LaRoe: Verdict
Chapter 16
Jonah LaRoe stood at the request of the judge. The jury sat on the opposite side of the room. He watched them. Hoping to see the verdict in their eyes before it was read.
Months with the lawyers. Months in a prison cell. Months wasted. But his entire life hinged on this one single moment. This very point in time would determine once and for all what kind of man he would be remembered as.
His knees felt weak, like they would buckle beneath him. He could not be sure they wouldn’t if the jury foreman read “guilty.” His lawyer stood beside him, confidently. But these lawyers, they always looked confident. That was their job. Were they to waver, a bad signal could be sent to the jury.
The judge was reading the verdict at his bench. Emotionless, he returned the paper to the bailiff, who walked it to the jury foreman. Time seemed to be at a standstill as Jonah waited to hear the judgment of his peers.
“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”
“We have, your honor.”
“How do you find?”
Jonah was anxious.
“In the matter of The People vs. Jonah Malcolm LaRoe, on the charge of the murder of Derek Messer, we find the defendant… guilty.”
“Bailiff, please take the defendant into cus—”
Upon hearing these words, Jonah collapsed and passed out. The judge called for a paramedic to take a look at him, but when the doors to the courtroom opened, three men stepped inside. They were masked and dressed completely in black. The judge seized his gavel then, when suddenly, three flashbang grenades were tossed and detonated.
The sound was deafening and the bright flashes blinding. Smoke filled the room. No one could see a thing. The once-quiet courtroom was now filled with screams and panic.
One intruder restrained the bailiff with his own handcuffs. The two others grabbed Jonah, still unconscious, and dragged him out of the courtroom the back way. They carried him outside and into a dark van with no license plates. And sped off.
Jonah was laying on the floor of the van when he came to. When he looked around, he realized he did not know where he was. But when he tried to move, he could not. Each man still wore a mask and spoke through an apparatus that altered the sound of his voice.
“Where am I?” Jonah asked, not sure if he was actually speaking. He felt he had been drugged. He couldn’t see nor think clearly.
“Please lie still, Mr. LaRoe,” a deep voice commanded.
“Where the hell am I?!” he shouted, still unsure if he was audible.
He felt a needle go into his neck and an injection. He struggled to keep his eyes open. It was futile.
Hours later, Jonah awoke in what appeared to be a hospital room through his blurred vision. He heard the familiar beeps of a heart monitor. He felt safer. More comfortable.
The door opened and a man walked in.
“I’m glad you’re awake, Mr. LaRoe. I’m Agent Brock.”
Jonah LaRoe stood at the request of the judge. The jury sat on the opposite side of the room. He watched them. Hoping to see the verdict in their eyes before it was read.
Months with the lawyers. Months in a prison cell. Months wasted. But his entire life hinged on this one single moment. This very point in time would determine once and for all what kind of man he would be remembered as.
His knees felt weak, like they would buckle beneath him. He could not be sure they wouldn’t if the jury foreman read “guilty.” His lawyer stood beside him, confidently. But these lawyers, they always looked confident. That was their job. Were they to waver, a bad signal could be sent to the jury.
The judge was reading the verdict at his bench. Emotionless, he returned the paper to the bailiff, who walked it to the jury foreman. Time seemed to be at a standstill as Jonah waited to hear the judgment of his peers.
“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”
“We have, your honor.”
“How do you find?”
Jonah was anxious.
“In the matter of The People vs. Jonah Malcolm LaRoe, on the charge of the murder of Derek Messer, we find the defendant… guilty.”
“Bailiff, please take the defendant into cus—”
Upon hearing these words, Jonah collapsed and passed out. The judge called for a paramedic to take a look at him, but when the doors to the courtroom opened, three men stepped inside. They were masked and dressed completely in black. The judge seized his gavel then, when suddenly, three flashbang grenades were tossed and detonated.
The sound was deafening and the bright flashes blinding. Smoke filled the room. No one could see a thing. The once-quiet courtroom was now filled with screams and panic.
One intruder restrained the bailiff with his own handcuffs. The two others grabbed Jonah, still unconscious, and dragged him out of the courtroom the back way. They carried him outside and into a dark van with no license plates. And sped off.
Jonah was laying on the floor of the van when he came to. When he looked around, he realized he did not know where he was. But when he tried to move, he could not. Each man still wore a mask and spoke through an apparatus that altered the sound of his voice.
“Where am I?” Jonah asked, not sure if he was actually speaking. He felt he had been drugged. He couldn’t see nor think clearly.
“Please lie still, Mr. LaRoe,” a deep voice commanded.
“Where the hell am I?!” he shouted, still unsure if he was audible.
He felt a needle go into his neck and an injection. He struggled to keep his eyes open. It was futile.
Hours later, Jonah awoke in what appeared to be a hospital room through his blurred vision. He heard the familiar beeps of a heart monitor. He felt safer. More comfortable.
The door opened and a man walked in.
“I’m glad you’re awake, Mr. LaRoe. I’m Agent Brock.”
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