In Custody Novels & Stories

Watson asked, his tone directed at Raymond but his eyes briefly flicking toward Tricia. Raymond didn’t answer immediately. Because his focus had shifted. “To him,” Raymond said quietly. Watson paused. “Mark,” Raymond clarified. The air tightened. Watson’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did. Slightly and subtly. “What about him?” Watson asked. Raymond studied him carefully. “Where is he?” he asked. The question hung there. Heavy. Watson took a step forward, his voice controlled. “He’s in custody.” Tricia’s heart skipped.

Final. Silence settles again. “And now,” I say, pushing past it, “they’re where.” “In custody.” The words anchor something inside me. “Both of them.” “Yes.” “Charges.” “Assault. Intent to cause serious harm. Enough to hold them.” The clinical nature of it contrasts with everything else. “They have lawyers,” he adds. “So do I.” His gaze flicks to me. “And better.” A faint shift follows. Agreement. “They won’t walk.” “No. They won’t.”

Lizzie voices her confusion, "she wouldn't just come back like this without a reason. Someone, or something.. An event or occasion?" Dean nods beside her, "that's what I was thinking." "Is she in custody?" Lizzie asks, turning to me. I bite my lip.. What is she getting at? If Lizzie thinks for one second she will be left alone with that woman, she can think again! "She is in custody yes. A guarded silver barred cell." I explain, hoping she wants to ensure her safety. That's not the look that crosses her face or features; her shoulders become stiff, and her face tautens, "I want to see her. I want to know why she's here."

“Same way. Different script.” Mila sat down beside me. “They can’t do anything without your cooperation unless they want to recreate the whole C‑series debacle in the public eye,” she said. “That gives you leverage. Use it.” “I plan to,” I said. “Protective custody would at least keep him from walking up to your door,” Jax said. “Short term.” “I don’t want him in a government cage,” I said. “I want him where I can get to him when the time is right.”

Then he walked away. Actually i'm quiet excited to finally get to meet Elle and Tina again. It's great to finally meet someone who is not... him, Greyson. A bit after that, a doctor and the nurses came to check up on my condition. They never really tell me anything about my condition cause Greyson is the one who has the right to receive the medical report, not me. Then i walked into the master bedroom and closed the door shut behind me. It's weird to be here again. I went into the walk in closet and all my stuff are already there.

"Yes… What happens to us?" I studied both prisoners carefully. “For now?” Ryan leaned closer, curious. “You stay here.” Relief flickered across Liam’s face. But Ryan immediately burst that hope. “Don’t look so happy.” Liam’s shoulders sagged. “This is temporary custody,” I continued. Ryan nodded. “Translation: your fate is still very undecided.” Cole swallowed nervously. “Are you going to kill us like you killed the other prisoner?” Ryan shrugged. "Depends on how helpful you are."

I counted them. Then Morrison's voice came back. Different now. The control still there but something underneath it released. Like a held breath finally let go. "He is in custody," Morrison said. "Victor Hale is in custody.”

“Or charged with possession of narcotics.” Gloriana felt dizzy and leaned heavily on the barstool at her back. “What you’re saying…? I… I d-don’t understand…” she asked shaking her head. “You thought the evidence might up and magically disappear? I’m good, Glow, but I’m not that good.” “No...” She waved her hand in front of her and briefly closed her eyes. “The custody bit…” “It’s a form of house arrest, if you like…” “Oh… I didn’t know.”

“He may argue whatever he wants at a hearing where I can answer him.” Pain pulsed under Lorelai’s bandage. She gripped the table instead of sitting. “Protection keeps danger from reaching me,” she said. “Custody controls my movement. Betrothal claims a future I did not consent to. You will not use one word to perform the work of all three.” The oldest custodian exhaled slowly. The senior magistrate turned to the clerk. “Enter the distinction.” The words were repeated for the record. Protection. Custody.

Prison had a way of stripping illusion faster than guilt ever could. James learned that within his first week. Yes, he was placed in a special cell, cleaner than most, less crowded, monitored more closely. The authorities called it “protective custody,” a courtesy extended to inmates with public profiles and financial histories that made them targets. But protection, James quickly realized, was a polite word. It did not mean safety. It meant delay. The air inside the facility was thick with resentment. It clung to walls, lingered in corridors, and settled into stares that followed him wherever he went. Some men looked at him with curiosity.