The Punishment Club

by D. A. Maddox

CH: Yes, ma’am.

  AMC: This is the same Farah Belmont who occupies the building with you? You didn’t ask her?

  CH: We were supposed to keep quiet about it!

  AMC: Because the letter said so?

  CH: Yes! Why are you doing this to me? I didn’t mean anything bad. I—

  JCS: Give her a minute, counselor.

  AMC: Take two, Miss Harper.

  ****

  Partial Transcript: The Office of Behavior Reformation VS Peter Alan Gravis II (PG)

  (Closed proceedings, video archived, approved access ONLY)

  Highlighted portions cited by Judge Corinne Stephens (JCS) in the official justification of Verdict

  Prosecuting attorney: Mr. Stewart Knowles (SK)

  SK: If you were in such a hurry to have it over with, Mr. Gravis, answer something for me.

  PG: Yes, sir?

  SK: You were back in your frat apartment. You had time on the clock. Why not put your shirt back on?

  PG: I’m sorry, sir—what?

  SK: You sat down for a live video conference half naked with transitional women present. We can run the video again. Your Honor?

  PG: Well, jeez, man. I mean—

  SK: You mean what, Mr. Gravis?

  PG: I mean, I was just forced to go streaking, sir. At that point—

  SK: You were forced? Who forced you?

  PG: Sir, I… I’m trying to answer…

  SK: And at that point, it became okay for you to break code? Because you’d already done worse? Was your shirt close on hand, Mr. Gravis? Did the law no longer apply at all now that you’d already broken it? Peter?

  PG: I’m sorry, sir. That’s a lot at once. Which question do you want me to start with?

  ****

  Partial Transcript: The Office of Behavior Reformation VS Emma Jo Swanson (EJS)

  (Closed proceedings, video archived, approved access ONLY)

  Highlighted portions cited by Judge Corinne Stephens (JCS) in the official justification of Verdict

  Prosecuting attorney: Ms. Abigail McCreedy (AMC)

  AMC: You said it was horrible. You said you were embarrassed, afraid of getting into trouble.

  EJS: Yes, ma’am. That’s true.

  AMC: You mean to implicate your new friends at school, the ones who guided you downstairs.

  EJS: No, ma’am. I suppose I could have gotten free of them. I just… I didn’t know what to do. They encouraged me, I guess, but they didn’t do anything wrong or illegal. So, no, I wouldn’t say that.

  AMC: You feel you were the victim of a crime here, though, don’t you?

  EJS: Yes, ma’am. From whoever set this whole thing up. I didn’t want to do it.

  AMC: So—other people made you, or compelled you, or … encouraged you into all of this? None of it was your idea?

  EJS: No, ma’am. I didn’t choose any—

  AMC: What about the cartwheel?

  ****

  Partial Transcript: The Office of Behavior Reformation VS Buddy Ray Zimmer (BZ)

  (Closed proceedings, video archived, approved access ONLY)

  Highlighted portions cited by Judge Corinne Stephens (JCS) in the official justification of Verdict

  Prosecuting attorney: Mr. Stewart Knowles (SK)

  SK: As part of the admissions process, Mr. Zimmer, did you or did you not participate in the mandatory campus behavior orientation with a university counselor?

  BZ: Yes, sir. That was Mr. Fabian.

  SK: Did Mr. Fabian go over campus dress code with you?

  BZ: Yes, sir. But he didn’t warn me about Hell Day or anything—

  SK: Your Honor?

  JCS: Stick to the questions, Mr. Zimmer. Your attorney will have her turn.

  SK: Did your counselor, Mr. Fabian, explain your status as a legal adult, that violations of the code could result in criminal charges? Mr. Zimmer? Answer the question.

  BZ: Yes, sir.

  SK: When did this counseling session take place?

  BZ: It was Thursday morning.

  SK: Your Honor, let the record show that this was the same Thursday as the offense being tried.

  JCS: Granted.

  SK: And yet you volunteered for this dare, Mr. Zimmer? Without any coercion? Without being picked?

