Summary: After receiving word from a cautious warden, Mia Conroe drives alone to Louisiana with her son in trusted care. Her ex-husband, Thomas LaRue, is vying and very close to appealing his sentence due to good behavior (and greased palms) for an early release with probation.
Mia has no intention of letting the man who abused, raped, and broke her over seven years walk free. At least, not without making sure his life would forever be a horrible hell.
NOTE: Mia is not in Hollow Grove and will not return until Saturday, July 22nd. This prose explains why and her return.
The warden greeted her the moment she stepped outside of her car. Perhaps it was a respect for her situation, for her career. Maybe—and she figured on it—he was a fifty-five year old man who had been married since twenty-one but had a weakness for exotic features, legs, and a confident look to a woman, loyal and unshakeable as his love was for the ever-sociable Mrs. Wallerpike. Still, he looked her in the eyes, shook her hand firmly, and walked side-by-side into the prison.
Warden Jimmy Wallerpike had been warden of the prison for ten years, a firm and fair hand, never once having a dust of corruption to his name. He was truly, deeply a good man and gave her a hug akin to something from a beloved uncle. Considering how often he had consoled her during multiple appeals, the initial court hearings and trials, although with no intention except helping a scared woman, it was a warranted position.
She trembled a little and he patted her back, only too aware of how terrified she was. Only too aware of how much she risked by defending himself, his wife, and their admittedly big family. Witches in the human areas were not welcome, even so many years after the third war.
“How are you doing, pretty girl?” he drew out in his reedy, somewhat droning voice, as she took a breath, pulled back. “Tell me you didn’t drive all this way?”
“You’re worth the leg cramps,” she returned with a smile so gentle it was reserved for her son and someone most beloved. A vampire and maybe two, three others qualified. “I’m..” Mia paused when he aimed steel-blue eyes her way, the same way that had his inmates in order. Although her tongue remained intact, her dignity unshaken, it was her trust in the warden that had the honesty coming through. “I’m worried. How far along is the process? What is the board’s stance so far?”
Jimmy didn’t bother to smile, knowing the seriousness of the situation and sat on the edge of his desk, knowing her just enough that she wouldn’t take the offer to sit, although he gestured out of politeness and habit ingrained since he was in nappies and on his mama’s knee. Which reminded him to bring her flowers under that old willow tree she’d been buried under. “It’s not good,” he disclosed in his blunt way. “Mama and Papa LaRue got sick of baby boy whining and getting in the medical wing because inmates don’t like a wife beater ‘round here. Rapist makes it worse.”
He paused when she lifted a hand, pale as a ghost already. “I appreciate the candor but please avoid those.. terms.” They still made her sick, just as much as the memories of the actions. Mia shook her head when he started to apologize, stopping him. “It’s okay. I’m just.. punchy. Just.. keep going.”
She listened quietly, with the patience and wisdom of both an attorney and mother. The nuances of his voice, the hitch when a detail worried him—Thomas had become sweet and docile, how there were many following him like he was a leader—and the restless way he turned his wedding ring and the second that signaled a renewal of vows. She noticed everything about the warden. Habit born from years with Thomas. From the fear.
He was so close to being released and she was the only chance of keeping him in. Even that, given the heavy bills plying the appeal board, may not work.
At least, that was the impression Mia heard before shock and fear had her crumbling into a faint.
The room seemed smaller than the last time she had sat behind the warden and head of the guards in solitary confinement. The appeals board faced her, views only partially shaded by the table. A lawyer—the fifth or sixth, although Mia had lost count of how many the LaRue’s kept in circulation in case a result was unsavory.
It made her snort, derisive that they couldn’t accept the simple answer of no. They had hated when she’d refused money for an abortion and whatever else would have covered her staying away. She should have taken the damn money, minus whatever needed for the abortion; no money could have kept her away from Bruce. His father? Probably.
Given the cruel, cold smile said man was aiming towards Mia, who remained impassive except the somewhat-cocky arch of her brow, the answer amped right on up to a ‘definitely.’
Thomas had once been a lean, handsome man with a chiseled bone structure, enough talent to cover his ego, and a drive to be the very best. Having a child and marrying in high school hadn’t stopped that. Drink, drugs, and general entitlement had. That and the beauty of karma kicking his ass. Each time he had hit her, something bad had seemed to occur; a drug bust, multiple DUI’s, the pile-up of idiotic mistakes had resulted in expulsion from college, the forced employment in one of his family’s chain stores.
