Chapter 38 — The Very Long Night of Hailey Aurora Elizabeth Winscombe

"Winscombe, time to move."

Hailey lifted her head. Everything felt so heavy. Even the air itself, which had always been her friend and companion, turned against her. She was totally, utterly alone once again—and she welcomed it.

She put her feet onto the floor of the office where they'd been keeping her. At first, they'd all stood a dozen feet away, hands on their guns, afraid she might make a move. Hailey didn't blame them for that. If she were in their position, she'd be doing the same. I can't be trusted not to get people killed.

Wordlessly, Hailey followed the agent's instructions. She was led through the corridors of the office building, past a dozen other agents who stopped everything to watch her pass by. Always the center of attention… Why didn't I ever realize how much this sucks? The agent leading her ignored everyone. Hailey realized there was a tailing duo of armored officers following them through the place, making sure she could be brought down.

I don't think they could, though. Just three guys isn't enough. They need more.

Hailey had been there for a day now. She'd walked off the plane before anyone else the day before and given herself up. It was the right thing to do. She'd committed crimes. It was all her fault. She deserved to be punished. That's how the system was supposed to work.

They'd treated her pretty well, all things considered. After the initial extreme caution wore off, and she'd shown them she'd be a model—if mostly silent and disconnected—prisoner, they brought her some food and water, gave her somewhere to lie down, even let her take a hot shower in their gym. For all intents and purposes, besides the handcuffs on her wrists, she might as well not even have been a prisoner.

Hailey went through the motions without feeling any of it.

The agents herded her into a conference room with tall, comfortable chairs and a wide window overlooking the city. They took the handcuffs off, and one of the agents started talking to her. It took a few tries before she finally started understanding what they were saying.

"Miss Winscombe, you're being charged with thirty-six counts of assault, fifteen counts of malicious destruction of property, ten…" He kept listing things. Hailey tuned him out. She didn't care. Eventually, the agent had to get her attention again. "We've called your lawyer from the last meeting. He'll be here in just a few minutes."

"I waive my right to an attorney," said Hailey in a glum, indifferent voice.

"...Talk to your guy," said the agent. "Seriously."

"I don't need to. I'm pleading guilty."

He shook his head. "I didn't hear that just now. Talk to your attorney, figure out what you're going to do. He'll be here in a few minutes. We'll be just outside." The guy glanced at the window. "You aren't gonna do anything stupid, right?"

Hailey glared at him. No, I'm not going to do anything. What would I do? I voluntarily put myself here. I deserve to be here. I'm staying right here. He winced and nodded, retreating from the room—leaving Hailey alone with her thoughts once more.

A face swam through her mind—the old man in the bar back in Tacoma, his eyes pleading with her to be saved. She'd been so close, but she couldn't do it. She'd saved him from the leader with the shotgun, but… she'd rushed into the backroom. She hadn't cleared the hallway. The guy at the door came back, and the old man died. One bullet in the face. That's all it took.

Hailey had never learned his name. She was too afraid.

The door to the conference room swung open. "Miss Winscombe," said Jefferson Baux, ambling in with a full tray of four coffees and a bundle of papers tight to his chest. He awkwardly got everything onto the table, closing the conference room door tightly behind him. "We do seem to meet under the most extraordinary circumstances."

"...Hi," said Hailey finally, after it became clear he wouldn't continue until she said something.

"I've been asked to pass along that your mother and two of your friends will arrive in town tonight," he added, sliding the coffee tray over. Somehow, he produced a fifth for himself and took a deep sip. "Pardon me, but I've just come straight from Seattle and the flight was a bit rough. I wasn't sure how you took yours, so I picked up a wide range."

Hailey shrugged. "I don't want any."

Jefferson hesitated, then nodded. "Have you spoken to anyone yet?"

"...Not… not really. They told me what I'm being charged with."

"Right." Jefferson looked over the long list in his folder. "Well, I won't make you suffer through that again. If it means anything, I passed quite a few protestors on my way into the building. You've got a lot of supporters out there," he added with a smile.

"And a lot of people who hate me," Hailey replied bitterly.

"Ah… well, you can't be famous without having those," Jefferson said conciliatorily. "You'll be pleased to know that your previous agreement with the FBI holds firm, and they aren't trying to charge you with anything prior to the last couple of days. This seems to be entirely based on crimes committed internationally, which gives us a lot of room to maneuver."

"Who are the two friends?"

"I'm sorry?"

"With my mom," said Hailey. "You said two friends are coming."

Jefferson opened his phone and checked something. "Mr… Rupert Roche and Mr. Weston Davis."

Both of them… Huh. "You can tell them to stay home."

"...Miss Winscombe, I think you may want to think about—"

"I'm pleading guilty."

Jefferson opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously shocked. Hailey turned to stare back out the window again, watching the cars go by in the street.

"Miss Winscombe, you really aren't guilty of most of this. At best, I'd agree you should probably pay some fines for property damage, but you shouldn't be going to jail. Certainly not for as long as you might. There will be quite a lot of pressure to make an example of you as the first trial to involved an awakened individual, particularly one of your status and fame."

"Sounds good to me."

He frowned, and began to pull out more sheets of paper from his folders. "I haven't had much time to do background research on your case, though my firm is working on it as fast as we can. It's unlikely you'd be sentenced consecutively, so you aren't looking at anything close to life. However, twenty to thirty years isn't out of the picture either. This case could go a lot of ways, Miss Winscombe."

Hailey nodded. "Twenty years is what I deserve."

