The Gavel And The Quiet That Followed

The gavel landed with a clean, final crack that seemed to climb the wooden walls and hang over every bench, and then Judge Lenora Kline spoke with the steady tone people used when they had repeated the same words so many times that their own feelings had been trained to stay out of the way.
“Guilty. The court imposes a sentence of life in custody.”
For a moment, nobody moved, and even the fluorescent lights above the courtroom felt too loud, because the public defenders slid papers into folders, the prosecutor’s jaw tightened as if he had already turned the page in his mind, and the bailiff stepped forward with the practiced, careful pace of someone who had escorted hundreds of people out of rooms they would never walk into again as free men.