Behind Locked Doors
Judge Doyle, typically a stern and commanding presence, sat silent for an unnaturally long moment, rubbing her hands together as if trying to remove an invisible stain. The courtroom, usually filled with the sounds of shuffling papers and whispered conversations, was eerily silent. The room heavily pregnant with tension as everyone waited for her to speak, the air thick with anticipation. The courtroom itself was an imposing structure, with high, vaulted ceilings and large, arched windows that let in beams of harsh daylight. The walls were lined with dark wood panelling, and the judge's bench stood elevated, casting a shadow over the room. The gallery was packed with spectators, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The three accused young women stood before the bench, their faces unreadable masks. Alissa, the youngest, had deep lines etched into her face, giving her a prematurely aged appearance. Her eyes were hollow, reflecting the toll of the ordeal. Grace, the seco...