"It's worth noting this is pretty preliminary too. There's no specific attorney signed yet—many of these may be dropped as they decide what they think they can actually stick. I expect we'll be able to waive a lot of this, under pretense of self-defense and your cooperation agreement with the FBI." He glanced down at a page. "We could swing the timeline to imply that you were intending to travel with Agent Makaio to London and work with him on a legitimate investigation, and events outside your control led to the illegal entry."

"But—"

"Miss Winscombe, you have quite a few people on your side here. Agent Makaio is already in touch with us, and Special Agent Ashe has also volunteered to testify on your behalf. Even Special Agent Aderholt, as unpleasant as that man might be, is willing to pitch in." Jefferson flipped over another page, showing a long list of supporters. "You've got Sir Thomas Laushire for God's sake. Everyone is in your court here. Nobody thinks you deserve to go to jail. Even the prosecution doesn't think you do. This entire trial is a show."

"I don't—"

"They need to prove to people that the government's still in control," said Jefferson. "That's all this is. You go through the motions, you get accused, you get cleared. No jury is going to convict you. Not with your story, and with who you're up against."

"I deserve it," Hailey shouted, and a rumble echoed through the room. Her wings had involuntarily swung wide. Windows shuddered, chairs slid away. An agent appeared at the window, but after seeing no real danger, he stepped away again.

Jefferson took a long time to respond, and when he did, his voice was far more subdued. "Is there no way I'm going to persuade you otherwise?"

"No."

He sighed. "They're going to move you into DC Central Detention today. They want to show they're treating you like anyone else." Gathering up his things, he left the coffee on the table. "I'll be in town the rest of the week. My husband wants to do some sightseeing, and we've been meaning to come to D.C. for years anyway. I really hope you change your mind, but if you don't, I recommend you retain the services of another law firm. I cannot in good conscience support your decision."

"Thanks," said Hailey, as he started to leave. He paused, looking over his shoulder. "You were a really good lawyer."

"One of the best, Miss Winscombe," said Jefferson. He gave her a respectful nod. "It's been a pleasure. I'll see you around."

Hailey never touched the coffee Jefferson brought her. She felt sick to her stomach—not in the immediate sense, but a gnawing, lingering form. Everything smelled rotten, everything tasted awful. Food was like ash in her mouth. She hadn't eaten all day, and she barely forced herself to drink some water from the cooler in the room. They left her alone in there for hours and hours, nothing to do, just watching the cars go by on the street below.

The cars… and the people. There were so many people.

They filled the street. News cameras had followed Hailey every step of the way from the plane to the FBI offices, and the crowds had followed. Hailey couldn't really make out any of them from this high up. Many carried signs, and they were moving around like an ant colony, constantly active. If she wanted, she could have used a spell on her eyes, spied on them like a hawk.

Just a little. Won't hurt anyone. Just so you know what they're doing, what they're saying.

Hailey sat back in the chair and turned away from the window. No magic, that was her decision. She couldn't get rid of her wings, but she wasn't going to use them either. They'd be the sole remaining link to her old life—a gift from Jessica that she'd hold for the rest of time.

Jess… please. I can't do this without you.

A knock at the door. More agents, and the handcuffs were back. "Time to go," said one of them, looking sympathetic.

Hailey got to her feet, a dull echo in her ears. "Where?" she asked.

"DC Correctional Treatment Facility," said one agent. "We can't hold you here in the offices anymore, so you're being moved there."

"My lawyer said the Detention place," said Hailey slowly. Are they putting me in a psych ward or something?

"Same thing, but Detention is a male-only prison. The Correctional Treatment Facility is right next to it." The agent glanced at her curiously. "Does it matter?"

She shrugged. "I guess not."

They put the handcuffs around her wrists again, loose so as to keep from chafing her skin. Hailey appreciated that. She was led into the elevator and escorted back to the front of the building, where a veritable army of riot-geared officers waited to escort her.

Hailey winced. I could do this for them. Just put up a wall of force on both sides, keep anybody from approaching. It'd be way safer and none of these guys would be putting their lives at risk for me. But she didn't do anything. They surrounded her and walked her out into the shouting, screaming crowds.

The lines were split very evenly. On one side, Hailey saw her supporters. Some were just fans—screaming about how unfair this was. Many were chanting some vague message of support for her taking down the rich and supporting the common people, or something like that. Hailey didn't really catch much of it, because the other half held her whole attention.

They hated her. So many people, screaming about the dead, the lost, the fallen. Pictures of victims—from Rallsburg and from Lakewood—were plastered on huge picket signs. Hailey couldn't tear her eyes away, even with the setting sun burning into her eyes. She hadn't seen some of those faces from Rallsburg in so long. She saw Gordon Merrill, the old journalist. Both Mason Rhistler and his uncle Rowan, the mayor. More and more, faces upon faces, mixed in with her own memories.

She'd last seen Rowan from above, running from the burning home of John Bell, a golem in pursuit. Hailey had tried to distract it, but she and Jessica were too exhausted by then. They'd flown by, keeping up their strength just to stay in the air and out of reach. He died behind them. Hailey hadn't seen how. She hadn't wanted to.

I could have saved him. I had more gems in my pocket. I didn't use them.

She saw the old man from the bar in Tacoma. Hailey's eyes teared up. He looked so happy in the photo, surrounded by his grandkids, standing on a beach somewhere. She had to look away. Her eyes fell to the ground, and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she was at the armored convoy. They hurried her into the car, and the unintelligible howling of the crowd finally died away. The two agents in the rear with her looked sympathetic, but Hailey didn't feel any of it.

She was even further away now, lost in her own memories, trying to hide from herself, but all she could see were the faces of the dead.