  BZ: Sir, the coercion was Hell Day. I was scared. There’s this other guy—

  SK: What other guy? Mr. Zimmer?

  BZ: Just another guy. Never mind. I’m sorry. Doesn’t matter.

  SK: Answer the question. You volunteered to go after Miss Swanson? Yes or no, Mr. Zimmer.

  JCS: Answer the question, Buddy. When given the chance, you volunteered?

  BZ: Yes, sir. Yes, Your Honor. I’m the only one who did that. You should let the others go.

  SK: Your Honor?

  JCS: Stick to the questions, Buddy.

  ****

  Judge Corinne Stephens, her black hair a perfect match to her robe, her dark eyes impassive and inscrutable, sat herself down and addressed the four directly.

  “First off, I feel I should speak to you, Buddy. That was a pretty selfless and honorable thing you said into the record. I was impressed by that, but you should have considered that when you still had the right to make a guilty plea. As it stands, in the matter of innocence or guilt, which is all that’s left to me, it is the judgment of this court that each of you is either innocent of, or guilty of, the same thing. Your circumstances were essentially the same, and your actions exactly the same. Nevertheless, I think your fellow defendants owe you a debt of gratitude, putting yourself forward as you did. It cannot weigh in the matter of this court’s judgment as to the verdict. For that we have only the evidence at hand and the relevant testimony.”

  The four of them—going left to right: Emma Jo, Cassidy, Peter, and Buddy—were the only ones standing in the courtroom. They stood before a single table, at the far end of which Ms. Gibson sat, her face attentive, expressionless. Behind that table and the oakwood barrier that separated them from the gallery, it was practically empty. All eight parents were there, a smattering of older brothers and sisters. None of them had younger siblings. There was no press.

  Local police bailiffs, as well as black-shirted federals—four of each—stood on hand in the event of a guilty verdict. The case, technically, was federal, but if any of them chose the long way out (no one ever did), they’d need the locals for transport to the minimum-security state prison in Annapolis. Minimum security or not, the inmates there would destroy these kids.

  Judge Stephens wasn’t worried about that. They had a star attorney who would never let that happen. Still…

  The kids were terrified. Of the two boxes of tissues on the table, they’d collectively gone through one completely, then taken liberally from the other. None of them had criminal records. None of them had even gotten in trouble in preparatory school.

  This was a close call, she thought. This is going to hurt. Good job, Ms. Gibson. You made their case the best you could.

  “I want you all to know that I have received assurances, prior to reaching this verdict, that the investigation against whoever organized that online meeting is ongoing and active. That was criminal incitement—maybe the worst I’ve ever seen in transitional court with cases as minor as sexual mischief. It is my sincere hope that those perpetrators will be brought to justice.”

  In the faces of Emma Jo, Peter, and especially Buddy—who was already crying again, head down—she saw her verdict already pronounced. In Cassidy, she detected yet the hope of a reprieve. Judge Corinne Stephens was not a cruel person, and she took no pleasure in this. Straight to it, then, she said to herself.

  “But the law is the law for you four as well,” she said simply. “On the charges of public indecency and willful exposure before transitionals of the opposite sex, the court finds each of you guilty, regardless of the status of any related and ongoing criminal investigations.”

  Uproar from the gallery. Shouts, tears, protest—the standard parent and family hullabaloo and outrage—
all of it quickly quelled. There was some understanding, even expectation, of this kind of thing. These were good kids, and by all appearances raised right by loving families who were faced now, for the first time, with the prospect of being unable to protect them. But none of it lasted. The machine was too big. It lashed out when threatened.

  By the time the courtroom quieted, Buddy had composed himself—whereas Cassidy had sunk back into her chair, sobbing. It took Ms. Gibson to get her on her feet again. She held her straight, hand on her upper arm. She whispered a few quick words.

  The cops were all at the barricade, dissuading by their very presence any who might want to come through for a word with their kids, a quick embrace. There’d be none of that. They were going down. That was all there was to it. Provided they made the right decision, they’d be home in no time, anyway.

