As soon as the coast was clear, Sandra led us onward to our cells.

Summer turned to fall, which quickly gave way to winter. Things went on pretty much as usual in the Bog. The gangs remained quiet, leaving the Amazons free to pursue other interests, namely, one another. After their spat, Sonny, who I always thought had a thing for the male gender, and Pony began courting one another in an amusingly old fashioned way. And I, being the writer of our little group, was pressed into love-note writing service for them both. I felt like a modern day Cyrano de Bergerac, sans the large nose, but it made the time pass quickly and so I did it with pleasure.

On a Thursday afternoon in the middle of winter, Phyllis came to me in the library telling me I had a phone call. Donita, sounding cool and collected as always, told me she had some news, though wouldn't divulge the topic, and asked to meet with me the next morning. I, of course, agreed.

Needless to say, Thursday night's sleep was all but non-existent.

I spent Friday morning in the visitor's room, twisting the fabric of my jumpsuit into new and interesting abstract shapes while trying to calm my similarly twisting stomach. Finally, the door was unlocked and opened, and my lawyer, impeccably dressed and gorgeous as always, strode in, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Angel," she greeted, grasping my hand warmly, "good to see you again. Come, sit with me at the table. I've got some news."

Soon, we were both seated and sipping at the cool water the guards had so thoughtfully provided (at Donita's pointed request). Opening her briefcase, she pulled out a thick file with my name emblazoned on the cover. "We've got 'em," she said, her smile triumphant.

My heart picked up its pace. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"You're aware of baseball's 'three strikes and you're out' policy?" At my nod, she continued. "We've got three huge strikes here. And when I say huge, I do mean huge."

Opening up the folder, she pulled out several pieces of paper and placed the flat on the table, turning them so that I could easily read the text. The first was a simple hotel receipt. I looked at her questioningly.

"You remember your across-the-hall neighbors, the Gracesons? Two of the star witnesses for the prosecution at your trial?"

I nodded again, remembering indeed. Tom and Maggie Graceson had each testified that they had heard me arguing and threatening Peter on the night of his death. I remembered no such argument, but their testimony was compelling, and obviously was believed by the jury. "What about them?"

"Well, if your original attorney, whom I'm seriously considering putting up for disbarment proceedings, had bothered to do just the tiniest amount of research, he would have found out, as I did, that the Gracesons weren't even home on the night your husband died. They were in this hotel, participating in something that they probably didn't want to get spread around."

"What do you mean?"

"They're swingers."

"Swingers?" I asked, completely lost. The only swingers I knew were dancers. And even if they weren't very good at it, I didn't see how it would be something embarrassing to them. I said as much.

She grinned at my naivete. "No, not that kind of swinger. The kind where groups of married folks gather around and swap partners. Sexually."

My eyes must have widened to the size of saucers because she covered her mouth over the laugh that came forth.

"Exactly. Apparently, from what I gathered from other members of this particular group, the Gracesons were quite upset because they had asked your husband and you to join them and Peter told them that you had turned him down flat. It seems Tom really liked you, in that special way," she winked, "and Maggie was quite attracted to your husband."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope. Do you ever remember a conversation of that nature between yourself and Peter?"

"Not at all! Of course, I would have turned him down if he had asked me, but he never asked."

"I didn't think so. Apparently, on the night of Peter's death, he had told both Tom and Maggie that you'd finally consented to give it a try and that, if they rented a room somewhere, he'd swing by the house and pick you up. Of course, that never happened."

"My God," I breathed. "I can't believe this." I shook my head, my anger building. "They made up testimony about me because they were pissed that Peter stood them up?!?"

"That's what it sounds like."

"Unbelievable!!!"

She laid a calming hand on my wrist as I thought I was about to burst out of my skin with rage. "That's only strike one."

"There's more?"

"Oh yes." Moving the hotel receipt out of the way, Donita pushed a white sheet of paper closer to me. It was what looked to be an Emergency Room treatment sheet. "Do you remember this?"

I looked at the date and nodded, remembering the incident.

Peter had come home from work and had tried to get me to go out to the bar with him. When I refused, needing to get up early to get some shopping done before work the next morning, he beat me quite severely, bruising my ribs and giving me a hairline fracture of my eye socket. I had managed to hail a cab which took me to the Emergency Room, convinced I was bleeding internally. Thank God, that hadn't been the case, but I still felt as if I'd been hit by a truck. I remembered telling the ER staff that I had fallen down some stairs. The looks in their eyes told me they didn't believe me but they didn't press the issue. "I remember." I blushed, embarrassed.

"In one of his infrequent bouts of actual competency, your attorney tried to present this as evidence of Peter's abuse of you. The prosecution, for whatever reason, argued it as irrelevant and the judge agreed to have it suppressed."

I sighed. "I told them I fell down some stairs," I mumbled to the table.

"Yes, I know. It's in the report. But look at the last paragraph."

Pulling the sheet closer to me, I peered at the writing. Apparently, I had been right. The treating physician did believe that I was the victim of a beating and he further believed that it was done at the hands of my husband. I looked up at Donita. "Why didn't he ever say anything to me?"

"That I don't know. But it's a law that when a member of the medical staff believes there has been abuse involved, he or she must report it to the proper authorities, no matter what the victim says or doesn't say."

"Did he do that?"

"Yes, he did. He filled out the proper forms and sent them to the proper agency."

