Those Who Spoon

Chapter Ten

“The State of Illinois v. Ebenezer Soon. Grand Jury . . .”

Ebenezer tuned the clerk out, staring hard at the pale wall. A fly crawled across it, adding to the soft murmurs and hum of the ventilator in the large room as it buzzed, trying to find a comfortable spot.

“. . . did unlawfully and by an act imminently dangerous to another, and evincing a depraved mind regardless of human life, although without any premeditated design to effect the death of any particular individual, kill Samantha Limestone, a human being above the age of eighteen, by cutting said victim, and during said . . .”

Lies; all lies.

“Mr. Soon?” the judge asked. Her sharp eyes seemed to find a way into his soul as they looked at him. He could feel her mind deep down inside him; he could feel her worm her way to the truth. As if satisfied with what she saw, Judge Hastings pushed her glasses up and cleared her throat. “How do you plead?”

Ben and his lawyer – a brilliant defense attorney called Walter Wylee who had served him well throughout the years – exchanged a glance. They had decided on what they were going to plead, and it was going to be risky. There was a great chance that Ebenezer would end up being sent to jail for at the very least 4 years, and at the most a horrendous 20.

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Ebenezer muttered.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak up, Mr. Soon. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” he said loudly. “I plead not guilty.”

Voices rose, murmuring in surprise at this. Ebenezer was not taken aback by their astonishment; it would have been a much wiser strategy to use the insanity plea. As it was, however, Ben refused to be remembered as that weird, crazy inventor who killed his spin doctor with a crystal vase when he had a fit. He wasn’t guilty, and so he would not plead as such.

“Does the state wish to be heard on bail?”

At once, the assistant attorney general sprang up, nearly losing his glasses in his enthusiasm (if you could call it that). Quickly pushing them back up his nose, Neil Quickwit spoke up. “Given the fact that this man is here on the account of second-degree murder – a severe charge – the state requests that the defendant is held without bail, Your Honor.”

Walter scoffed as soon as Neil’s lips sealed. “That’s preposterous. My client, whom we all know from the news, is a successful, respected man in the whole of America – and not only that, but he is also an invalid; reliant on others. Your Honor, he poses absolutely no flight risk.”

The prosecutor continued his speech as if the defense attorney had never protested. “Given the severity of the sentence of murder in the second degree and taking into account the defendant’s abundant resources, there most definitely is a great flight risk.”

“My client would not leave the country because he was wrongfully accused of a heinous crime,” Neil argued. “He is a pious, honorable man who trusts in God.”

“It is my humble opinion that State and Church were separated quite a few years ago.”

Judge Hastings rapped her gavel. “Counsel, please save your breath. This is an arraignment, not the actual trial. Given the charge, I would command that the defendant be held without bail.” She glanced at Ebenezer’s shabby wheelchair. “As it is, however, the defendant appears to be impaired. I don’t believe he truly poses a flight risk. Therefore the bail will be set at one and a half million, on the condition that the defendant cannot leave the premises of his house.”

Ebenezer felt joy rip through his body and ignored the indignant whispers behind him and the delighted gasp of his mother, who had not been able to look into his eyes when she had entered the courtroom. Grinning like an idiot, Ben looked at his Wylee and, to many people’s astonishment, showed gratitude by uttering two simple words to the attorney: “Thank you.”