across the hall.
“Sit with me?” he asked.
I pulled myself together and joined him on the teal and yellow flowered cushion.