Alan came back out to the prison waiting room. As before, Wilson was the only one there. Wilson looked around wondering why nobody else was there for any other inmates.
"Good news. His bail conditions have not changed. He can still bail out today, assuming he's not back there right now getting any more write ups. I just got the fax from the circuit clerk's office. Give our computers here a few minutes to update with the current information from the circuit clerk's office, and then the cashier can accept the money."
Great. House could bail out today. Wilson had a few practical concerns which were actually House's concerns, but Wilson being Wilson, he couldn't help but worry about them too. Wilson knew he should stop caring about this shit, that the more he worried about stuff like this, the more House would LET him worry about it. He needed to let House take care of all his own problems. It was great that House took care of his own bail, and that was a huge step in the right direction. Wilson wondered how responsible House would be once he was out. Would he flee the country, this time successfully? Would he see that "doing the right thing" in this case meant not running from his problems for once?
On one hand, Wilson loved this man so deeply it hurt. In every other relationship he'd ever been in, when things started to go south, he or the other person would bail. House had always been there for Wilson when things went south in his other relationships.
With House, they were in it together come hell or high water. Things had gone south between them many times and yet they still came up together eventually, thrashing and gasping for air.
Wilson pondered, not for the first time, that it was increasingly difficult not to take House's crazy impulsive behavior personally. It's hard not to when it's coming from someone you love. House never seemed to be able to understand that the consequences for his behavior were much more catastrophic to Wilson and everyone else around him than the behavior itself was.
Wilson was afraid of the consequences for House should he do something even crazier to avoid the law again once he was out of jail. He had no idea what kind of House would actually walk out of that jail.
Wilson waited the few minutes as requested, then made his way over to the cashier's desk.
"You're here to bail someone out?" was the terse question.
"Yes. Gregory House. I have a copy of the fax from the court with the bail terms on it," Wilson said. Interpersonal skills, especially politeness, must not be high on their priority list, Wilson decided.
"Just a minute. I haven't received the info from the court yet. It should be in the computer in a few minutes." In other words, hurry up and wait.
"I've been waiting quite a while," Wilson began, but just as he began talking, the clerk interrupted him. "Hold on, it's coming through now."
"Bail is set at $25,000 US dollars."
Wilson began pulling out thousand dollar bills from his briefcase. He could have gotten a cashier's certified check, but someone had told him that the jail only accepted cash for bail or bond payments. He kept looking nervously about the room, as if he were terrified he was going to be robbed at any minute. The clerk just looked bored, as if she'd seen this kind of cash plenty of times before. Wilson mused, I guess drug dealers have that kind of cash on them all the time. She must be used to seeing thousand dollar bills.
When Wilson finished pulling the cash out of his briefcase, the bored clerk called a guard over. They both counted the money, the guard locked it up, the clerk finished House's paperwork and keyed some stuff into the computer. A few minutes later she got confirmation from the circuit clerk in the computer that the bail payment was accepted and House was OK to be released on bail. The guard called upstairs for House to be prepped for release.
Wilson had brought House's cane but when he arrived for his visit earlier, the jail required him to keep House's cane in his car. After House's bail was posted and approved, the jail consented for Wilson to bring House's cane in. Wilson wasn't allowed to directly give House his cane. This was really just another rule that was a necessary evil. For safety's sake, while the inmate was still in the custody of the Mercer County Jail, guards had to handle prepping the inmate for release. This included returning personally owned mobility aids to an inmate.
House's clothing, shoes, wallet and watch were in the prison's safe, and the guard would give them to him along with his cane before he was released. He was not out of the jail's custody until he walked off the elevator on the ground floor and crossed the threshold of the jail's outside door. Even in the prison lobby, if he acted out, he was still in the jail's custody and would just be handcuffed and taken right back again. They had to be very careful with every inmate.
Up on House's cellblock, all hell broke loose when a guard came to solitary to get House. As he left solitary and was escorted through his old cellblock, the other inmates resumed their jeering. House glared extra hard right back at them. They were daring him to throw the first punch. It took all of his self control not to give them what they wanted.
He had no idea where the guard was taking him. If he'd had a visitor, the visit would've taken place back in the small visiting area in solitary. If Wilson had posted bail, as was expected, the guard would have told him immediately. This was odd. House asked where he was being taken, and the guard simply replied, "I got orders to take you to the warden's office."
Oh shit. House had no idea what he was in trouble for this time. He hadn't done anything wrong, at least not within the last few hours, to warrant a trip to the warden's office.
They got to the warden's office. Alan (his caseworker), the warden, and Dr. Sykes (the medical director of the infirmary) were waiting inside. The guard escorting House uncuffed him. House sat down at a table across from the other people and the guard went back to the door.
