Indeterminate Sentencing: Chp 1 (APH BTT)

"Mr. Beilschmidt," the judge said, reclining back in his chair.

It looked like a comfy chair, something Gilbert would have killed to sit in. Instead, he was here, standing at a podium. The chair back at the defendant's desk wasn't too comfortable, either.

"Would you care to explain why you once again broke the conditions set at your last hearing?" the judge continued.

Gilbert didn't like the judge. He seemed distracted, eyes half-lidded. He was probably thinking Gilbert was just like every other slacker, another deadbeat that was going to wind up at as a gas station attendant. Who probably thought he had bombed the SATs, that he was a waste of potential. Just like everyone else.

Through gritted teeth, "I don't like school."

"As we've discussed in the past, and as I'm sure you've discussed with your JCCO, school is an obligation. Not an option, Mr. Beilschmidt. An obligation." The judge shuffled the papers on his desk; probably blank, something that was supposed to be intimidating.

"An obligation," Gilbert repeated.

"Unfortunately for you and your family, you have broken the conditions set forth in your suspended commitment. That's not good, Mr. Beilschmidt. Not good."

"Really? Had me fooled," Gilbert muttered, back straight and eyes even.

The judge raised a lazy eyebrow. "You have both failed to attend classes at your school, as well as attend therapeutic groups—"

"They didn't help." Gilbert looked away from the judge to the carpet. It was an ugly carpet. "I did go, and it didn't help me any," he continued quickly. "She just talked and talked about what it was like when she was a kid, and she didn't even ask me about my life."

Another shuffling of the paper. "Did you consider the fact you didn't put yourself forward? Try to interact more with the group?" The judge flashed the papers. "I have your reports here, Mr. Beilschmidt."

Then why'd you ask?

Gilbert kept his gaze on the ground as the judge talked at him. Words and words about the rest of Gilbert's life and how this was going to affect his permanent record. In the end, Gilbert just stopped responding to questions—none of it mattered.

"You will be placed in Saliscreek Youth Detention Center for an indeterminate sentence. When your caretakers at the facility—"

Gilbert looked up. "'Indeterminate?'"

"It means—"

"I know what it means. You're just—throwing me in there? You have to give me a date of release. You have to." Something inside Gilbert shrieked. "Please," he spat out.

The judge tilted his head in what was probably supposed to be sympathy. His eyes were still detached, and Gilbert's mouth twisted into a sneer.

"Unfortunately, until you are deemed societally safe—"

"Safe?!" Gilbert leaned against the podium. "I didn't go to school! I didn't hurt anybody! I didn't even fuck—sell drugs, you can't just throw me in there and throw away the key!"

The judge didn't even look up.

"Look at me. You can't—" Gilbert's voice cracked.

"I'm sorry Mr. Beilschmidt, but my mind has been made up. Once your supervisors—"

Gilbert made to step around the podium. "You just can't do this! Listen to me!"

"—Have deemed you fit to reenter society, we will reevaluate your case."

Someone grabbed Gilbert's arm and hauled him back. Gilbert struggled, but his arm was yanked behind him, and before he could even comprehend what was happening, the handcuffs were back on. The guard twisted, and Gilbert snarled like a caged dog.

Gilbert was led toward the door. The other kids in the room, the others awaiting their turn in front of the judge, stared as he passed through the aisle.

"Have a good day, Mr. Beilschmidt."

Gilbert's hung his head, cheeks burning.

…

There was another kid on the bus. Gilbert watched him, eyes occasionally flicking up to the guard at the front of the bus. The guard, for his part, was doing a marvelous job of looking bored. His gun did a good job of looking dangerous.

The kid didn't seem to care about any of this. He was blond, and he sprawled in his seat, and he looked like he should have been chewing bubblegum. He grinned at Gilbert.

"Your hair's not gonna' last long in there, dude. Knew this kid who tried to redye his hair green and he was thrown in—"

"No talking," the guard called.

The blond shrugged and leaned back. Gilbert got the acute feeling that he was being judged, so he glared back, took up as much space as possible, and tried to remain as aloof. The other kid just grinned wider.

That became much more difficult when they pulled up to the building. Everything was squat and concrete; one large gray, sad square surrounded by chain-link and barbed wire. Gilbert had to force his knees not to shake as he stood.

The blond practically bounced to the front of the bus. Gilbert followed, stretching his fingers and shaking out his hands behind him, hoping that it might return circulation. The other kid didn't even seem to notice his handcuffs.

Another guard emerged from the building, and the two were led inside.

…

"Any medical conditions?"

Gilbert sat on the table, feeling like he was seven-years-old. "Uh."

The woman sighed, and Gilbert sat up straighter.

"Allergies, asthma, lice, crabs…"

"Crabs?"

The woman looked at him. "You have crabs?"

"No!" Gilbert coughed. "No."

…

Gilbert got changed quickly in the nurse's office before another guard let him into the main room.

All the guards were starting to look alike to Gilbert—blue and slightly overweight and looking at him with a vague sort of pity. Disdain. Gilbert found himself meeting their eyes and scowling.

The place reminded Gilbert of his school's cafeteria. There were metal tables in the center of the room. Built into the walls were cell doors, the same color as the guards' uniforms. A metal staircase led to a walkway wrapping around the room, and Gilbert could see more doors as they passed underneath.

A few kids milled around, and a few looked his way. Gilbert squared his shoulders.

"This is your cell," the guard introduced, gesturing around. "You'll be sharing with Bonnefoy. When a guard orders you to hit your door, you must return here immediately. If you do not obey orders, I will be forced to use physical means to make sure you aren't a danger to those around you."

Sure sounds 'forced.'

"Is that clear, Beilschmidt?" The guard turned to face him, and Gilbert became aware of the gun in his belt.

"Yes."

"Yes, sir."

Gilbert swallowed, grit his teeth, shut his eyes. "Yes, sir."

The guard grunted, and Gilbert opened his eyes to watch him move away.

"Carriedo," the guard called, "show the newbie around."

Gilbert looked around, wondering which boy would come forward. He met eyes with a tall boy with a knitted scarf, then noticed the blond boy from the bus standing nearby, leering. Gilbert clenched his fists.

It took him a second to notice the brunet standing a few feet away. They looked at each other for a moment. Gilbert hadn't even heard him approach. The boy smiled.

"Hi, I'm Antonio."

Gilbert nodded. "Gilbert."

Antonio beamed brighter. "I'm in for assault and battery. You?"