“Mr. Stevens? Mr. Stevens, are you still with us?”
“What? Sorry… yes. Yes, your honor,” Scott answered suddenly, snapped from his dazed stupor as he sat in the defendant’s seat of the crowded courtroom. He could feel the cold sweat in his sensible dress shirt and jacket brought on by the excessive nerves. Time seemed to be flying by at an excessive rate and he could hardly keep up consciously, let alone process it all effectively.
It had been only a month since the drunken Scott had swerved in his car and hit a woman who happened to be eight months pregnant and not only managed to break her ankle and cause severe bruising but also end the unborn fetus’s existence.
Considering his mother’s rising political status, Scott’s crime had generated a relative media circus for the city. However, even through the blur of newspaper photographers trying to catch the perfect incriminating shot of Scott’s sleep-deprived face, or the influx of hate mail he had started receiving, he had been unable to make it real in his mind.
“Try to stay with us. I’m sorry if your own sentencing hearing is boring you, but we’re almost through,” the judge droned, clearly fighting back distaste for Scott as much as he could, although he seemed to have a tough time doing so.
“Yes, your honor.”
“Good. Now, given the… unusual circumstances of this sentencing hearing in conjunction with the recently altered clauses discussed yesterday, for the benefit of those present and the record, the district attorney has asked that a summarized outline of Mr. Stevens’ sentencing in this case be read. Bailiff?”
Scott’s ears perked up, mostly out of nervousness, but he was nonetheless present in this moment.
Judy had been working overtime with a couple of partners from her law firm to ensure Scott avoided the more severe penalty that the prosecution for the pregnant woman was seeking. Once Scott’s guilt had been quickly determined based on some significant incriminating evidence, it came down to the sentencing, which ultimately came down as what sounded to Scott like a victory.
In a rather curt conversation with her son the night before, Judy announced that she had managed to get him out of jail time by utilizing a legal loophole that she, in fact, had helped get passed as a law: a loophole that essentially would allow Scott to go under house arrest, for a time less than he would’ve been in prison, no less.
Scott was well-familiar with his mother’s political activism and works, knowing that she had been the one to bring about the law allowing dependents to be shrunken by their parents or guardians. It was a fact that had instilled a deep hatred of his mother over the years, yet now, hearing her explain how she’d managed to keep him out of jail, against the bitter wishes of half the city, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted.
To Scott, it was like hearing he’d just won the lottery, and for the first time in a long time, he had felt genuine appreciation toward his mother.
Now, finally, he would hear the specifics of this house arrest that Judy had mentioned and maybe begin the long journey out of this whole ugly mess. There was still a long road ahead that he wasn’t looking forward to, but at least he wasn’t going behind bars. Against all odds, Scott breathed a sigh of relief and waited patiently.
The bailiff handed the judge a manila folder, which was opened and glanced over by the balding bespectacled judge as he adjusted his glasses. Finally, clearing his throat, he began to read.
“Again, keep in mind that these are simply summarizations for the better education of those present. We begin. Article 1, regarding circumstances of size of the sentenced. The sentenced must remain at a height of no more than one foot, or twelve inches, and no less than one inch. This is non-negotiable under any circumstances but medical emergencies, the details of which can be found along with the fuller explanation of the ruling.”
Scott felt a lump the size of a basketball forming in his throat, and he almost managed to choke on thin air.
What?
“Article 2, regarding supervision of the sentenced. The sentenced, being assigned as a dependent in the case of this hearing, will have expanded compatibility from his or her supervisors with regards to the Techilogic MRD, or Matter Reduction Device, Portable or standard. This is to say that all under the same household as the sentenced will be given access to his or her size range, in order to maintain a high standard of cooperation and rehabilitation from the sentenced.”
Scott felt queasiness worse than a month ago when he’d drunkenly sealed his own fate. All under the same household had control?
That meant his sister and brother both could operate the PMRD now.
Shit.
“Article 3, regarding household arrest of the sentenced. The sentenced will wear a specialized device to track his or her whereabouts or, if need be, pacify the sentenced. The device is to be programmed with a home beacon, the range of which is to be determined given the size of the household.”
Scott turned and tried to make eye contact with his mother, who was in her best business suit and pressed skirt, although her vision was glued to the judge, a solemn expression on her face.
How could she not even look at him? How?
“Article 4, regarding recesses from the household arrest of the sentenced. The sentenced may leave the house no more than once every one hundred sixty-eight hours, or one week, for no more than one hundred eighty minutes, or three hours, under the supervision of one of his or her household caretakers in possession of a portable home beacon, the range of which is to be no more than one hundred twenty inches, or ten feet, from the sentenced.”
As Scott continued looking backward at the crowd, he could feel the angry and satisfied eyes of them all shifting onto him. It was only his mother who remained perfectly still and emotionless, staring ahead and upward at the judge on his podium as he continued reading.
Just a little to his mother’s left, he saw his younger brother and sister, Kyle and Maggie.
Kyle, in a new dress shirt, looked very serious, his head hanging down and his gaze inconspicuously on the floor, clearly trying to hide shame for a sibling he’d looked up to for most of his youth.
Maggie, however, instantly made eye contact with Scott, a cheesy grin spread across her face. She clearly had put some work into getting her cute blonde hair done up for the event, and her formal blue summer dress looked radiant on her. Like she’d gussied herself up specifically in celebration.
And now, upon hearing that not only Judy but she as well as Kyle were in legal charge of Scott, she certainly had a reason to do so.
Scott narrowed his eyes at her angrily for her glee.
She responded simply by raising her left hand up just high enough that Scott could see it, and began playfully “walking” her pointer and middle finger through the air, simulating a person’s gait.
After a moment, Scott could tell precisely which person she was simulating, as her other hand swooped into view and grabbed up her own fingers in a fist.
A preview. Or, as Scott continued to watch Maggie gripping her hand as a stand-in for his entire body, he knew it was more of a warning.
He quickly turned around, not wanting to look for too long back at his evidently joyful sister, for fear of becoming more anxious than he already was, although given what had been read already, he was just about ready to vomit.
“Article 10,” Scott heard the judge read. In his nervous delirium, Scott realized he had missed a chunk of the pointers. Not that it mattered much, given how thoroughly his fate was already sealed.
He knew his mother would ensure he knew all of them far better than he would ever have hoped by the time this day was over.
“The sentenced will undergo the reduction in size, and be under the immediate watch of one of his guardian supervisors before leaving the premises,” the judge finished, clearing his throat. “A complete detailing of the sentencing can be found in the public files. Hearing is adjourned.”
The gavel smacked the judge’s podium with conclusive force, causing Scott to wince and disappear into another haze.