Justice served

RYAN

The court finds the defendants, Margaret Willbrook and Chase Willbrook, guilty of all charges, including aggravated assault, child abduction, and human trafficking,” the judge’s voice rang through the silent courtroom, each word precise and deliberate. He adjusted his glasses, his gaze cold as it swept over the two monsters sitting at the defense table.

“For these heinous crimes,” he continued, “Margaret Willowbrook is hereby sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. Chase Willowbrook is sentenced to life imprisonment with an additional twenty-five years for his direct involvement in these atrocities.”

The gavel struck with a sharp crack, finalizing the judgment. The sound echoed in my ears, but it didn’t bring the closure I had hoped for.

I stared at the two of them—Margaret, with her unflinching, steely gaze, and Chase, who sat slumped like the spineless coward he’d always been. There wasn’t a flicker of regret or shame between them, and that made my blood boil.

Margaret tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint smirk as if the sentence was nothing but a minor inconvenience. Chase, on the other hand, avoided looking at anyone, his cowardice on full display.

“Do you have any final statements before the court?” the judge asked.

Margaret rose slowly, her chains clinking with every movement. She turned, her eyes scanning the courtroom until they landed on me. I felt Violet tense beside me, her hand brushing against mine as though she feared I’d snap.

Margaret’s voice was calm, almost pleasant, as she spoke. “The world is full of hypocrites, Your Honor. You lock me away, but you can’t erase what I’ve done. My actions will linger, in him—” she jerked her head in my direction “—and in everyone else I touched. You think locking me up will change that?” She smiled faintly. “Good luck.”

The courtroom erupted into murmurs, disgust and horror rippling through the crowd.

“Order in the court!” the judge thundered, banging his gavel until silence returned. “Take them away.”

I felt a hand on my arm. It was Violet. Her touch was light, grounding, the only thing keeping me from storming across the courtroom and making her regret every second of her miserable existence.

"Ryan," Violet whispered, her voice calm but laced with worry. "She's not worth it."

I exhaled sharply, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. She was right. Margaret didn’t deserve another second of my energy. She had taken so much already—my childhood, my peace, the lives of those who didn’t make it out.

This wasn’t about her anymore. This was about me. About the others who finally had a chance to heal.

The bailiffs moved in, cuffing Margaret and Chase before leading them out. Margaret didn’t resist, didn’t look back. Chase stumbled, muttering something under his breath, but I didn’t care enough to listen.

For a moment, I thought I would feel lighter, freer, like the weight of everything they’d done would finally lift from my shoulders. But all I felt was...numb.

“Ryan?” Violet’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Her eyes searched mine, her expression soft and full of that endless patience I didn’t deserve but clung to anyway.

“They’re gone,” I said quietly, as if saying it out loud would make it real.

“And they can’t hurt anyone else,” she added, her hand still resting on my arm.

I nodded, but the tightness in my chest didn’t ease. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

As we left the courtroom, the reporters outside swarmed like vultures, their cameras flashing, their questions flying.

"Mr. Jenkins! Do you feel justice was served today?"
"What do you plan to do next?"
"Do you have a message for the victims who didn’t survive?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My jaw tightened as Violet stepped in front of me, shielding me from the chaos like a shield I didn’t know I needed.

“We have no comment,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the cacophony around us.

We pushed through the crowd, the weight of their stares following us until we finally reached the car.

Inside, the silence was deafening.

"Do you feel any better?" Violet asked, her voice hesitant.

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. "I don’t know."

“Ryan?”

“Huh?” 

“Do you want to go somewhere?” she asked softly.

I turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s not go back to the apartment right now. Let’s go somewhere… different. Anywhere you want.”

I frowned. “Why?”

She hesitated, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “Because you look like you’re suffocating, and I think you need air. A change of scenery. Something.”

I stared at her for a moment, debating whether to argue, but something in her eyes stopped me.

“Fine,” I said finally. “Your idea, your pick.”

Ten minutes later, we were standing in front of a paintball arena.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, crossing my arms as I glared at the sign.

“Nope,” Violet said, grinning. “You said I get to pick, remember?”

“Violet, I just sat through hours of court reliving every nightmare from my childhood. And your big idea to cheer me up is paintball?”

She shrugged, still smiling. “You look like you need to blow off some steam. Plus, I’m surprisingly good at this.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It was short, sharp, and edged with disbelief, but it was real.

“You’re serious?” I asked.

“Dead serious,” she said, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the entrance.

\---

By the time we were suited up and on the field, something inside me shifted. The tension in my chest eased as I focused on the game. Violet was a blur of movement, darting behind cover and popping out just long enough to shoot.

“Gotcha!” she yelled triumphantly as one of her shots hit me square in the chest.

“You’re going to regret that,” I called back, chasing her down until I cornered her.

“Truce!” she shouted, laughing as she raised her hands in surrender.

For the first time in weeks, I felt lighter.

\---

Later, as we sat in the car, both of us covered in paint and out of breath, Violet leaned her head back against the seat.

“Feeling better?” she asked, her voice soft but teasing.

I glanced at her, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Maybe.”

Her phone buzzed, but before she could reach for it, mine vibrated in my hand. I glanced at the screen and saw my dad’s name.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, answering the call. “Yeah, Dad?”

I stayed quiet for a few minutes, listening as he spoke, my jaw tightening with every word. When I ended the call, I ran a hand through my hair, frustration settling deep in my chest.

“What’s going on? What did he say?” Violet’s voice was soft, her gaze studying me closely, waiting for an answer.

I sighed, leaning back in the seat. “They want us back home.”

Her face fell immediately, the lightness in her expression evaporating. “What?”

“They said they won’t object to... us. Our relationship. They’re done trying to control it.”