Damn… Why hadn't he followed through on his promise? Why had he forgotten all about her? And how? How could he have forgotten all about a case that, at the time, meant so much to him?
The letter… Bianca's letter reminded him of what a jackass he'd been, putting his pride and his career before his promises. It had always been that way, really.
He'd always wanted to make it to the top and nothing would stand in his way. But suddenly none of that mattered. Hell, he was already near the top anyway, contrary to what Diane and Will and Alicia thought. But now getting to the top seemed almost petty and he wondered if he really belonged there.
A car horn honked, jolting him back to reality. He must have been daydreaming. Again. And from the looks of the man flipping him off in the sliver BMW with the turn signal flashing, Cary's parking space was obviously of some value.
Moron.
"Just wait till I face you in court." Cary muttered, making certain that he caught the man's eye in the rear-view mirror. And then he gestured with the same obscene sign. Yeah, guys like that always ended up in court sooner or later and Cary was fully prepared to take him down. He could just see it now… "Do you remember leaving the parking garage on a night much like this one, where you showed your disdain for a person who was merely trying to pull out of a parking space? And do you or do you not realize that that someone was me?"
He grinned at the scenario, but then was jolted yet again by the honking of the car horn. "All right, all right!" he muttered, waving and grinning at the driver as he peeled out of the parking garage. Damn, people were such idiots.
But all of that was quickly forgotten as he pulled out onto Illinois Avenue and turned left. He passed building after familiar building, all with names of huge corporate conglomerates, and all of which he'd represented in his short time with Lockhart/Gardner. How many other lawyers could make that claim?
As he neared the basketball court where he'd spent many an hour, he veered left and followed the signs to Interstate 45, the road which would take him to his destination.
Dwight Correctional Center was thirty miles east of Chicago, a trip that would take some time. Too much time; time which would give him too many minutes to think. And thinking was something he definitely didn't want to do. It was much too dangerous, especially now.
He tried music. Soundgarden, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, even Owl City (a CD left in his car months before by some woman whose name he could no longer remember. Or at least that's what he told people anyway-anyone who asked, that is), but nothing seemed to work. The cloud still hung heavy over his head.
He tried breathing deeply and practically every other technique he'd been taught by Will and Diane, but they proved to be stupid and pointless. Who believes any of that stuff works anyway? Obviously Will and Diane did. But he wasn't Diane, and he certainly wasn't Will Gardner. The only person who was Will Gardner was-well, Will Gardner.
However, he didn't have to worry about his next move for long, because before he realized what was happening, he was pulling into the parking lot of the Dwight Correctional Center, with no knowledge whatsoever of how he'd arrived.
His heart began to pound in his chest, a feeling that surprised him. Was he actually nervous? No way. He didn't even get nervous when he went to the dentist much less going to visit someone in prison. He'd done it a hundred times, easily; murderers, rapists, burglars, he'd seen it all. But this was a different kind of visit; dare he categorize it as a social call?
He thought about turning back. She'd never know the difference, and he hadn't exactly told her he was coming. But he'd driven all this way to fulfill a promise. An obligation.
There was no turning back now.