Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Blackwood Manor
Silence fell over Courtroom Four—a sudden, suffocating vacuum where even the sound of the falling rain outside seemed to vanish.
Judge Sterling slowly drew his hand back from Leo's shoulder. His face, previously red with authority, turned a sickly, mottled ash grey. "This... this is preposterous," Sterling stammered, his gravelly voice dropping into a defensive whisper. "The child is clearly suffering from brain fever. Clear the courtroom!"
"I saw the gold ring with the red stone!" Leo shouted, his voice ringing with terrifying clarity. "I saw it on the hand that grabbed my father’s collar at the top of the stairs! I saw you push him into the dark!"
Jonathan Vance stood up quickly, his face pale, taking hold of Leo’s hands and pulling him back into the shadows of the witness box. "Your Honor, I apologize! The boy has had nightmares since the accident—"
"Enough!" Sterling thundered, his gavel striking the block three times in rapid succession—CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "The court is recessed until tomorrow morning at nine o'clock! Bailiff, clear the gallery! Take the prisoner back to her cell!"
Two guards grabbed Clara Mercer by the elbows, lifting her to her feet. As she was dragged toward the iron doors leading to the holding cells, she kept her eyes fixed on Leo, her lips trembling. "Thank you, little Leo," she whispered softly into the shadows. "Thank you..."
Ten minutes later, the courtroom was empty.
In the judge's private chambers, behind a locked mahogany door, Judge William Sterling stood before a crystal decanter, his hands shaking so violently he spilled three fingers of amber scotch across the polished desk.
Standing in the corner of the room, half-hidden by the heavy velvet drapes, was Jonathan Vance.
"He knows," Jonathan whispered, his wire-rimmed glasses gleaming in the firelight. "The boy saw you, William. I told you we should have sent him away to the asylum in Boston the night it happened."
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Sterling took a heavy gulp of his drink, his dark eyes burning with a desperate, animal malice. "A six-year-old’s testimony means nothing against a judge of thirty years. But if the boy continues to speak..."
Sterling turned slowly toward Jonathan, his voice dropping into a chilling register. "We make sure he doesn't live to see nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
