Her
nails were painted bright red, as were her lips in contrast against her
pale childlike complexion. In earlier times he would soften at this overt
display of vulnerability.
.."please your honour the defendant has demonstrated remorse, the act was entirely out of character"...
The judge replaced his glasses and glanced at the middle aged women
talking. Then he looked at the defendant sitting beside her. A young women
of about 25 years. She was wearing a neat black dress almost to her knees,
short sleeves, dark stockings and black high stilettos. Her eyes were downcast.
One white hand grasped and regrasped another within the confines of her
handcuffs. Her
nails were painted bright red, as were her lips in contrast against her
pale childlike complexion. In earlier times he would soften at this overt
display of vulnerability.
"...long years she attempted to conform to the strict regime laid down by her aunt.. the act was more a statement than a malicious..."
The woman spoke without pause. She had developed a comfortable pace
Several voices momentarily penetrated the court through the door
jammed open at the rear. Office workers passed in the corridor outside.
The women raised her voice a little.
"...as provided to us by the evidence of the aunt, Mrs Bearle"... so saying she turned perceptibly and glanced at the older woman seated beside the man in the bench seating of the court. ..."who told us of her distress".
The judges eyes wandered. Over to the aunt. The woman was sitting
bolt upright, her attention riverted on the address.
She had a haughty disapproving expression that the judge vaguely
suspected was permanently affixed to her face.
Then he looked to the defendant. She had crossed her legs, folding
them tight together. Her legs were outlined darkly, and shone faintly where
the nylon stretched tightly over her knees and the forward curves of her
leg and ankle. She had placed her hands, facing downwards,one partly over
the other, on her upper leg behind her knee. It was an instinctive pose,
and the judge felt a stirring that he had to suppress. He knew the image
of this girl would visit him again, within the warm confines of flannel
sheets. She would visit him dreamlike, nestling beside him, warm and soft.
He would feel the cold of her chains, as she entwined her lovely legs about
his...
The judge suddenly realized the girl was looking up at him. He blinked
hard several times to rid the distraction, inclined his head again at the
speaking woman, and resolved to bring the monologue to an end.
Amy Newham was sentenced to 3 years at a designated state penitentiary
for women.
After the judge made a hurried departure, the girl was left standing,
sobbing, awkwardly wiping at tears with the borrowed handkerchief. The
women lawyer consoled her despite the defeat she herself had just suffered..
A defeat whose inevitability she had sensed.
"...Judge Howard made you eligible for psychiatric treatment. You may be able to stay outside the prison..."
The young policeman approached. In his hands he held discretely her
chains. He went down on one knee and fitted the neat stainless steel band
above the left ankle. The girl was almost oblivious of the clicking ratchet.
Then she realized, and look down, and moved her other foot absent mindedly
forward for chaining. The policewoman unlocked one of her hand cuffs, and
fitted it through an elongated link. From this link depended a chain that
was connected at the bottom end to a one inch sliding ring on the girls
ankle chain. It lifted slack chain up from the floor between her ankles.
The girl in her chagrin,looked behind her, but with relief saw that
the court was now empty. She then looked down again, at the metal bands
now sitting comfortably above her ankles, bright against the dark sheen
of her stockings. They were not tight, but the implacable thin silver chain
would assure she would not run, even if she kicked off her heels.
"...I will make some enquiries " her women lawyer added to earlier
conversation that had gone unheeded.
She had finished packing her brief case. She turned towards the
girl, brief case in hand ready to depart. The girl was no longer sobbing.
Her face was flushed and wet from her tears,
"...are you alright dear? " The girl nodded yes. She steeled herself
not to cry further.
"Heres your ..." the girls voice trembled and was barely audible.
She reached out with joined hands against the limitation of the chain to
her ankles, to return the handkerchief.
The woman nodded sympathetically, and took the handkerchief and
turned to leave. The policewomen gently guided her forward, hand on upper
arm, and she took her first steps. She looked down at the chain swing.
It accommodated her steps comfortably. She had learned to walk well in
high heels, but she now no longer had arms free to counterbalance. The
policewomen sensed the girls difficulty and allowed her to walk at her
own pace. The policeman had gone ahead.
They walked into the brighter light of the corridor. The girl tensed in
awful anticipation of ordinary people witnessing this humiliating journey.
The rising panic would have made her pull and run if it were possible.
