The hustle and bustle of the exiting crowd behind him, as well as the snapping and flashing of journalists’ cameras, weren’t enough to shake Scott from the sheer surrealism of the moment as he stared blankly at the tabletop before him.  Only when the bailiff’s hand roughly patted his shoulder to handcuff him again and return him to the holding cell did Scott even manage some kind of above-average brain function.

                When Scott arrived, walking at a dejected snail’s pace, back to the holding cell, he felt a chilling flutter in his heart to see his family waiting for him.  Kyle and Maggie stood obediently outside the cell, while Judy herself, looking as professional and intense as ever, was seated calmly in a chair behind the bars.

                Stepping inside the door of the cell, Scott’s hands were uncuffed and he found himself awkwardly standing in front of his mother.  With a thigh crossed over a knee, Judy had one large hand tucked into her purse, with her other running her fingers through her glossy blonde hair.  Her plump red lips puckered with impatience as she at long last made eye contact with her son.

                “Scott…” she breathed slowly, incredible neutrality pervading her tone, given what had just taken place.

                Scott felt his hand quivering, rage bubbling up inside, but he bit his lower lip, managing to hold it in.  In all the years of his life, through all the humiliation and borderline abusive shrinking punishments at the hands of his mother, the young man had felt such bitter resentment and even hatred for Judy.  This was the first time he actually had the urge to slap her.  Hard.

                Now was not the time.

                If there ever was one again.

                “Mom,” Scott responded dryly, shifting back and forth in his clunky dress shoes.

                Slowly, Judy’s hand began to slide out of her purse, as if drawing a gun from its holster, and indeed, she had the PMRD brandished in her fingers.  Scott tried not to let the nausea take over.

                “It may be uncomfortable for you very soon.  In that outfit, I mean.  If you like, you can strip down…”

                Behind him, Scott heard Maggie snicker heartily, but he fought the urge and turn and scowl.

                “…to your shorts, I was saying,” Judy continued, ignoring her daughter’s small outburst.  “But it’s your choice.”

                Scott understood, and although he hated the idea it, he knew he’d regret it later if he remained where he was like an over-dignified sphinx and let his mother shrink him while still in his dress clothes.  He quickly began unbuttoning the jacket, shirt, and pants, as well as kicking off the shoes, and in a matter of moments, Scott was down to only his white undershirt and checkered boxer shorts.

                “Mom, I…” Scott croaked, his throat dry, as he looked up at his mother, just in time to feel the green flash of the PMRD momentarily sting his pupils with the brightness.  He blinked, grunting with discomfort, as Judy ran the beam down his body, ensuring his clothes were zapped as well.

                By the time Judy had carefully deposited her favorite tool back into her large black leather purse, Scott was feeling the cold chill of the holding cell against his skin.  He looked outward through the impossible vastness of the bars to see his towering siblings.  Kyle had his back turned and his arms crossed, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

                Maggie, on the other hand, had her fingers between the bars of the cell, the same victorious grin on her soft face, unbridled glee in her eyes as she preened condescendingly down at her brother.  She rippled her fingers around the edges of the unmoving metal bars as though simulating grabbing them up into her fists.  It was clear she was incredibly eager to live out this action.

                Although he couldn’t be certain, from looking ahead at the jet-sized pumps adorning his mother’s stocking-clad legs, Scott guessed he was around an inch tall.

                It figured Judy would take full advantage of the smallest legal size at which they could keep him.

                Scott wrapped his arms around his stomach, already feeling cold, when the full impact of the moment hit him that, for the foreseeable future and even probably some of the unforeseeable, he wasn’t going to get significantly taller than this.

                Finally, Judy gazed down at her reduced offspring and pursed her lips, folding her hands in her lap for a moment after her purse was snapped back shut.

                “Scott, we discussed it in the car on the way here, and… well, I was going to carry you out, but there’s going to be a lot of press outside.  It might get a little much.  I mean, they’re going to be jostling us around on the way to the car.  You know?”

                Scott shook his head, keeping his face tilted toward the ground immediately after hearing what Judy had to say.  He could hear the booming giggles of his little sister off to the side and far above.

                He bit his lip.  What had this all come to?  What had his years of being punished so severely by his restrictive mother led to?  He had gained the independence he so craved after years of her sickly-sweet version of parental oppression, and after his time spent in college, he had felt safe.  Secure.  Like nothing from his past could get close to him again.  He had made it.

                He thought.

                It had been so easy to believe for so long that he had escaped.  That it was all over.

                He heard the familiar clomping sound of Judy’s pump falling onto its side on the concrete as she casually slipped it off her foot.

                Scott dared raise his eyes just enough to stare across the expanse of floor between himself and his Olympian-proportioned mother in her chair.  Her newly freed right foot, swollen slightly from the tightness of the heels all day, rested weightily within the skin-tight stockings, her toenails scraping softly against the fabric.

                As she scrunched her toes for relief against the concrete, the brushing of the stockings against the floor seemed almost to screech in Scott’s ears with warning.

                “It’ll just be until we can get home, Scott.  Then we’ll figure out some new arrangements, okay?” Judy continued sternly, more so than Scott had ever heard her speak before.  She couldn’t even be bothered to put up the front of sugary affection she normally did while carrying out her favorite PMRD-powered justice.  “I’ll make sure to favor my other foot.”

                And somehow, deep within, despite all the fear and confusion, after what he’d done, Scott knew he couldn’t entirely blame her for her tone.

                Scott held unflinchingly still as his mother’s titanic thumb and pointer finger zoomed in to snatch him up from the floor like a dropped bobby pin.