  “I’m sure that Ms. Gibson has advised each of you as to the choice you must now make,” Judge Stephens said. “If any of you needs that information repeated, now is the time to say so. If any of you has a final word, now is also the time for that.”

  Peter gripped his hair in both hands, his face beet red. If any had something to say, the judge thought, it would be him. But he didn’t. And after a moment, he put his hands down.

  Then—

  “Please,” Cassidy said. “Please, Your Honor. Don’t do this. We’re… We’re sorry. Isn’t that right?”

  From either side of her, nods, more tears. But the judge could tell they were mostly for Cassidy’s benefit. The others knew it was over.

  “Miss Harper,” Judge Stephens said, “I don’t doubt that you’re sorry now, but you weren’t when we began. You refused the Special Penitent’s Clause and chose, rather, to enter a not guilty plea. You broke the law. You knew that you were breaking it when you did it. You thought not to be held accountable because others broke the law as well. You rolled the dice and lost. Twice.”

  “But, Your Honor, we’re sorry,” she started again, her face flushed as though she’d been physically slapped. “We won’t do anything like it again. We—”

  “The first time was when you willfully chose to participate in this act of criminal deviance. The second time was here in court. You’re a convicted criminal, Cassidy Harper. All of you are. And it is as such that you will be treated until your punishment has been served.”

  That silenced her. Good. This was becoming unpleasant. Judge Stephens wanted the matter done and off her desk. “And now it is time for another choice,” she said. “Each of you would do well to make the right one this time.”

  She looked at them, each in turn.

  No one had anything left to say.

  “I will therefore pronounce sentence.”

  Make it high on the front end, she’d decided from the outset. Low on the back end. Make it so they have to take the deal. A short stay at Huntington, where their welfare would be closely guarded, was preferable to any real prison time. During that short stay, they’d receive a stiff but appropriate reminder of their place in society. Oh, but these four were in for a shock. They’d never forget it. Yet they would be safe.

  “It is the unhappy duty of this court to remand each of you to prison for a period of time not less than one year and not greater than two years,” she said to fresh gasps all around. Also expected. The six-month minimum would have been more fitting, given that none of the offenders before her had actually done any harm to anyone else. But six months was a sentence one or more of them might actually take, preferring it over the unknown horrors promised by the alternative. Two years? No chance. They’d emerge from that sentence in their twenties. College would be a wash. At eighteen, two years could ruin a person’s life.

  “If you opt to continue the standard sentencing track,” Judge Stephens forged on, looking down on her notes, choosing not to observe the defendants and their families in their moment of collective, unrestrained distress—which she could hear perfectly well, anyway—“you’ll have the option to appeal. The court nevertheless urges you strongly not to make this choice.”

  Now she looked up. Two of the bailiffs had gone into the gallery, easing tearful and disbelieving parents back to their seats, muttering admonitions. As for the defendants, they held up rather better. They were waiting for it. Buddy might even have been praying for it, by his closed eyes. The “out.” He wanted it—now.

  Good.

  “It is my judgment that none of you here, should you accept what is rightly coming to you, deserves to be put away for the duration of standard sentencing. However, should you continue in your insistence that the laws don’t apply to you…”

  She let it hang.

  “—then you deserve every minute of it. You’re smart kids. Take the alternative. Accept your discipline, be honest in the interview, and you will be back in school by Tuesday. Finish college with no further offenses on your part, and this court will expunge your criminal records permanently. Do you understand?”

  From all of them—and as one, if decidedly unsteady—came the words, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very good. When I call your name, state your intentions for the record. Under law, I am required to tell you that if you opt for standard sentencing and appeal, your case will be assigned to a new judge. It will be out of my hands. Peter Alan Gravis?”

  ****

  Peter didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Your Honor.” He remembered the script—the “contingency” script, as his father would have called it. “I accept the court’s judgment. I consent.”

  That’s it. I did it. What now?

