"Follow me," he said firmly, letting the sliding door slam open, metal against metal.
Faith stood up and walked slowly with him, her mind racing with questions -- in the middle of the night? -- she couldn't ask. She had learned quickly that a quiet inmate was a happy inmate, especially when the guard you were following was the only one who had ever harrassed you for no reason.
The man led her into a small meeting room, occupied only by a table and two chairs. On the table was a small stack of clothing and a pair of shoes.
"Get changed," said the guard, scowling for reasons that Faith couldn't see. "He'll be here any minute." With that he exited, closing the door and locking it from the outside.
She approached the table with caution. She hadn't yet figured out what was going on, but it was a couple of hours before dawn and she had a meeting of some sort. Certainly out of the ordinary. Just like old times.
The clothes consisted of blue jeans and a plain white tshirt, white underwear, white socks, and average white tennis shoes. Not seeing anything wrong with them, she eagerly stripped and put them on. Anything was better than that horrid prison uniform she'd been wearing for the last month.
The room was so silent that Faith picked up the chair to pull it out, rather than let it screech across the floor. Then she sat down to wait on whoever "he" was that was coming.
He was either taking his time or running later because the time dragged on and still no show. Faith's legs were starting to cramp from sitting in one position for so long. She tried changing the way her legs were crossed, but nothing was comfortable. Finally, with a quick glance around the room for one-way windows, she propped her legs up on the table.
Naturally, that's when he walked into the room. Fast as lightning, her feet were flat on the floor and she sat up a little straighter.
"Don't stop being comfortable on account of me," he said, setting his black hat down on the table. He sat down in the chair across from her and probably would have put his own feet on the table if it weren't for having to be able to reach his briefcase.
"Bob Smith's the name." He popped a cigarette in his mouth and tried three times to light his match before he was successful. Then he took a big puff and blew out a perfect smoke ring. "I'm your lawyer."
Faith eyed him skeptically: tossled hat-hair, loud orange silk shirt, a briefcase well-past it's expiration date. "You don't look like a lawyer."
He shrugged. "Call it a temp job."
"I don't have a lawyer."
The man pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and put them on the table in front of her. "These are documents allowing your early release. I just need your signature on the last page."
She idly flipped through the pages. "Yeah right. I'm in here for murder, buddy. There's no way anyone's letting me out yet."
He didn't say a word, only smoked his cigarette and stared at her as if he didn't care one way or the other.
Finally, curiosity got the better of her and she leaned over, reading the first page. The heading was all she needed: Immediate Release Order. "Is this legit?"
"You think they'd let me in here if it wasn't?"
Faith continued to flip through the document, skimming the text as she went along. When she got to the end, it was already signed by the mayor and the prison warden. All that was missing was her signature.
Her "lawyer" pulled out a pen and rolled it across the table to her. She picked it up and stared at it for a moment, almost as if she didn't know what it was.
"This was supposed to be my redemption," she said quietly, not intending for him to hear her.
"Redemption comes in a lot of ways," he answered her. "Maybe whoever's dealing yours out decided on something more appropriate."
"I can't think of anything that would be a better punishment than prison." Despite her reservations, she signed the blank line. She wasn't stupid enough to pass up an opportunity like this, and the strangeness of it all had her curious.
"Redemption isn't about punishment," said the man, taking the papers back from her and putting them back in the ancient leather bag. "It's about tilting the scales back toward the side they need to be on. Who better to add weight than the one who was just taken off the other side?"
Faith didn't seem to know what to do next, so she just stood up with him.
"You can leave now," he said quietly. "You're a free woman."
"What do I do?" she asked. "I don't even know where to begin."
He turned back to her before opening the door. "Something like this happened to me, I'd want to go talk to my most trusted friend first thing," he said, a bit cryptically.
Faith didn't move as he walked through the door. "Why is this happening?"
She heard his voice echo down the hallway. "Don't ask me. I'm just the
messenger."