But the clever thin chains, snaking and sliding, and clinking, told her
she would not.
The corridor was empty. The policewomen turned the girl towards
the bench seating against the wall and directed her to sit. Her chain made
a soft dull metal sound on the marble floor as she sat, and the policewomen
gingerly sat on her left side.
The two sat mute for minutes; the policewomen alert and restless
and Amy looked into the vast expanse of corridor to her right.
The building stood a monument to more prosperous times. Vast masonry
walls rose and arched into the ceiling. Big fans hung at regular intervals
along the ceiling. Some turned, stirring the warm oppressive air. The building
was now old and un-maintained. The off-white paintwork and patches now
flaked in places. Yellows and faded pinks. Amy sat primly, in her chains.
In the wan and ebb of awful emotions,she saw herself to be a ill fated
maiden within the living bowels of the vast legal building. Out of reach
of her friends; what few still cared. The scene before her hung suspended,
as some slowly materializing nightmare devised its theme for her.
Amy moved to relieve the tension of her body. Her legs felt hot
and perspiring, and she wished she had not worn stockings. Her cunt felt
warm and sticky, and she felt some uncertainty with her bladder. Unexpected
sensations. She rolled a little on the seat, and crossed her legs.
"May I go to the toilet Ma'am."
The policewoman looked back at her, thinking. Amy uncrossed her legs.
They were beginning to perspire where they had been touching. As she did
her ankle chain caught on the heel of her left shoe. She let out a sigh
of exasperation. The policewoman leaned down and pulled at the chain looped
around the long stiletto.
"Lift your foot a little, love"
The chain fell away and then arced freely between the girls ankles
"Its over there!", whe said pointing.
Amy stood up, tottering a little to gain balance. The policewoman
reached out with a steadying hand, very gently touching Amy's hip. She
was trying to suppress a smile. Amy set off with her quick little staccato
steps, past the policewoman.
"Wait!" said the policewoman. She was rummaging in her bag.
"Take these.!"
The policewoman tore two tablets from a set.
"Its valium"
Amy took them in one hand. She stared at the capsules in her open
hand for seconds, thinking. She had a lot of fun with drugs. Now that she
needed them, why shouldn't she take them. She turned on her heel and set
off, chains tinkling towards the toilet entrance. A tall wooden door painted
and repainted coats of cream. The paint had partly obscured part of the
brass plate of a womans silhouette screwed centrally on the door. It was
the first doorway opposite on the corridor, diagonally across from where
they sat.
She pushed at the flat brass knob with both hands, and the solid
wooden door open. Inside there were white marble tiles on both floor and
walls. Old fashioned enamalled cast iron basins lined one wall. The girl
entered a cubical, and sat.
Minutes later she wiped herself, with some difficulty, stood, and
adjusted her clothing.
She stepped out and towards a basin. Then to her horror, the door
opened. Two Girls entered, talking animatedly. They saw her, and their
conversation abruptly halted. Amy stepped to the basin and ran the water.
She glanced up at the mirror to see one girl going into a cubicle. The
other was approaching one of the basins close beside her. She was looking
downwards. Fascination by the metal on the girls ankles.
The girl walked up to the basin and began to adjust her makeup.
Several times she looked at Amy as if about to say something. Amy
resolutely ignored her and completed washing her hands. There were several
glasses on the shelf above the basins. But Amy was chain restricted, and
could not reach up. She would not ask the girl beside her to help. It was
not stubbonness. It was shame. She was like an invalid with limited movements.
Not as a result of accident or nature. But by legal decree. So instead
she placed the tablets in her mouth, and cupped the water up using both
hands pressed side by side. The chain rattled against the basin edge, and
Amy sensed the girl looking at her in her struggles.
She completed her task and turned and headed for the exit. She pulled
at the inside brass knob of the door. The door was sprung, and she quickly
discovered that she could not let the handle go, otherwise it would shut
before she got around it. With all the sound of chain and heels, and sighs
of exasperation, the office girl at the basin walked over, and held the
door open. Easy as pie. Amy sailed out as delicately as a concubine. She
did not look at the girl as she passed her or offer a thankyou. In her
desire to leave quickly, and alleviate the intense embarrassment, manners
were left behind. The girl holding the door open looked on passively. She
leaned on the door awhile, and watched the girl return directly to her
seat beside the policewoman.