  He took from the tissue box, blew his nose. Turned on his feet, facing into the gallery. Then he forced himself to suck it up, because his father was bent over in his seat, head bowed, and his mother… Well, her face was stoic, but her hand was over her heart. She was making sure he got the message, I love you, just as Dad had done over the phone. He returned the gesture and winked at her, causing her to sniffle back a laugh.

  The judge’s voice echoed in the chamber, “Cassidy Lee Harper?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered under her breath. Was that a for-real blasphemy? From her? This was a woman who didn’t even type swears into texts without using asterisks. She fumbled for his hand, so Peter turned back around and let her take it. He wrapped his hand around hers. They interlaced fingers.

  I’m holding Cassidy’s hand again, he thought. Not the circumstances I would have hoped for, exactly, but here we are.

  He’d take any comfort he could get—and give any he could right back.

  “You have to say it, Miss Harper. You’ve been told what to say. Do you need to hear it again?”

  She shook her head, lower lip trembling. Her fingers vibrated against Peter’s, tiny earthquakes. “No, Your Honor. It’s just hard. It’s—”

  “Make your choice, hon. Make the right one, and you’ll be fine.”

  She lowered her head. “I accept the court’s judgment,” she said, so quietly that Peter hardly heard it himself. “I consent.”

  But Judge Stephens didn’t ask for a repeat. She went straight on, alphabetically by last name, to Emma Jo.

  Cassidy leaned into him. Right there, in front of both sets of parents and her older sister. And why not? The barrier bar might as well have been a prison wall itself. They only had each other. Peter hugged her—and not just for her. He found, in that moment, he needed the hug just as much as she did.

  ****

  Oh, my gosh, she thought, squeezing back tight. I’m going down in front of all the people I love most. I’m going to jail. They can’t help. No one can save me.

  “I’ll be there,” Peter had said. But how could he even know? They could end up in different places. Women and men didn’t go to jail together.

  I have to do this. I need this. He won’t mind.

  She pulled back by half a head, then leaned in again. To a few courtroom gasps—she didn’t know whose, and she didn’t want to know—she kissed Peter again. More deeply this time. Desperately. She opened her mouth and
felt her flesh suffuse, heat blended with fear, as her tongue met his.

  It didn’t last. With one bailiff at her shoulders and another at his, they were quickly pried apart. Peter was crying.

  Thank you, he mouthed to her.

  Cassidy didn’t know what to say, so she kept quiet. She didn’t want to get in any more trouble than she was already in.

  And the judge wasn’t done.

  ****

  “Emma Jo Swanson?”

  We didn’t do anything wrong, she thought, her mind rebelling against common sense. This is what’s wrong. This court case, this so-called “judge.” Not me. Not us.

  Should have had a jury. At least one person would have spoken up for us.

  “Miss Swanson,” the judge repeated, her voice lowering a half note of warning.

  She didn’t like to think what her parents were going through right now. She was glad to be facing the other way. And, damn it, the whole thing was just so shameful, being made to stand in open court while other people, total strangers who didn’t know her at all, decided she needed discipline.

  I’m not a criminal, she said to herself. I’ve never been in trouble for anything. I didn’t ask for this.

  Only then, her common sense fought back. But you are. And you did. You knew what you were doing. You even warned yourself. You tried to talk yourself out of it. Better if you had listened.

  At the end of the table, Ms. Gibson was already packing her things. Emma Jo didn’t blame her. Whatever she chose, her lawyer was done. She didn’t work appeals.

  “Miss Swanson, if you fail to speak, I will have no choice but to defer you to standard sentencing.”

  The only way to a clean record, her common sense reminded her, is to suck it up and take it. You still get to go back to normal after college.

  She ground her teeth, eyes streaming liquid fury.

  Mom, she thought, Dad, I’m so sorry. You must be so ashamed of me.

  “I accept the court’s judgment,” she said. “I consent.”

  ****

  “Buddy Ray Zimmer?”

  Rituals. Drama on stage with unwilling actors. Enjoying those strings, Judge Stephens?