Little Blackbird

I

"Mother, where are we going?"
The young boy in the back seat of the automobile was dressed in a black suit. For exactly 32 minutes and 27 seconds, he had been staring out the window, trying to decipher where his parents were taking him. They hadn't said a word to him this whole drive, and he was aching to know what their destination would be.
He watched as the pair exchanged a glance with one another before quickly turning their gazes back to the road. They too were in formal wear, dressed just as fancily as he. Then again, the King family always dressed with a sense of importance, so this was nothing out of the ordinary.
"Lonán, my dear," his father answered after a short silence without looking at him; his hands grasped firmly on the steering wheel, "please be patient. We will be where we must be in five more minutes."
"But...may I know where it is we are-"
"Lonán, what have we told you about talking back?" his mother interjected, not turning her eyes to look at him either.
The child sighed ever so softly, so the exhale of wind would not be detected by the sensitive ears of his parents. "Do not speak unless told to," he replied in the mannered tone he had been taught to speak in from the day he was born.
"That's right, now put that lesson in action," she commanded, though her tone was as gentle as always.
This sent the young one back to his silence. Again, he went back to looking out the window as their prestige car traveled down the never ending asphalt path . . .

"Greetings, Lonán King," a tall, stick like lady in a blue suit extended her hand to the child, "I'm Georgina Bodi; I'll be your attorney today."
"Salutations, Miss. Bodi," Lonán nodded and shook the lawyer's hand with a surprisingly firm grip for a kid his age. His stormy grey eyes held a look of curiosity in them. What is an attorney? He pondered, though he only had a moment's time to think about this before he was ushered by Georgina through a grand set of doors and into a courtroom. People were sitting in pews, chattering about.
Lonán looked around in a trance. What was this place? Why had his parents fled from him immediately after finding Georgina? He followed the twig woman to a desk on the right of the isle they had walked. At that point, all commotion had stopped; Lonán could feel the many pairs of eyes on him.
   "Lonán King, you are being charged with the murders of...," the judge spoke clearly so that everyone could easily hear him, but Lonán could hear only static. Why? Why was he here? Did he do something wrong? The boy looked around in his chair; the jury watched him intensely, a look of fear in their eyes. The stocky security guards that stood in front of the isle were blank of expression, staring straight ahead to the chestnut wooden structure that the judge sat upon. Where were his parents in this room?
   "Mr. King," Georgina gathered his attention with a scolding voice, her emerald eyes shooting daggers at him. The short, pudgy judge had paused his speech, and his gaze was fixed on the child serial killer.
   "I'm sorry, sir; would you kindly repeat your last sentence?" he asked, his hands neatly folded on the table before him. Instead of the judge replying, an elder lady at a typewriter sitting in the area that separated the judge from Lonán spoke.
"Judge Ballons: We will need your testimony on the stand," she said in a creaky voice, turning to the side to sneeze after reading.
"Bless you," Lonán smiled softly, though he received no reply. Instead, the woman simply typed his words onto the paper. Georgina stood up with a stack of paper and set them down on the stand on the judge's left before coming back to the desk.
"Mr. King, please stand and raise your right hand," the judge requested as someone came by and slid a bible in front of him, "and put your left hand on the Bible and repeat after me." –Lonán stood from his chair, the difference in his height far from dramatic– "I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."
"I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," Lonán repeated. Once told he could be seated, the judge started to talk once again.
"Mr. King, would you like to make any opening statements before the trial begins?"
"Sir," Lonán started, but this time his attorney found it necessary to correct the child by saying 'your honor'. "Uh, your honor?" –Georgina nodded in approval– "I would like to say that...," he paused, trying to think about what was happening. Were these people talking about what he did earlier this week when he was allowed outside? He thought the punishment his parents gave him was enough when they saw the red milk on his hands and arms. They locked him away with nothing but a cot; not even food and water was given to him regularly – only once over a period of five days.
"Your honor, I would like to say that I did do wrong, and I did the bad things you're saying I did," tears clouded the young one's eyes, "I can't say you're mistaken on that, but please, whatever my punishment may be, please know that my mind may be diseased, as my parents call it, but I have a good heart." He sat down as the woman next to him sighed.
"Well, that's some easy money," she muttered as the jury went chattering amongst themselves. Lonán could still feel the many eyes on him. He could hear every little conversation and started counting how many times the word insane and murder came up. 4...8...15...24...32...49...it soon became the only words he could hear in that room, the rest of the things being said turning to white noise.
"Silence!" the short balding man yelled, slamming a mallet onto a small target mounted onto his stand. Within the blink of an eye, everyone went quiet. "Remember, the fate of the boy shall not be determined until he has a fair trial."
Lonán sunk back in his chair, tucking back a piece of hair that had fallen into his face. His hair was all sticky with gel, and it just rubbed off on his hands. The suspect wiped the gooey substance onto his pants as Georgina stood up and started speaking on his behalf. All he could do was sit there, twiddling his thumbs.

Guilty.
That was the word that the judge labeled him at the end of the trial. An eight year old boy, charged with the murders of seven people. The jury had been gracious enough to convince the judge that though he was guilty, he shouldn't be sent to prison. Instead, they had settled with a mental asylum.
Georgina told him this, and they went out to find his parents, though Lonán wrists were now bound together by metal rings and chain. The duo searched everywhere, but Mr. and Mrs. King were nowhere to be seen.
"Well, I suppose I can bring you there myself," Georgina muttered with reluctance in her voice. They were already in the parking lot, so finding and loading into the woman's car was just that much easier. Lonán sat in the back of the automobile and looked out the window, not speaking a single word to the driver on their drive to what would be his new home.