Beyond The Shadow

Chapter 6

The cold metal cuffs pinched my wrists. They never took them off. Not even when they dragged me back in here to face the same people who wanted my head.

I could smell the air of the courtroom before I even stepped in.

I stood there, waiting for the guard to shove me into the defendant’s chair. He did. Hard. My shoulder slammed the wood, but I didn’t flinch. Couldn’t show weakness. Not here.

The judge called my name like I was a number.

“Mr. Alister.”

I looked up. His eyes were small behind his glasses. He tapped his papers like my life was just a file he could close.

“Your lawyer has submitted your plea. "Not guilty,” he said, voice flat. “Is that correct?”

I cleared my throat. My voice came out dry. “Yes, Your Honor.”

A low murmur ran through the room. I heard someone hiss. Someone else spat on the floor. The guards shifted closer to me.

I didn’t look at them. My eyes found him instead. Mr Edmund. He sat three rows back, surrounded by his people. No emotion. He just stared at me. His cane rested on his knees. The man I bled for. The man who sold me out. I still couldn't believe it. Yet again, what did I expect?

I wanted to get up and lunge at him. I wanted to feel his throat crack in my hands. But I stayed seated. I had to. I was chained like a dog.

The prosecutor stood up. She smiled at the judge, then turned her eyes on me. Those eyes could cut through steel.

“Your Honor,” she said, her voice sweet like poison. We have evidence that Mr Alister Hale committed multiple murders in Colombia. We have witness statements, photographs, financial records. We have testimony linking him to the death of an innocent family.”

She looked at me. I could see it gave her pleasure.

“And we have proof he was acting under orders from the Sombra family. A trusted enforcer, Your Honor. But when the job went wrong, he did what criminals do. He cleaned up his mess.”

She turned to the jury. Faces pale. A few people looked away when she mentioned the little girl. They didn’t want to hear it. But they would.

I kept my hands on the table. I could still feel Miguel’s blood on my skin. No soap in that filthy cell could scrub it off.

My lawyer was useless. Some public defender with messy hair and a cheap tie. He didn’t even look at me as he stood up.

“My client was framed,” he said weakly. He was under orders. He tried to protect him…”

The judge raised a hand. “Save that for trial.”

The lawyer sat down. Didn’t say another word.

The bailiff called the first witness. An officer from Ciudad. He described the scene. The warehouse. The bodies. My fingerprints on the chair I was tied to. They made it sound like I killed Miguel with my bare hands.

I didn’t move. I let them talk. I knew how this game worked.

The second witness was a woman from the bakery near the warehouse. She said she saw me there two nights before. That was true. But I was there for bread, not blood. They twisted it.

My throat burned. I wanted to shout that Francis did it. Ricardo did it. Mr Edmund did it. But who would believe me? The king sat three rows back, in a spotless suit, shiny watch. No one would touch him.

Hours dragged by. The courtroom air got thicker. People shuffled, whispered. The judge tapped his pen, bored already.

When they called for a break, the guards pulled me up. They led me out through the same door, past the same rows of eyes. I searched the crowd.

And then I saw her.

Hannah.

She stood at the very back, half hidden behind a pillar. Her eyes locked on mine. Her hair was tied up, dark coat wrapped tight around her shoulders. She looked tired. Scared. She shouldn’t have been here.

I stopped walking. The guard yanked my arm.

Hannah didn’t look away. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear. Maybe she said sorry. Maybe she said nothing.

The guard shoved me forward.

The holding cell was small. Four grey walls, flickering light. I sat on the bench, chains still on my wrists. My lawyer leaned against the bars, flipping through papers he didn’t read.

“They want you dead, you know that?” he said without looking up.

I didn’t answer.

He dropped the folder on the bench beside me. “Your only shot is to talk. Give them something bigger.”

I laughed under my breath. “You think they don’t already own this place?”

He sighed. Rubbed his face. “You’re done, Hale. You don’t have a friend in this city.”

He was wrong. I had one. Maybe.

I thought of Hannah’s eyes. The way she looked at me just now. Maybe she still believed me. Or maybe she pitied me. Didn’t matter. She was all I had.

They brought me back in after lunch. Same seats. Same cheap coffee smell. Same judge.

This time the prosecutor asked for my phone records to be shown. Messages between me and Miguel. Maps. Photos. They painted it like I planned the whole thing.

I kept my eyes on the table. My handcuffs clinked every time I shifted. The cold metal was all I could feel.

When the judge called for final statements, the prosecutor rose again. She walked close to me this time, like she wanted me to smell her perfume.

“Your Honor, this man is not a hero. He is not a scapegoat. He is a monster who used a poor family to cover his tracks. He deserves no mercy.”

She didn’t even look at me when she sat down.

My lawyer stood. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He sat down again.

That was it.

The judge shuffled his papers, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. He looked tired of all of us.

“Bail is denied. Mr Alister Hale will remain in custody until sentencing. Trial continues next week.”

He banged the gavel. The room burst into noise. Reporters shoved each other. Cameras flashed. Someone shouted my name. The guards pulled me up before I could look for Hannah.

They dragged me down the hall. The cuffs cut deeper into my skin. Each step felt like it weighed a ton.

In my head, I saw Francis. His grin when he pulled the trigger. Ricardo counting blood money. Mr Edmund fixing his tie while they buried Miguel.

I told myself I’d get out. One way or another.

They could lock my body in this place, but my mind was free. I pictured Hannah standing behind that pillar. I replayed her eyes over and over. She was my last thread.

When they threw me back into my cell, I sat on the bunk and stared at the wall. Somewhere out there, she knew the truth.

And if she knew, maybe there was hope.

I didn’t sleep that night. I listened to the pipes rattle. The guards’ boots thudding down the corridor. I watched the small window for any sign of dawn.

Tomorrow they’d come for me again. More lies. More witnesses. More stories to bury me.

Let them try.

I clenched my fists, chains rattling around my wrists.

I’d survived worse than this.

I’d survived the Sombras.

I’d survive this too.