The bruises worsened, the cruelty to who she was as a person, as a mother, broke her. But he continued to fail.
Mia didn’t break eye contact, very clearly aware of his eyes going down to her chest, legs, stopping at her crotch with his lips pulling back in a sneer. They crawled up and she felt nothing but disgust and anger, both carefully held behind a cold, impassive exterior.
She was already crafting something to match his cruelty when his attention was pulled back to the table by the windows where the board sat. They were going to be dealt with as well. It paid, Mia knew, to be friends with some of the higher-up judges of the state and a few very dedicated cops.
In social circles, her ex-husband may have been popular and beloved. For those who’d had to deal with him on a legal level, though? Not so much.
So she waited, ammunition in her briefcase, and ready to be dispatched.
Three hours later,
Mia was pale as a ghost, both in righteous fury and fear.
They were letting him free. They were letting the man who had made her life hell, who had screamed and howled like a spoiled baby when they’d dragged him away after court sentencing, free. And he had laughed, immediately hysterical, and stood to laugh in her face.
The evidence against him had gone ignored. Everything she had said went ignored under the status of a woman making up stories, just wanting more money from her rich ex-husband.
Bastards. “Bastards,” she hissed violently and paced outside her car. Anger didn’t even begin to cover what she felt. Betrayal, fear, panic. She had fainted twice in two goddamn days, and for this? To have the system she worked with, cherished, manipulated fail her.. it was unacceptable.
So she did the worst thing Mia could do: she lost her temper and strode right back into the prison and into the appeals room. Most of the board was still there, although they paled at her presence. They knew what she held against them was true, could damn them into social and financial hell.
But Thomas was the one who let out a low whistle, smirking when she turned to him. “Always did like you walking away. How about you give us a spin around?” he crooned and reached for her hand, snagging her forearm instead and freezing when her eyes flashed with fury fresh.
“Do you really want to risk it, little boy?” she murmured, murderous intent in dark hues. His hand tightened on her arm, the ex-spouses ignoring shouts and demands of the guards and warden.
“Sure. You never could do anything to stop me.”
“My son is safe, far from you. If you come near us, I promise what you did to me will be returned back, three on three. You will know exactly what kind of hell you put me through.”
“Threats?”
Her eyes flashed and, without a single breath wasted, she tugged her arm free as his hand went limp. The curse was cast, layer on layer to cause him hell. “Promises. And you,” she added with a look at the appeals board. “I will see you in court. Warden, please see me out.”
Summary: After receiving word from a cautious warden, Mia Conroe drives alone to Louisiana with her son in trusted care. Her ex-husband, Thomas LaRue, is vying and very close to appealing his sentence due to good behavior (and greased palms) for an early release with probation.
Mia has no intention of letting the man who abused, raped, and broke her over seven years walk free. At least, not without making sure his life would forever be a horrible hell.
NOTE: Mia is not in Hollow Grove and will not return until Saturday, July 22nd. This prose explains why and her return.
Mianora Conroe was a calm person on the outside. While she had endless streams of energy flowing through her blood as courtesy of her connection to the sun, while she certainly had equally strong anger and pain alike, the calm of her exterior was necessary. Nobody respected a lawyer who spoke with more passion than intelligence, although the former was certainly clear in her drive, the way she defended and prosecuted as necessary. It was hard enough to be a woman, after all, and one that had looks worth a second glance at.
But as she crossed state lines yet again, once more in Louisiana, there was little calm about her.
It showed as her fingers tapped in off-beat time to the music playing, how she sang along with Aretha and Ella, the passion of blues and jazz as integral to her as it was to the heart of her home state. Aretha belted with her gusto, Ella crooned, and Mia wasn’t exactly a bad duet partner to either. But nerves had her sweetly smooth voice wavering now and then. She wasn’t afraid of driving, she was fine with the ache in her body that was stiff from a nearly twenty-four hour drive, stopping halfway for a night’s sleep. But oh how dearly she was afraid of what was coming.
It had been two years and Mia was still terrified of her ex-husband. Perhaps it was understandable, considering he had made her life an absolute hell for their seven years of marriage, breaking her body and spirit more times than she could count. Now he was just a breath away from being released.
Her hands flashed a golden fire, her eyes echoing the flames at the very thought, calming as she took breaths. Like hell if he would come near her or her baby boy.
Like fucking hell.
If she had to use all of her skills, if she had to break the vows made towards her love of the Craft, so be it. But Thomas LaRue would rot in prison or die the moment he touched her again, her soul be damned.
