Trapped In The Novel Of Criminal World

Prologue : The Beginning Of Destruction

"Deandra Atma Wijaya.  You are accused of being the mastermind behind the murder of your own parents.  That night on the twelfth of November, you came home from a friend's house.  Got into a fight with your parents.  You then entered your father's room without permission and took a firearm from the bedroom drawer.  Then shoot your mother in the chest three times.  Your father tried to stop you by trying to grab the gun, but ended up getting two shots in the head and chest.  Then you decide to call the police out of panic and fear.  With so much evidence against you, I hereby demand Fifteen Years in prison for murder.”

 The prosecutor closed the blue folder in his hand.  Then rolled his eyes at a young man sitting blankly on the suspect's chair.  The heavy voice full of accusations that was loudly heard when the Prosecutor explained all the allegations and accusations against him could be heard clearly.

 Likewise with gossiping whispers from the audience.  The chill from the wooden chair he sat on, the anxious and sweaty face of a nearly thirty year old Lawyer sitting by his side.  Also the tight atmosphere in which the entire contents of this room did not support him will always be a bad memory for the rest of his life.

 "Lawyer, did the Defendant accept all the charges that the Prosecutor gave?"

 Not long after the Prosecutor sat down so arrogantly.  The judge turned to question the Lawyer.  Hesitantly the man got up.  Opened the red map he was holding.  Everything in the folder can be known just by looking at the lawyer's face.

 There was silence for a moment, the lawyer looking much more anxious than his own client.  For a moment he rolled his eyes.  He glanced at the young man sitting next to him.

 Honestly, this guy doesn't understand.  How could a man who wasn't even twenty years old look so calm when he himself knew that everyone in the room wasn't on his side?

 A moment's confusion brought the man back to their conversation last week.  Precisely in the morning, the fifteenth of November, in one of the prisons in the city of Jakarta.

 Bruk

 A pile of folders of various colors was painstakingly placed on the table.  A young man sits and smiles waiting for the police to call the umpteenth client in his career.

 The look on his face clearly showed that he was prepared for this case.  He seems to have had plenty of weapons against the Prosecutor though he himself had yet to meet the man he now holds the case for.

 cluck

 The door opened slowly.  A young man in an orange prisoner uniform stepped in.  Behind him came a policeman.  Only to lead the foreign man to then sit on the chair right in front of the lawyer and leave him in the interrogation room with the lawyer.

 "Deandra, right?  How old are you kid?"

 The man called Deandra was silent for a moment.  His gaze was empty, his lips looked pale and dry even though it had only been two days since Deandra had entered the prison.  Make the lawyer who saw it feel pity.

 This kid, should be put in rehab and not prison.  This poor child has just lost both of his parents in a tragic incident and is instead accused of murdering his own parents.  A lawyer's soul of justice burns at the sight.

 "You're still in school, right?"

 asked the lawyer again, to which again he was met with silence.  But this time, the man in front of him reacted slightly.  A reaction that immediately made him feel uncomfortable.  Because the pair of eyes of the young man in front of him rolled and stared at him still without a word.

 This is very uncomfortable.  Because apart from the fact that he was the only one speaking here, he also felt very strange with the gazes that were directed at him.  During his five-year career as a lawyer, he has seen different types of convicts.

 Ranging from crying begging him to help, to threatening to kill him if he failed to get the person out of prison.  He had gotten used to different kinds of people.  He had learned a lot that he could even tell if someone was guilty or not just by looking into his eyes.

 But this man in front of him, died.  His eyes are dead.  He couldn't read what the man was thinking.  He couldn't even feel any guilt or even a sense of being unfairly treated.  No sadness, no fear, nothing.

 Just a blank stare that doesn't mean anything.  The man was much younger than him but one he knew at this moment when their eyes met.  That gaze that didn't imply anything was extremely terrifying.

 "Okay then, let's start the conversation.  I'm Daniel, the lawyer appointed to handle your case this time."

 Daniel smiled awkwardly as he introduced himself.  Then switch to grab one of the folders on the table and open it.  Trying to remain calm when facing the young man in front of him.

 The map contains the full identity of the man.  Deandra Atma Wijaya.  The only son of the couple Irwana Atma Wijaya and Sarah           Amara.  Seventeen years old and currently in the second grade of high school.  But because of this case he has been expelled from his school.

 “Deandra, you know that you are accused of assault and murder against your own parents, right?  I'm here to help prove your innocence so you can rest easy.  Now I need you to tell me honestly what happened that night.  Will you talk to me?”

 Daniel didn't know since when the man in front of him put the handcuffed pale hands on the table.  Deandra was still silent, her gaze still on the lawyer.  While his hands cupped on the table.  The lawyer didn't seem to stop asking questions unless he answered them.  So calmly, as if only his breath and heartbeat were the proof that he was still alive.  This man made his voice for the first time.

 “That night on the twelfth of November, I came home from a friend's house.  Got into a fight with my parents.  Then entered my father's room without permission and took a firearm from the bedroom drawer.  Then shot my mother in the chest three times.  My father had tried to stop it by trying to grab the gun, but ended up getting two shots in the head and chest.  Then I decided to call the police out of panic and fear.  With so much evidence against me, the Prosecutor hereby demands Fifteen Years in prison for murder.”

 His ears seemed to be ringing.  The man in front of him said all scenarios so smoothly and without emotion.  A young lawyer is glued to a suspect.  The white paper inside the folder was wet from the sweat that filled his palms.  Even so, the young man was not finished with his words.

 “I met the Prosecutor before I met you.  I'm sure you know that.  Because that's the procedure.  That's what the Prosecutor said when he saw me yesterday.  I'm sure the Prosecutor will say the same thing in court later because it was written on his file and he read it before me yesterday."

 So serene yet terrifying.  Almost like a swamp that unexpectedly has a crocodile in it.  Previously he had not said a word when the Lawyer showered him with questions.  But when he began to speak, the young lawyer was completely silenced.

 Wait a minute, did that guy just say yesterday?  Was he really just repeating exactly what the Prosecutor had said to him yesterday?  How could he still remember it?  Every word, every pause, every note, as if he was the prosecutor himself.  Then what's with the formal attitude?  Is it true that the man named Deandra is a high school boy who is not even eighteen years old?

 “Once the Prosecutor is done with his charges, he will sit down.  Then the Judge will turn to you.  With great authority, the judge will ask you.  Something like this: "Lawyer, did the defendant accept all the accusations given by the Prosecutor?"  Then you just have to answer like this, Mr. Lawyer."

 He couldn't face this any longer.  The gaze of the young man is still in his memory to this day.  Disturbing his sleep at night.  Even the faint smile on Dean's face he could still remember clearly as he stood frozen staring at the open folder in his hands.

 The last words from Deandra a week ago, still ringing in his ears to this day.  Accompanying every short sentence he uttered.  Like a painful echo, when with a deep breath, he finally answered judge's question for real.

 "The defendant, Deandra Atma Wijaya.  Accept every charge the prosecutor puts on him."

 In front of judges, prosecutors, and court witnesses.  He has lost.  But more than feeling disappointed at his loss, Daniel was far more worried.  Especially to the young man who was still tight-lipped by his side.  Who exactly is this Deandra?