THE PRESIDING JUDGE looked stately but slightly uncomfortable in his red robe. He and the other judges listened attentively as the prosecutor, Victoria Barraud, completed her formal recitation to the court. 386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC7aEFkCSC7
"I will ask the accused to please rise," said the presiding judge. As before, his French was translated through their headphones into English.
Nicole Richie, Lindsay and Mischa had been seated with their lawyers at the table outside the cage where defendants normally sat. Technically, they could have placed them inside the cage, as they had previously. But it would have been a pure formality, and a tacky gesture given the circumstances.
The presiding judge nodded to each of them respectfully. "There is a principle deeply embedded in our nation's consciousness that it is far better for the guilty to go free than to convict even a single innocent person. There is nothing more offensive, no greater harm that a government can inflict upon an individual than to imprison her wrongly. Ms. Lohan, Ms. Richie, Ms. Barton: the French Republic owes you an apology."
Mischa closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting those words wash over her. Words she thought she'd never hear.
"On motion of the prosecution and with the consent of the defense, the court finds unanimously that the newly discovered evidence has demonstrated beyond any doubt that the accused are not guilty of the crimes as charge in the transfer judgment. The accused are to be released from custody immediately. This court is adjourned."
The courtroom emptied in applause. Nicole Richie, Lindsay, and Mischa held hands and then broke down into tight embraces and then, finally, inevitably, into violent and joyful sobs. So much passed between them in those moments. We had each fallen so far and so hard, their lives turned inside out, only to unexpectedly come out the other end in one piece.
In one piece, but not undamaged.
Take Zoe and Hania, for example: Mischa tried to tell herself that it was okay for them, because she and Sebastian weren't married yet, they'd been at boarding school, they were emancipated, in a way. But it was a reach, she knew. They understood that Sebastian had been part of a horrific crime and had done what still, after all this time, seemed utterly unthinkable----he had framed Mischa for it. They had believed in her innocence, and even if they hadn't, no doubt they would've stood by her anyway. They knew Sebastian was guilty, and at least part of the crime he'd committed was against her----and, in that sense, against them as well.
And she couldn't leave herself out of the list of casualties. She was alive and she was free and she was reunited with her sisters. But she didn't kid herself. Something like this changes a person. It breaks him into pieces and puts him back together, but the sum total is different. Mischa felt like a car that had been in a violent collision----you can get it to run again, but it's never quite the same.
It'd be a long time, she knew, before the bitterness left her. A longer time still before she could trust anyone again. She didn't want the book deals offered to her. She didn't want to sit down with 60 Minutes or Us Weekly for an exclusive interview. She only wanted the one thing she couldn't have----her life, before all this happened.
Zoe and Hania came through the barrier and laid themselves gently against Mischa. She cupped their heads and fought back more tears. They'd been together three days now, since the French flew them to Paris and put all of them together in a hotel in the Latin Quarter. That, she thought, had been decent of LaForge. Technically, Mischa was still a convicted felon, so the compromise was that they made her stay under police guard while they ordered room service and watched pay-per-view movies on DCRI's tab.
Over Zoe and Hania's heads, she saw Donatello Bianchi and Huey Nickerson in the gallery. She felt a squeeze of her heart when she thought of Felice, the love of Donatello's life, dead not because of anything she did but due to her. She couldn't have done this without Donatello. She could never have escaped from prison. Colonel LaForge seemed to understand this on some level, if comments he'd made to Mischa were anything to go by, but there was no proof of Donatello's complicity and, in any event, LaForge clearly lacked the appetite to pursue the matter. All's well that end's well, or something like that.
Huey Nickerson had been more than a government official doing his job. He'd been Mischa's friend. He'd gone to bat for her as much as he could and, according to LaForge, it had been Huey's idea to bring Sebastian and Egor to the embassy so LaForge could plant recording devices in their cell phones.
He was pretty cute, too. He'd mentioned to her more than once over the last three days that his time in Paris would be ending soon, that he'd be back at the Justice Department in D.C. by next summer.
She smiled at him, he smiled back at her, and she realized that these tiny little encounters and interactions and things, just things in life, were what she missed most.
Now that the court had adjourned, the cameras were flashing feverishly. She found it rather invasive, but at least the coverage of her had flip-flopped from negative to positive. And after everything she'd been through, having a few cameras in her face was like a walk in the park.
"It's going to be like this for a little while," Mischa told Zoe and Hania, as they began to navigate their way through the reporters and paparazzi.
"You deserve it, Mischa," Hania said. "They spent a year tearing you down as some bad person. Let them built you up for a while now that you're a hero."
She stopped and looked at Hania. These were words Hania would've spoken, before Mischa was arrested. But now that she was free, Hania could say whatever she liked.
Mischa had missed those crucial fifteen months, terrifying, confusing and exhilarating times that Hania had endured without her sister. Mischa would make up for it as best she could now. If they wanted to stay in boarding school in New York State, that's where she was going to move. If they wanted to go back to L.A., so be it.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3D8LpqkauT
"Hero?" Mischa laughed. "I'm no hero, sis. I'm just a survivor."386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ9gDHqiv7c
Zoe planted a kiss on Mischa's cheek. "You're our hero, Mischa," she said.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn1rKKcC5yr
It wouldn't be the last time today that Mischa Barton smiled through tears.386Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMsJ8t0QV2v
