Alone at last, I turned my head to the side to see Ice looking at me, the mask obscuring her features. Her eyes, though, were filled with a curious combination of amusement and adoration as they almost twinkled in the muted lighting. My heart again filled to overflowing with the love I had for this sometimes violent, sometimes gentle, but always heroic woman who chose to share her own love with me.

Reaching out a bandaged hand through the rails of my stretcher, I beckoned contact with my eyes alone. Her face crinkled beneath the mask as one long arm snaked out from under the sheet, touching my wrist above the bandages lightly, her fingers warm and gentle on my sensitive skin. My body relaxed immediately.

So linked by the gentlest of touches, we continued to stare into one another's eyes until the stress of the day and the painkillers caught up to us and we both fell into a well-earned sleep.

Several weeks later, I found myself sitting with Ice in one of the stuffing-impaired vinyl chairs that populated the visitor's room at the Bog. My bandages had finally come off the day before and the newly healing skin was driving me mad with its incessant itching.

Ice seemed to be fully healed, of course. Though, to be truthful, she could still be in agony and neither I nor anyone else would ever know it by her demeanor. The Queen of Stoicism . . .that was Ice.

Still, though my hands were driving me to absolute distraction, I counted myself truly blessed. I had survived the fire with minor injuries and a new haircut while seven other women had lost their lives to its consuming flames. Two more were critically burned and two others, of which Critter was one, were still in the hospital suffering the after-effects of smoke inhalation. To everyone's great relief, though, all the women were well on their way to full recoveries. Critter was due back in prison by the end of the week, which made us all happy, particularly her Amazon friends.

If not for Ice, things would have been a great deal worse. She was touted as a hero throughout the prison by guard and inmate alike. Brushing it off in her typical style, she told us all to thank the firefighters and those of us who tried to put out the fire with buckets, towels and bare hands (the last was always directed at me, of course). We, she said, were the true heroes.

So now I was sitting in the sparsely decorated visiting room for the first time ever, nervously tapping my fingers on the mounds of paper sitting on my lap and waiting for a lawyer who just happened to be my lover's ex lover. I didn't know whether to laugh or throw up.

The rattling of the key in the lock startled me out of my reverie and I sat up straighter, wanting very badly to make a good first impression on this woman, for a variety of reasons. The door squealed open on rusty hinges, and I was glad for the noise as it covered the sound of my jawbone rattling to the floor.

Donita Bonnsuer was, to be perfectly honest, absolutely, positively, drop-dead gorgeous. As Ice rose gracefully to greet her friend, I studied the woman with frank appraisal. She was tall and slender with flawless mocha skin, beautifully rounded cheekbones, full, soft lips and sparkling chocolate eyes. She was dressed in a devastatingly impeccable business suit, the bright red setting off her dark skin and jet hair perfectly. Her smile when she greeted Ice seemed to swallow up her entire face and displayed gleaming, perfect, white teeth.

My sense of insecurity, so long dormant, waltzed right up to my guts and shouted "howdy!" as it tap danced on my stomach and decided to stay awhile. I looked at them both, greeting one another like good friends too long out of touch, and thought that they could be on the cover of some magazine featuring the world's most beautiful couples.

When Ice turned to me, though, the look in her eyes shriveled my insecurity like a slug under salt, and I felt a smile break out over my face that grew even broader when she responded with a rare one of her own.

After placing my paper mountain on the chair beside me, I stood, carefully wiping my suddenly sweaty palms on my uniform. Donita approached and clasped my hand warmly, smiling at me. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Angel," she said in a low, smooth, and cultured voice. "I'm Donita, as you've probably guessed already, and Ice has talked to me about your case. I'd like to know more, if that would be alright with you?"

"Um . . . .yeah! Sure! That'd be great!" Insecurity might have shriveled, but foot-in-mouth disease seemed to be making a comeback.

If she thought me odd, she didn't show it, but rather grasped her briefcase and led the way to a battered table set up, more or less, in the center of the rectangular room. Grabbing a chair, she hunkered right down, beckoning for the pile of papers I held in my hands. I slid them across the table to her, then sat down myself, crossing my hands in front of me like a good little schoolgirl as I looked on curiously.

Ice squeezed my shoulder in passing and I looked up, panic-stricken, as she made her way to the door. "Where . . .where are you going?"

"Back to work," she replied, smiling slightly. "You two can get along just fine without me."

"But . . . ."

She held up a hand. "Relax, will ya? You'll be fine. Just answer her questions and take it from there." She smirked, looking over at Donita. "She doesn't bite, ya know."

The lawyer grinned. "Not hard, anyway."

I gulped. Ice tipped us both a wink, then waved and left the room. Donita give me a grin full of shining teeth.

