Cary got out of his car and walked into the Dwight Correctional Facility, displaying more confidence than he felt inside. Inside he was a mess, completely unprepared for this visit. He'd rehearsed in his head what he would say a hundred times, but now the words were lost on him, leaving him feeling completely empty.
Damn… Maybe he should have called, or written. People in prison liked to get letters, didn't they? He sure as hell would, if he ever ended up in prison that was. He prayed that he never would. It was bad enough on the outside, seeing it from a lawyer's perspective. He hated to think of what it was like as a convict. And he sure as hell hoped that he'd never find out.
He glanced at the crumpled letter gripped in his fingers. Bianca had taken the time to write him; the least he could have done was return the favor. He hadn't written a letter by hand in years, but he could have at least tried. Now he was left with some lame excuse that he had mere minutes to come up with. How in the hell was he supposed to explain why he'd broken his promise? Why he hadn't come to visit her until now?
When he finally summoned up the courage to walk inside, it hit him full force; a rush of memories that reminded him of how he'd failed, which broke his confidence even further. But as he neared the guard, he quickly brought his confidence up to an appropriate level; that of a lawyer who knew what he was doing. He approached the gruff-looking guard and showed his ID, grateful when the guard nodded, allowing him through.
Cary couldn't believe his luck. Rarely had he been cleared through so easily. But his luck changed almost instantly. He'd barely walked two feet down the hallway when he came to the metal detector and guards that were swarming around it like flies at a picnic on a hot Chicago day. And yet, any person could just walk in off the streets and get this far. He shook his head in disbelief. What a corrupted system the State of Illinois had.
Who in the hell designed this place, anyway?
He shook his head once more and then began the familiar ritual of removing his shoes, his watch, his cuff links, and his belt and placed them in the bins, along with his laptop and wallet. All the while the guards stared at him, as though they knew he was up to no good. Well that's where they were wrong. This was as good of a visit as it was ever going to get. It seemed strange to make a social call to the Dwight Correctional Facility and not be visiting someone who was wrongly convicted to determine how to get them out. But he couldn't focus on the reason that he was there; it would only make his confidence fail yet again.
Meanwhile he held up his hands and walked through the metal detector again and again, emptying his pockets of loose change and things he had no idea were in there. And still the guards stared at him. Didn't they realize who he was? That he was one of the top lawyers working for Diane Lockhart and Alicia Florrick? This was worse than the airport. At least on the other side of that security was freedom to fly to another part of the world and leave another part behind.
When he was finally cleared, he dressed in the things he had removed, and absently straightened his tie, not even bothering to look into a mirror. He was determined to look as professional as possible, even if he didn't feel professional at all.
He looked at the guards, not sure which direction to turn until a surprisingly stern-faced female guard nodded and pointed to a large metal door. On the other side was the woman he'd come to see. He pulled the heavy door open, suddenly realizing that he was, of all things, nervous.
No… It was more than that.
He was terrified.