Chapter 20 - THE BOOTS BECOME EVIDENCE, THEN RUBBER
The original boots remained in evidence through trial and appeal.
Years.
Ames forgot sometimes.
Then prosecutors sent notice:
evidence retention period ending subject to final disposition.
Options under procedure:
destroy.
Return if lawful.
Continue archive if needed.
Darby was ten.
Ames asked the victim advocate:
“Do I need to ask her?”
“Not necessarily. They’re evidence property. But emotionally, consider what helps.”
He spoke with Darby’s therapist first.
Then Darby.
“The hospital boots still exist.”
She froze.
“Yellow?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Evidence storage.”
“Do I have to see?”
“No.”
“Do I have to take?”
“No.”
“What happens?”
“They can destroy them.”
Darby thought.
“Like cut?”
“Probably disposal procedures.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
“Want anything else?”
“No.”
Then:
“Can I get purple ones?”
Ames looked at her.
“Rain boots?”
“Yes.”
No ceremony.
They went that weekend.
Purple boots.
Plain.
No bells.
Darby tried them on herself.
The salesperson asked:
“Fit okay?”
Darby walked.
“Yes.”
Ames’s eyes filled.
Darby saw.
“Oh my God, Dad.”
“Sorry.”
“They’re shoes.”
“I know.”
“Stop making face.”
He laughed.
“Trying.”
She bought them.
Wore them home.
It did not erase yellow boots.
That was not the point.
An object associated with fear became an ordinary category again.
Months later, the prosecutor confirmed original boots were destroyed according to procedure.
Darby shrugged.
Then asked for pizza.
Perfect.
No family museum.
No box under bed.
No relic.
May you like
Evidence served its purpose.
Then became rubber waste.