Two hours later, the session was wrapping up. My jaw ached from hanging in awe as I watched her work. She was, simply put, amazing. She whipped through the thick transcript as if it were child's play and took the time to explain everything to me, never once making me feel ignorant or foolish with my questions. She was a true master of her craft and I was honored to be in her presence.

Calling an end to the session, Donita snapped her briefcase closed, then set it on the floor next to her own copy of the transcript which she would take with her. She stretched her long arms, then straightened the cuffs of her blouse and suit jacket, a pleased smile on her face. "I think you have an appealable case here, Angel. Mind you, I can't be sure until I've subpoenaed that hack you had for a lawyer, but I definitely think we've got some good stuff to work with."

"Subpoenaed?" I repeated blankly.

"Yeah. I need to get a hold of his worksheets, what witnesses, if any, he talked to, questions he asked, stuff like that. That way, we can see exactly where our starting point is."

"Starting point? But . . . ."

Her eyebrow rose, reminding me strongly of Ice. "Yes?"

"I, um . . . ." I sighed. "I thought that I was only talking to you for advice."

She grinned broadly. "Exactly. And you got some. We can win this case."

"We?"

"Is there an echo in here? Of course, we. Unless you've passed the bar in the last week or so and Ice neglected to mention it to me."

"No, it's not that." I sighed again, the need to explain warring heavily with my sense of pride. "You see, I don't . . .well, the fact is, I'm positive I can't afford what you're worth. I'll be happy to give you what money I have, but I'm afraid it isn't very much. And my parents . . .well . . .we're not on speaking terms anymore."

Donita's smile broadened. "Not to worry, Angel. As you might have guessed, I do pretty well for myself with my caseload. But I also do several appeals a year on a pro bono basis. Yours will be one of them."

"I . . .can't let you do that."

"Sure you can. All you have to do is say 'Donita, I'd be happy for you to take my case.'"

I looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Say it."

My dumbfounded look turned to a narrow-eyed stare as I contemplated refusing like a child who has been told to apologize. But the warmth in her eyes and the smile on her face stopped my petulance unspoken. "Donita, I'd be very happy if you'd consider taking my case," I replied, an eyebrow lifted in small triumph.

Grinning, she stood and sketched a mock bow in my direction. "I'd be honored, Angel."

Grabbing her briefcase and balancing the thick pile of papers precariously with the same hand, she reached out and shook my hand to seal the deal. "Remember that the wheels of justice turn slowly. There's a lot of work to be done before I can even think of bringing this up before a judge. Just sit tight and I'll be in contact as often as I can, alright?"

I smiled and nodded happily, excited over the chance for an eventual release for the first time since I'd entered the Bog three years ago. "Thank you so much," I gushed.

She beamed. "My pleasure, Angel. And tell Ice thanks for me, alright? This is gonna be fun." With a final wave and a beguiling, blinding grin, she knocked on the door and was soon gone from my sight.

PART 12.

THE NEXT SEVERAL months went by quickly for me. The continued positive news from the appeal front kept my mood up even if it did seem, at times, that the wheels of justice Donita had spoken of were mired in quicksand and sinking fast.

One early summer morning, I sat in the cool dimness of the library, excitedly turning a gaily wrapped package over in my hands while pointedly ignoring the demanding over-the-glasses look I was getting from Corinne. I had been waiting for this particular package for almost two months, almost fainting in excitement when I'd heard from a friend that it suddenly became available at an estate auction. My excitement doubled when I found out that it was, amazingly, within my budget.

"A Thousand and One String-Bead Art Patterns," Corinne muttered from her darkened desk.

"What?" I asked, inwardly grinning at finally having the chance to turn the tables on my oh-so-in-the-know friend.

"The name of the book you're holding like some kid who got into her parents' Penthouse collection."

"What makes you think it's a book?"

"Oh please, Angel. Give me some credit, at least. I'm a librarian, for Moses' sweet sea-parting sake. Or didja think all these square things with pages in between them were decorations." Her hand flicked out from it's shadowed corner, its gesture encompassing the entire library.

Oh, I'd definitely gotten her dander up, alright. And I was enjoying every moment of my innocent little torture session. "It could be a box, you know. A flat one, filled with all sorts of interesting little goodies."

"Those little goodies are called 'words', Angel." She leveled her best 'no-nonsense' glare at me. "They form sentences, which in turn form paragraphs. Unless, of course, it's a book of poetry, in which case, they form nothing at all."

"You're such a romantic, Corinne."

"I have better uses for this mouth of mine than spouting poetry, my dear Angel." Her tone was absolutely dripping with seduction and, considering her age, she did a good job at it. To my credit, though, I stopped the threatened blush cold. When she saw her ruse wasn't going to work, she frowned, eyeing me once again over the tops of her half-glasses.

Giving in just a little, I leveled my own parental expression right back at her. "You know, the word 'please' has been known to work on occasion."