"Inmate House, bail has been posted. It is very unusual to be able to bail out directly from solitary. You are not free. You are being released on house arrest. You will be fitted with an ankle monitor. You are limited to your home, your place of employment, and the Mercer County Pain Clinic. You are not on parole and you are not free to go anywhere else. If you must go somewhere else besides those three places you are required to call the phone number attached to the ankle monitor and report where you are going. You are not permitted to cross state lines under any circumstances. This means you are not permitted in the state of New York or the state of Pennsylvania under any circumstances. You will report to your next scheduled court date or you will be re-arrested. You will be escorted to the release area where you'll be fitted with the ankle monitor and a copy of these release instructions will be given to you. Guard, please escort the inmate out."
"I'm not allowed to ask any questions?" House asked.
"No," the warden replied as House rose from the chair to be escorted out.
"Inmate House, you will be given a written referral for the Mercer County Pain Clinic when you get the rest of your paperwork in the release area. They'll take care of your Methadone there," the doctor said.
If bail had been posted, then that must mean Wilson posted it. House hoped desperately that Wilson would actually wait around for him and not just post the money and leave.
That ride down the elevator with the guard was the longest elevator ride House had ever been on. The floor numbers were marked inside the elevator, but not what was actually on each floor. There were two doors on the elevator; one in front and one in the rear. They had entered through the front door. When the elevator arrived on the first floor, the rear door opened. It was a one way exit for inmates being released. House's heart began to beat just a little bit faster when he saw the sign directing inmates and staff to the release area. Fifty more feet to freedom.
About halfway down the hallway leading to the jail's public waiting room (freedom), they had to turn left into the Inmate Release Holding Area. Inmates were placed individually in small holding cells until it was their turn to be seen by the clerk and processed for release. In the holding cell, each inmate was given their street clothes if they were still wearable, or a pair of prison issued jeans and a tee shirt if their street clothes were no longer wearable. After each inmate stripped out of their prison attire and into street clothes, they remained in the holding cell until their name was called to be taken before the clerk. Inmates in this area were NOT released from the jail's custody until they actually walked over the threshold of the jail's external door. If they acted out in here, boom, they were taken right back from whence they came.
Like everywhere else in the jail, there was no privacy in the Inmate Release Holding Area. Inmates had to strip and dress in full view of everyone else. This was a safety precaution, since inmates can and do hide things in all sorts of places. Stripping and dressing in full view of everyone was something House was sure he would never get used to, and he fervently hoped this would be the last time he'd have to do that.
Dressed in his usual jeans, rock tee and his old Nikes, House sat anxiously in his holding cell counting down the minutes until his name was called to be escorted to the clerk's counter. There appeared to be only one clerk and at least ten or so inmates waiting, each in individual holding cells, to be released. House watched as one inmate went through the release process. He thought it would just be a matter of signing some paperwork and then the inmate would go, but the inmate currently in the process of being released appeared to have been in this process for at least half an hour and wasn't finished yet. House realized his wait could be a long one. How long would Wilson wait for him?
House started tapping out a complicated drum rhythm on the wall in time to a melody he played in his head. The song was Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir", a song House played often on his Les Paul Custom in open D tuning. After he finished tapping out the drum rhythm, he went back through the melody in his head playing air guitar.
After what seemed like an absolute eternity, during which he went through the song four times rehearsing different instrument parts in his head, they finally called his name. Inmates in this area were still not released and the holding cell doors were locked. Inmates still required a guard escort even just to go from the holding cell to the clerk's counter to be processed for release. House's prison issued cane was taken from him by the guard before he got to the clerk's desk. A cane can be used as a weapon and there was no protection between the inmate and the clerk other than a guard and a thin countertop. House was not handcuffed, this time, when the holding cell door was opened and he was escorted to the clerk's spot at the counter.
He noted with dismay that there were no chairs at the counter. Inmates normally stood for the release process. Without a cane, it was difficult for him to stand in one place longer than a few minutes. He shifted painfully to get his weight off of his right leg. He leaned on the counter to help in the effort to get his weight off his right leg, and immediately the guard reacted as if House was trying to attack the clerk. "Hold on, hold on! I just need a chair. My leg hurts," House said to the guard.
"Why didn't you say that instead of leaning over the counter like that? See that boundary tape on the countertop? Inmate hands are not permitted over the boundary. Here, I got a chair," the guard muttered as he dragged a chair over for House.
"Gee, thanks for the hospitality." House ground out bitterly between grunts as he sat down gratefully.
Then the questioning began. The clerk had House's paperwork and apparently had a checklist full of questions to ask before House could sign his paperwork. "Wouldn't it be quicker if you just gave me the damn paperwork?" House said sarcastically.
"Be quiet and let her finish," said the guard standing right behind him.
After about fifteen minutes of asking the stupidest, most inane questions imaginable, many of which House had already answered over and over again at various times during his incarceration, another guard came out with an ankle monitor. House stared at it. It looked like a black Ipod with big, wide nylon straps. The guard did something to it to turn it on and then began to attach it to House's right leg.
"Uh uh. It needs to go on my left leg."
