Chapter Text
The smell of sweat and adrenaline filled Brenda’s nostrils. Everything around her seemed to happen in slow motion such that faces, voices, her own body felt like a shadow to her. Nothing felt real.
“Ms. Murphy?”
Something that sounded like her name filled her buzzing ears. She flexed her hands to try and reach out, but the cold bite of something restricted them. They caught the light and Brenda gasped.
Handcuffs. Why am I in handcuffs?
“Ms. Murphy?” There it was again, that voice. It sounded clearer to Brenda. Female. Australian but, not fully. There was a whisper of a foreign accent beneath the painstakingly pronounced vowels. To someone else, the voice asked, “Officer Trello, have you taken Ms. Murphy’s photo and fingerprints?”
“Yep.”
“Then why is she still in handcuffs?”
“She was freakin’ out. Best to keep her restrained.”
“Did you consider that her distress was due to the fact that she remains handcuffed despite it being against protocol?
“She don’t know protocol.”
“Your lack of basic comprehension never fails to disappoint me, Officer Trello.”
Brenda blinked and the hazy shadows around her became clearer. She saw her hands, folded in her lap. They were encased in shiny metal cuffs. She flexed her fingers again and her bottom lip trembled. Panic rose in her chest and her throat constricted.
“Leave us,” the voice huffed.
“But -”
“She is a child. If you are so afraid of a …,” the sound of the ruffling of papers interrupted the voice, “... nineteen-year-old, then perhaps this is not the career for you.”
Brenda leaned forward and pulled her cuffed hands into her gut. Her fingers scratched at her jumper, trying to keep herself from floating away. She felt a warm, delicate hand on her shoulder and looked up. Espresso brown eyes met her own and the world around her instantly became clearer. She was staring up into the face of a stern, handsome woman. Her pale, angular features conveyed a certain authority and wisdom. She couldn’t have been older than thirty, but there was a depth in her dark eyes that spoke of an old soul.
“My name is Ms. Ferguson,” she said.
“M…Ms. Ferguson?” Brenda whispered. She hated how her voice broke, how close she was to the brink of tears. How terrified she sounded.
“Yes. And you are Ms. Murphy, correct?”
Brenda nodded. A stubborn curl fell into her eyes.
“I am going to release you from these handcuffs. Do I have your word that you will not try anything?”
“Try anything?” Brenda repeated, confused.
“That you will not react violently.”
“No. I mean, no, I won’t react violently. I promise,” Brenda stumbled.
“Very good.” Ms. Ferguson retrieved the key and uncuffed Brenda's hands with a flick of her wrist. She placed the handcuffs and key on a desk.
Brenda flexed her fingers and felt the panic dissipate in her chest. She rubbed her eyes and fluffed her hair away from her face before placing her palms flat on her thighs. It was then that she realized that she was seated in a small office. Her chair was positioned at the edge of the desk while Ms. Ferguson sat behind it. On the pristinely polished wood, Brenda caught a stack of paper, with a grainy photograph of her own face paperclipped to it. She also noticed Ms. Ferguson’s uniform; a pale brown button-down shirt and a calf-length a-line skirt. Heeled loafers encased the older woman’s feet, a sturdy tie kept her pristinely ironed collar upright. There was not a speck of dirt or dust on this woman’s uniform, and despite being sat in a chair, there was no wrinkle to be found in the fabric. Brenda wondered what magic Ms.Ferguson worked with her clothing iron to achieve such perfection.
“T-thanks,” Brenda mumbled. And as she did, the events of the last twelve hours came rushing back to her with such a force that Brenda let out a muffled gasp. Next, came the tears. She angrily rubbed her face again, trying to hide the evidence of her distress.
Ms. Ferguson reached into the lapel pocket on her shirt and unfolded a handkerchief. “Here,” she gently offered.
Brenda took the offering and muttered, “sorry, I’m not normally like this.”
Sighing, Ms. Ferguson responded, “it’s never easy. But the sooner you acclimate, the easier it will be.”
Brenda wiped her face and looked down at the smudges of eyeliner on the beautiful fabric. “I’ll wash it,” she promised.
“Not to worry. Just…don’t tell the women where you got it from,” she advised.
“The…women?”
Ms. Ferguson regarded Brenda patiently. “Ms. Murphy, do you recall what happened?”
Brenda tucked the gifted handkerchief into her pocket. “I was at the jewellers. Picking out something for my girl. For Valentine’s Day,” she sniffled.
