Untitled (standard:drama, 2418 words)
Author: Christina Rodriguez	Added: Jul 07 2005	Views/Reads: 3727/2256	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
“On the charges of murder in the first degree and the sexual assault of Madison Raye, we the jury find the defendant, Keagan Brooklyn Arnold, guilty.”

“On the charges of murder in the first degree and the sexual assault of
Madison Raye, we the jury find the defendant, Keagan Brooklyn Arnold, 
guilty.” 

The courtroom erupted in a fury of conversation and flash photography as
Keagan struggled against dizziness and nausea to remain on his feet. 

“Order!” The judge pounded the gavel. “Order! We will reconvene at a
later date for sentencing. Court is dismissed!” 

And as the sound of the final pound of the gavel echoed in his ears,
Keagan felt his life slip away. The bailiff approaching, Keagan turned 
and embraced his mother, then his twelve year old sister, barely older 
than the girl he was convicted of molesting and killing. Finally, he 
turned to shake hands with his lawyer. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

“This isn't over,” Mr. Schultz replied. “We will appeal this.” 

“I know,” he said solemnly as the bailiff cuffed him and began to escort
him from the court house. 

“I love you Keagan! I know you didn't hurt that girl!” his younger
sister yelled from the front of the court house over the din of packing 
reporters, chatting jurors and celebrating people. 

“I love you too, Sadie! Don't you ever forget it! Never forget that,
Sadie Arnold!” And with tears in his eyes, Keagan was escorted out into 
the throng of reporters and camera men. 

“Mr. Arnold! Mr. Arnold!” they shouted over one another, bouncing
questions off him. But all Keagan could hear was the sweet, innocent 
ringing of Sadie's farewell. 

*************** 

“Momma, they aren't really gonna kill Keagan, are they?” 

“I don't know, Sadie. His lawyer's doing the best he can to get the
sentence changed.” 

“But, Momma, he didn't hurt that girl. I know when he's lying and he
ain't this time.” 

“I know honey, but come on, it's time to go visit him.” 

“Hold on, I have to go get something.” Sadie returned with a sketch
notebook and a box of nearly 100 colored pencils. “Keagan asked me to 
bring his drawing stuff.” 

On the way to the prison, Sadie used Keagan's sketch pad to leave him a
note. 

“Keagan, me and God know what you didn't do. Don't worry, Keagan. We're
both here.” And she drew a ring of flowers around the words as a frame. 
It was clear that both Keagan and Sadie had inherited the artistic 
gene. 

Their mom had often joked about where they had gotten it. “I don't know
how the two of you do it,” Sadie remembered, staring out the window. “I 
couldn't properly paint a fence white, and your daddy neither, for 
goodness sake. Must've been the milkman.” Sadie smiled as she 
remembered that day only a year or so ago. Keagan and Sadie sat at the 
table, Keagan helping her with the art on a project for school. Her mom 
always blamed any oddity in her children on the infamous milkman. 

Then in the distance, Sadie laid eyes on the heartless stare of the
sunken glass eyes of the guard towers of the prison. 

***************** 

“Visitors for Keagan Arnold,” the officer said, approaching his cell.
Keagan stood and obediently slid his hands through the opening to have 
them cuffed. He walked quietly through the somber halls, avoiding the 


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