With a sigh, as if having to remove it and reattach it to House's left leg was an extraordinary inconvenience, the guard attached it to House's left ankle. The straps were fastened inside the thing that looked like an Ipod and then the black plastic cover was locked shut. The guard instructed House as to its use and gave him a printed sheet with the instructions in writing.
"Your ankle monitor is not removable. You are not able to turn it off. You are to wear it at all times, even in the tub or shower. It's waterproof. The phone number on this sheet is also printed on your ankle monitor. You are to call this number immediately upon reaching your residence. You must call the number within fifteen minutes of entering your door. After the initial call, you're limited to your home, your place of employment and the Mercer County Pain Clinic. If you have to go anywhere else in Mercer County, you're required to call the number and report to them ahead of time. You are not permitted, under any circumstances, outside of Mercer County."
With that, the guard was finished applying his ankle monitor.
The clerk handed House a large packet of paperwork. Many pieces of paper required his signature.
The first was an inventory of his belongings at the jail. House already had his street clothes and shoes. Another clerk brought a small bag out from another room, containing his watch, wallet and the money that was in his wallet. After the clerk and House counted and verified those things, House signed the inventory sheet.
The second was another copy of the instructions for his ankle monitor. House had to sign that.
The third was a document from the court explaining his charge, his next scheduled court date and the courtroom where he was to report. The consequences for not reporting to his scheduled court date were spelled out in bold, CAPITAL letters. House had to sign that.
The fourth was a receipt proving that his $25,000 bail had been posted and approved. Wilson had already signed that, but House had to sign it too.
The fifth was a document explaining consequences for attempting to cut his ankle monitor off, for missing his scheduled court appearance, for missing his initial call to the monitor number within fifteen minutes of arriving home the first time, and for missing any scheduled appointments with the Mercer County Pain Clinic. That last one was a new one for House. Wait, the pain clinic is a court requirement? Basically, the consequences were really just one big consequence – re-arrest.
"Wait. What about this last thing? Since when is the pain clinic a court requirement?" House asked, incredulous.
"It's a condition of your release. Sign it," the clerk said monotonously.
"What the hell," House muttered as he signed the damn form.
"Where's my cane? I had my own cane when I came in here. I need it back now."
"We don't have it," the clerk answered. The clerk had no idea where his cane was.
"I can't walk out of here on my own without the cane."
"You can't walk out of here on your own anyway. A guard's escort is required until you walk out the door."
"I need my damn cane!" House yelled, beginning to get very upset. "You can't see me here rubbing my damn leg? I've walked as far as I can go without my cane. I need my cane!" House was yelling louder and louder, dangerously close to the point of having to be taken back to the holding cell to calm down. Everyone in the room looked at him nervously, like he was about to explode or something.
"You can use a wheel chair. We don't have your cane. We gave you back everything we took from you when you came in. You signed the inventory. Your cane was not among those items," the clerk answered.
"I'm not going out in a wheel chair! I didn't come in in a wheel chair, and I'm not going out in one."
"Calm down and stop yelling. She didn't say you had to ride in one. You can hold on to the handles of the wheel chair and push it, if you want. We just don't have your cane. If we did, it would have been in the inventory with your other stuff and we'd have given it back to you. Get up. We're done here. I have a wheel chair. You either leave peacefully with the chair or you go back into a holding cell until you calm down. Either way you're done here," the guard announced firmly.
"Fine," House ground out bitterly. He stood up from the chair, holding on to his side of the counter for balance. His leg was killing him. It was almost time for his second dose of Methadone. All this stress just made things worse. He made sure not to place his hands too close to the tape on the counter indicating the inmate boundary. "Let's go," he said, reaching out for the handles on the wheel chair. The small bag containing his wallet, money and watch was placed on the seat of the wheel chair. The guard followed House on their way out to the public waiting room.
A sign was prominently displayed over the locked door leading to the public waiting room. "You are leaving Mercer County Jail. Inmates are under the custody of Mercer County Jail until exiting the front door," it said in big, bold letters.
The guard unlocked the door, and House was escorted into a small, cramped but pleasantly decorated waiting room reserved for people waiting for released inmates. It was empty except for Wilson and a guard.
Wilson stood up and looked a little forlorn as he handed House his familiar brown wooden cane. No, it wasn't really forlorn. A more accurate description, House decided, was tired and disgusted.
"Don't look that way. Thank you for coming, but you didn't have to stay. I could have ridden the bus home," House said, with a tinge of anger in his voice.
"House, stop trying to piss me off. You're shocked that I waited for you. Well, I told you I wasn't going away, and I'm not. I look like this because I'm exhausted and the stress of worrying about you all the time has completely worn me out. You try your best to piss me off and you try your best to drive me away but it isn't working this time. Now shut up and get in the damn car," Wilson said with just a hint of a smile.
A/N – and so "Solitary" ends. I'll start posting the next story in the series in a few days. Meanwhile, please review! Your reviews mean so much to me. Thanks!