The Wolves in the Woods

How To Think, What To Think

Children must be taught how to think, not what to think

— Margaret Mead

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The aftermath of the trial and reactions to it.

***

            The inside of a courtroom was Amaia's least favorite place in the world. It wasn't because it had brown everywhere with little room for color or personality. It wasn't because of the stress of having to stand in front of an official to say something that would determine the rest of someone's life. It especially wasn't because of the headaches of people refusing to see what they've become under enough scrutiny. That wasn't even beginning to scratch the surface of other reasons they irritated her.

The banging of the judge's gavel irritated her ears. The screams and shouts of people refusing to believe mountains upon mountains of evidence summoned migraines from the very pits of Hell. The smell of dust lingered in the air despite the janitors cleaning everything over and over until there was nothing but bleach and whatever else they used. Between the two smells, Amaia wasn't sure what was worse. Then there was the debate on the future of someone based on evidence that could have been entirely circumstantial. Again, Amaia wasn't sure what was worse. The dumb people who pushed for a trial despite everyone and their mother knowing they were going to lose. Or the innocents who were going to be convicted for crimes they didn't even do.

Courtrooms just brought out the absolute worst in people.

"You can't do this to us! We didn't do anything wrong!" Amaia heard Alya shriek in desperation. Whatever the judge said in response was lost amid the wailing and the crying in Bustier's now-former class. One-third of the class was desperately arguing with the judge about their sentences. Another third were weeping to themselves now that the guilt was registering. The last third was yelling at Adrien for letting it go this far. Bustier herself was catatonic. Processing the fact that, yes, she was being stripped of her teaching license. Yes, she was going to prison for the charges listed. Yes, she was being blacklisted from the education field from here on out.

It was like leading brain-dead sheep straight to the slaughterhouse.

Amaia wasn't sure how accurate that description was. The cacophonic screaming from everyone was resounding off the courtroom walls into her ears. Even hearing that some of them were going to prison for assaulting police officers among other charges did nothing to soothe her growing headache. Withholding a sigh, she held a hand to her head to ease the throbbing pain.

"Mister Adrien Agreste," she heard the judge say while walking out of the courtroom, "For your crime of perjury, you will be sentenced to—"

The rest of that sentence was drowned out by Adrien desperately pleading for something. What it was, Amaia couldn't catch. The ringing in her head was loud and chasing away all other coherent thoughts. Her vision blurred. She stumbled a bit in her step. Every sound in the world melded into one, screeching note at the pitch of a dog whistle. The glare from the noon sun shone in harsh white on the glass windows. Burning her eyes so badly she needed to squeeze them shut. Whispered words sounded off, surrounding her at first like disjointed voices speaking random nonsense. Then she felt someone leading her away by the hand.

Her eyes caught a trace of his red hair. Followed by another head of white hair bouncing along and running toward something. What it was, Amaia felt too disoriented to tell. A cold, refreshing liquid was pressed to her lips. Beckoning for her to drink. Someone held her by the shoulders so she didn't fall to the ground and hit her head. Someone else covered her ears to block out the sounds. Relief washed over her in soothing waves. Her senses coming back, she quietly accepted the paper cup full of cold water from her boyfriend.