Ms. Ferguson’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. She cleared her throat, “and what happened at the jewellers?”
Brenda frowned as she tried to remember. “These guys came in. Dressed all in black. They had guns. They were threatening us, me and the owner and the lady who works in the back. They smashed the glass. Tried to steal the necklace I was picking up,” Brenda frowned as the details flickered through her mind. “I wrestled with one guy for the gun. It went off. But I didn’t hurt anyone! It fired into the ceiling.”
Ms. Ferguson took a deep breath. “Ms. Murphy, as your fingerprints were found on the weapon, you are being charged as an accessory to armed robbery. The authorities allege that you were involved in the robbery and that you provided a distraction to lower the defences of the victims. They have also alleged that you are aware of where the missing jewellery is.”
“What? No way!”
“Ms. Murphy, I -”
“You gotta believe me!” Brenda reached a desperate hand out and intertwined her fingers with the older woman’s. “Please! I didn’t steal anything. The guy ran out of the shop with my necklace so I ran after him to get it. But he outran me. So I walked back to the shop and by then, the police were there. I tried to give them my statement but they just arrested me!”
Ms. Ferguson looked down at the young woman’s hands which were clinging to her own. “Please remove your hands from me. Touching an officer like this could earn you a charge, Ms. Murphy,” she warned.
Brenda let go of Ms. Ferguson but continued to plead her case. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m no thief. I’ve been working. Saving up. I bought that necklace with my own money that I’d earned.”
“That is a matter for your attorney to understand, Ms. Murphy. Officers are not to get involved with the ongoing cases of the women here. Our job is to provide you all with structure, shelter, and access to resources which may help you prepare your case.”
“But I’m innocent,” Brenda said, her shoulders slumped. “I just wanted to get something nice for my girl.”
Ms. Ferguson flipped through the pages on her desk. “You’ve never had any prior convictions. Not so much as a parking ticket,” she remarked with empathy.
“I swear, Ms. Ferguson, I’m not a criminal. I do honest work.”
“Where were you employed?”
“I wash dishes at Spiti. It’s a Greek restaurant,” Brenda explained.
“You didn’t wish to further your studies after year twelve?” Ms. Ferugson asked as she made notes in the file.
“Couldn’t afford to. Figured I’d take a few years to save up some cash.”
Ms. Ferguson closed Brenda’s file and sighed at the young woman. “Your trial date is not yet set. But I suspect that it will be within the fortnight. Do you have an attorney?” Brenda shook her head. “Very well, the prison will notify Legal Aid that you will require assistance. They will assign an attorney to your case and you may add them to your call list. I will try to expedite that process for you. Do you have any family or friends that you wish to add to your call list?”
Brenda shuffled in her seat. “My girl is my family. Can I add her?”
“Ahem. Yes, you may. Write her details down on this sheet.” Ms. Ferguson handed a form and pen to Brenda. As the young woman eagerly filled out the details, she added, “if I may offer you a word of advice, do not mention your loved ones to the other women.”
“Why not?” Brenda asked as she signed the bottom of the page.
“Because emotions are perceived as weakness in this place. Best to not be perceived at all. Keep your head down, apply yourself to your defence and to being productive in your work assignments. Do not get involved in any further elicit activities, that will only be added onto your existing charges.”
Brenda passed the form and pen back to Ms. Ferugson. “Is it…is it like the movies and television shows make it seem?” she shyly asked.
Ms. Ferugson offered her a grim shake of her head. “It is unlike anything you will have ever seen or experienced. But if you can rise above it, then you will know that you can persevere over anything.”
Brenda straightened her shoulders. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from pouting in fear. “Now what?” she asked.
Ms. Ferguson gestured to a white basket with folded articles of clothing. “Blackmoor’s prisoners wear this uniform.” Staring back at the pair of them was a pile of navy blue and yellow plaid.
“Oh, okay.”
“However, you are on remand, so it is not necessary for you to wear it,” Ms. Ferguson added.
Brenda eyed the combination of trousers, shirts, and jackets. “But if I wanted to blend in, I should, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Ferguson confirmed. “I will escort you to your unit. You will be housed with other inmates. It is imperative that you find a way to exist harmoniously with them. But that you -”
“Keep my head down,” Brenda finished. She stood up and grasped the white basket. “Thank you, Ms. Ferguson. I promise you that I’ll do my best.”
Officer Ferguson regarded the striking young woman and felt a flutter of protectiveness in her chest. This one was different. Special, even.
And that realization terrified her.