Consciousness of Guilt （n.） – Olivia
CONSCIOUSNESS OF GUILT (N.):
A TYPE OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE THAT JUDGES, PROSECUTORS, AND JURIES MAY CONSIDER WHEN DETERMINING WHETHER A DEFENDANT IS GUILTY OF A CRIMINAL OFFENSE.
OLIVIA
“How long do you think I would last in prison, Lindsay?” I paced our living room. “Like, be honest.”
“Um…maybe a couple days. A week at most.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “That’s it?”
“I think you’d die without having access to your cell phone and writing supplies.”
“New York prisons have a writing program for inmates,” I said. “I’d have plenty of pens and paper.”
“You get two sheets a day and one pencil per week.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Sam served six months inside.” She shrugged. “The only way you get more is to trade services or make yourself useful, which…I don’t think you could do. No offense.”
“You’d put money on my books though, right?” I stopped walking. “And you’d answer all my calls?”
“For the umpteenth time, yes.” She sat up a bit straighter. “Can you please tell me why you’re suddenly obsessed with being locked up and watching Orange Is the New Black?”
“Because I don’t want to go in blind,” I said. “I need to know what to expect whenever I get arrested.”
“Right…” She stood up and walked over to our window. “Whenever that guy gets done with your car, can you please go for a long drive somewhere? Like, anywhere?”
“You should be giving me your final hugs and well wishes right now,” I said.
She blinked.
“Just promise me you’ll follow whatever directions I leave for my stuff and give all my research notebooks to my parents.”
“Stop being dramatic,” she said. “That’s not how this works, Liv. The punishment phase is over, and I’m never using your license again. Chill out.”
She walked to our fridge and pulled out a tub of cream cheese. “You want a bagel before your job interview?”
I nodded, even though I hadn’t been able to keep anything down all morning.
The reality of what I’d done to Judge Ashton’s cars had slapped me in the face in the middle of the night, and my sanity had returned far too late.
I knew better than to tell anyone about it, and I always knew it was only a matter of time before a SWAT team showed up to put me behind bars.
“Okay, done.” Lindsay stuffed the wrapped bread into my purse. “Get to your interview early and then come back for that drive.”
“Okay…” I took one last look at myself in the mirror.
My white button-down shirt and khakis made me look like the perfect inmate already.
Not wanting to unravel any further, I headed downstairs and walked across the street to Happy Burger.
The smiley face on the double doors begged me to walk away, but I couldn’t afford to be picky while searching for a new job; I had to consider everything.
“Welcome to Happy Burger!” The employee behind the counter beamed once I stepped inside. “How can I make you smile today?”
“I’m here for an interview.”
“Well, that’s amazing!” She clapped, and then she picked up a bell. “Someone here wants to join our patty team!”
Turn around and walk out…
“Oh my god, yes!” Another employee moved behind me, blocking the door. “Are you Olivia Spencer by chance? The woman I spoke to yesterday?”
“That’s me.” I nodded.
“Oh, well—I already put your profile in the system, so we don’t really have to do a formal interview.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She grabbed a clipboard. “Follow me.”
I obliged, letting her lead the way to a bright red booth near the windows.
As we settled into our seats, three policemen walked into the restaurant. They looked around the dining room, muttering words I couldn’t hear.
One of them stared right at me, and he didn’t look away. Instead his lips parted as he looked me up and down.
My heart sprinted in my chest, and I braced for my arrest.
The three of them burst into laughter and walked to the counter.
Okay, maybe it’s all in my head…
I let out a slow breath, but then I wondered if they were planning to arrest me after they finished eating.
“Like I was saying, Miss Spencer—” The manager clicked her pen, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You seem like someone who would thrive in our frying kingdom, so I only need to get a few answers before I send things off for a background check.”
“Sounds great. I’m ready.”
“What’s your highest level of education?”
“I have a master’s degree in Journalism.”
“Oh, wow,” she said. “That has to suck.”
“Huh?”
“Journalism in this day and age?” She shrugged. “Everyone just listens to podcasts and goes to social media for the news.”
Please don’t remind me…
“I mean, between you and me, I think universities should get sued for even offering a useless degree like that.” She laughed. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah, totally.” I feigned a smile, wishing I’d learned that lesson years ago.
“Do you have any specialized certifications?”
“No.”
“Have you ever committed a crime?”
“Um…” I looked over at the cops who were now taking a seat directly across from us. “Can you repeat that question?”
“Have you ever committed a crime?” She enunciated every syllable.
“Committed or been convicted?” I asked. “You have to be specific.”
She arched a brow. “Been convicted.”
“Not yet.” I lowered my voice. “Time will tell, though...”
She served me a blank stare.
“Just kidding, just kidding.” I let out a nervous laugh. “No crimes, unless you want to count a few traffic violations?”
“I don’t.” She eyed me warily before scribbling on her clipboard. “Those don’t count at all. Is there anything else special you want me to take into consideration, Miss Spencer?”
“No, but I’m willing to work extremely hard and be the best employee you’ve ever seen.”
“In that case, I hope we can make this work.” She extended her hand. “I have a few more interviews today, and I’ll let you know by Saturday if you’ve been chosen to be our new Patty Queen!”
I shook her hand and realized that this was my life’s rock bottom.
After sliding out of the booth, I walked to my apartment’s parking lot—looking over my shoulder to make sure the police weren’t following.
When I made it to my car, I slid behind the wheel and spotted a small white device with a straw attached right next to my ignition.
Sighing, I turned the key, but the engine didn’t crank.
Instead, the new box sounded with a series of ugly beeps.
“Please blow into the interlock device,” it warned. “Until the light turns red or green.”
You’ve got to be kidding me…
I leaned forward and blew into the straw, waiting for the light.
“Your blood alcohol level is 0.00!” The box exclaimed. “Driving permission is granted!”
The car cranked, and I grabbed the gearshift, but it didn’t allow me to move into “drive.”
A second device, a small cell phone that was now attached to one of my vents, flashed and I was now face to face with a pre-recorded video.
“Driving is a privilege, not a right.”
Those words faded away, revealing Judge Ashton in his robe.
Smiling, he was sitting behind a desk, staring right at me.
“Hello, Defendant.” He smiled. “It’s me, the honorable Judge Ashton, again.”
“To keep you in compliance with my ruling, and to force you to slow down and think about your decisions, this video will play every time you start your car for the next twenty-one days—as that’s exactly how long it takes to form a new habit.”
Still holding his smug smile, he hesitated for several seconds.
“You’re very welcome for this lesson, and the drivers on the road will thank you for your cautious driving,” he said.
“By the way...” He hesitated once more—this time for what felt like an entire minute. “I reserve the right to extend this time as I see fit. Drive safely and enjoy this privilege.”
The screen flashed black and my gears unlocked as I let out a frustrated scream.
I’ll proudly serve whatever prison time I get…