"I don't know what you're talking about," came her prim reply.

"Then I suppose your curiosity is going to have to suffer." I turned the package around in my hands, making sure the indirect lighting caught the foil wrapping at just the right angle. I'd grown up in a house full of cats as a child and well knew how to entice them.

Minutes ticked by, measured by the under-her-breath grumbling Corinne was turning into an art form. Finally, she huffed out a sigh that would have done Paul Bunyan proud, almost toppling a stack of papers as it did. "Alright. Angel, dear, may I please know what's in that wrapped little package of yours?" Her voice was positively overflowing with sugared sweetness. "I'm afraid my poor old heart will simply explode out of my chest if you don't tell me right this very moment."

As heartfelt pleas went, that was about the poorest example I'd ever heard, but, knowing Corinne, it was probably the best I could hope for. I allowed myself a small victory smirk as I turned my attention her way. "This little ol' thing?" I asked, hefting my prize.

"Angel . . . ."

I burst out laughing, unable to help myself. After a moment, she joined me and the quiet air was soon filled with boisterous laughter. After a long moment, I looked back at her, flipping the package in my hands. "You're right, of course. It is a book. A rare one, actually."

"And?"

"It's an original printing of 'One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich', signed by the author himself, and you know he didn't do autographs. It's in Russian."

Corinne's eyes widened in awe. "Amazing. How'd you manage to come on to such a prize?"

"An estate sale, if you can believe that one. One of my outside contacts dabbles in literature. He saw it and asked if I wanted to bid on it."

"And, of course, you said yes."

"But of course. It came in well under my budget too. Apparently, there just wasn't any interest."

"Philistines."

"Hey, I'm not gonna look a gift barbarian in the horns."

"Good analogy."

"Glad you liked it." I grinned, shifting on my chair. "Anyway, like I said, it's in Russian. Problem is, I don't know whether Ice reads Russian. And before you ask, yes, it's for her."

Her eyes twinkled. "Had that one figured out already. And don't worry, I think she reads it. In fact, I'm almost sure of it."

"I don't get it," I replied, shaking my head. "She became a street kid right out of elementary school. Yet I saw the Tao, written in Chinese, mind you, sitting on the floor of her cell. And it looked like she had read it quite a bit. How could she have learned so much living on the streets?"

"That part of her schooling took place before she went to live on the streets, Angel. Her mother, as an opera singer I think, was an absolute fanatic about other cultures. Ice told me that she was taught to read other languages at the same time she was taught to read English. It was just something that her parents believed in."

"That's interesting," I replied, hoping that my voice didn't sound as envious as my thoughts were.

Apparently, it did. Corinne took off her glasses and looked at me, smiling slightly. "Ice was quite young when she shared this with me. I suppose she looked upon me as somewhat of a grandmotherly figure." She moued her lips in self-deprecation.

I instantly felt the sting of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Corinne. I'm just glad that you were there for her. It must have been hard, especially in the beginning. I'm glad she could turn to you when she needed to."

"She didn't do it all that often. But yes, there were times even the famed Ice needed comfort." She smiled knowingly at me. "I suspect that's true even to this day."

I made sure my answering smile gave away little and she nodded in acknowledgement.

"So, is there a special occasion for this lovely little gift?" she finally asked, tone rich with innocence.

I couldn't stop my blush from rising this time. This day was an anniversary of sorts for me, as well as for Ice, though she probably didn't think the date significant. It was a year ago to this very date that I had helped the inmate team beat the guards in softball, and a year ago this very date that Ice and I made love for the first time. It was something that was very important and special to me, but damned if I was going to give Corinne the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, I simply looked at her and silently pleaded the Fifth.

She smirked at me, but decided against pursuing the issue. Instead, she went back to the work her curiosity over my package had interrupted. Silence descended over the library once again.

Several hours later, the time for dinner had finally arrived and, like a schoolchild on the last moment of the last day of school, I shot out of my seat the second the clock struck 5pm. Corinne laughed knowingly as, in my excitement, I almost batted my prize off the table, just managing with quick reflexes, to save it from falling to the floor.

I shot her a glare, but my heart wasn't really in it. It was with a certain tall, dark woman who, that very moment, should have been closing up shop and on her way to a rendezvous with me in the cafeteria.

After waving quickly to Corinne, I grabbed my package and slipped out of the library, striding as quickly as I could down the hallway while still trying to look like I wasn't striding quickly down the hallway. Not an easy task, let me tell you.

The prison square was filled with a sea of orange as inmates fresh from their daily labors bustled to and fro, some on their way, like I was, to the cafeteria, others congregating in small groups near the walls, and still others headed for points unknown. The incoherent babble of voices was loud to my ears as my eyes sought out a dark head that towered over the rest.