This is what they always do when they're losing control. Around midnight, the street had finally quieted. Sharon was washing dishes, the TV still murmuring in the background. Aaron sat at the kitchen table reviewing documents with Sarah on the phone. The flash of police lights through the windows came without warning.
Aaron Taylor. A voice boomed through a megaphone. Come out with your hands up. Sharon dropped a plate, ceramic shattering across the floor. Aaron stood slowly, raising his hands where the officers could see them through the windows.
Stay inside, he told Sharon firmly. Call Sarah. Then call Martinez. Aaron, please. Sharon's voice broke.
It's all part of the process, he assured her, though his heart pounded. They can't hide the truth anymore. No matter what they do to me, he opened the front door carefully. Flashlight beams blinded him. Officers crouched behind car doors, weapons drawn as if confronting a dangerous criminal.
On your knees, someone shouted. "Hands behind your head!" Aaron complied, his movements deliberate and calm. Through the door, he could hear Sharon crying, could picture her watching in horror. The handcuffs bit into his wrists. An officer read him his rights, citing charges of conspiracy, inciting violence and interference with law enforcement.
The accusations were as ridiculous as they were predictable. They pushed his head down, forcing him into the back of a patrol car. Through the window, he saw Sharon on the porch, phone pressed to her ear, tears streaming down her face. The holding cell was cold and smelled of bleach. Aaron sat on the metal bench, his back straight despite his exhaustion.
Hours passed. Through the small window in his cell door, he could see the sky beginning to lighten. Then he heard it, voices growing louder, chanting, "Free Aaron Taylor! Free Aaron Taylor!" The sound swelled, echoing through the station's corridors. Feet stomped on pavement.
Cars honked in rhythm with the chance. An officer hurried past, speaking urgently into his radio. We've got at least 200 protesters out front. News crews are arriving. We need backup.
Aaron closed his eyes, listening to his community rise up. Even here in this cell, he could feel the tide of justice rising. Miller might have his badge. The union might have their lies. But the truth had a power all its own.
The chance grew louder. A hundred voices becoming a thousand. Free Aaron Taylor. Free Aaron Taylor. Through his window, Aaron watched the sunrise paint the cell wall gold.