"But no one ever contacted me about it."

"No, they didn't. My investigator followed up this lead and found that it had never been researched. They had everything they needed to open an investigation. They just never did."

"But why not?"

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that either. But the thing here is, Angel, that, by rights, this piece of evidence should never have been suppressed. Even if no abuse could be proven, at the very least, the treating physician should have been called to the stand to state what he found. This document shows that there was at least a possibility that you were telling the truth when you said your husband abused you. It would have gone a long way in helping you prove your case."

I put my head in my hands, my sigh fogging up what little varnish was left on the elderly table. "This is just so bizarre."

"Ready for the kicker?"

I lifted up my head to meet her eyes. "Yeah. Might as well."

"A member of your jury, its foreman, in fact, was a man by the name of Robert Cort."

"I'm sorry, that name doesn't ring any bells."

"I didn't think it would. My investigator went to some of the bars your husband used to hang out in and found that this same man was one of Peter's drinking buddies."

"Please tell me you're joking, Donita."

"Nope. And that's a good thing. You see, when my investigator talked to some of the bar's other patrons, he was told that on the night after Peter's murder, Robert swore that he was going to find a way to get on your jury and, quote 'convict that bitch' unquote."

"He what?!"

"That's what the witnesses say. We've got sworn statements from four of them. We don't yet know how he managed to get into the pool of potential jurors, but when we pulled out his sheet, we found out he lied quite convincingly to get in."

"Jesus Christ."

"It gets worse. When we polled the jurors, the only two women on the panel had been convinced of your innocence when they went in for deliberations. They both stated to me, personally, that they were intimidated into changing their votes by the foreman, Robert Cort."

The sound of my hand slamming down on the table was loud in the small room. "Then why didn't they ever tell anybody?"

Donita's chocolate eyes were compassionate. "They said they were scared to come forward. So they didn't."

"Why are they talking now?" I couldn't help it. My voice was filled with the bitterness in my heart.

"They've both been eaten away with guilt over it, Angel. They've both given us sworn statements as to what happened and are both willing and ready to testify at a new trial. They know they've made a mistake, but they're willing to try and rectify it."

"Don't they care that their mistake cost me four years of my life?!?" Tears, scalding and bitter as my words, flooded my eyes and streamed down my cheeks, wetting the table beneath me in a flood of anger.

Donita came around the table and put an arm around my shoulder. Her skin was soft and warm. The light scent of her perfume soothed me even as my mind was a whirling torrent of delayed grief. During the entire four-plus years I'd been a resident of the Bog, I'd never indulged in self-pity over the events that caused me to be here.

But the knowledge that my freedom had been taken away by a combination of an incompetent lawyer, a failed protection system, a bully and two timid women brought all home to me. I couldn't stop my sobs as I thought of what might have been.

A guard, who was keeping tabs on us through the reinforced glass window set into one wall, entered the visitor's room with a box of tissues which she slid across the table. Donita thanked her pleasantly and the guard nodded, then left. I knew my crying spell would hit the grapevine in less time than it took to write out this sentence.

A dark arm threaded its way through our embrace, handing me a tissue. I swiped my eyes with it, then leaned back and emptied my sinuses, feeling the pressure in my head ease slightly. I felt exhausted. "Sorry about that," I mumbled.

Donita smiled at me. "No need to be sorry. If it had been me, I'd probably have torn this room to shambles." She looked around. "Though to tell you the truth, that might have improved things."

That surprised a laugh out of me and she grinned back, handing me another tissue and discarding the used one in an overflowing wastebasket near the table. I took in a long, shuddering breath, then let it out slowly. "So," I said, tracing my tears on the table, "where do we go from here?"

"Well, I've talked to the DA about dismissing the conviction altogether. But he's a hard-line butt-hole who wears his church pin on his lapel. He won't budge. Convinced they still have a case against you. So . . . I've set up a date to talk to one of the appellate judges in the district. It's in two weeks. I'll present this new evidence and see what he says."

"What do you think he'll say?"

"He'd be crazy not to overturn the conviction, Angel. This evidence is damning. Especially the jury tampering. The DA won't let it go, though. So even if the judge does decide to do what's right and overturn your conviction and sentence, the State will demand a new trial." She laid a hand on my wrist. "What do you think about that? Do you think you can go through that again?"

I looked directly at her, knowing my eyes were intense. "Donita, to get my name cleared of this mess, I'd walk through Hell itself." I looked down at the table again. "It didn't much matter before. Peter was dead. I did it. I thought I deserved punishment. But this . . .this travesty has changed my whole way of thinking."

Donita smiled. "Ice was right about you."

"She was?"

"Yup. She said you were a fighter with the heart of a lion."

I felt my eyes go wide. "Ice said that? About me?"

"Sure did. That's why I agreed to come in and talk to you in the first place. Ice doesn't give out compliments easily you know." Her warm hand squeezed my wrist. "She has a lot of faith in you, Angel. And, she loves you very deeply."

I could feel my blush burn my neck, cheeks and ears as it spread over my face. I ducked my head again. "I love her very much, too."

"I know."

I traced the moisture on the table again. "I'm . . .um . . .sorry, . . .Donita."

"Sorry? For what, Angel?"

My blush deepened. I damned myself for my fair skin. "Ice . . .um . . .told me about . . .um . . . ."

"She told you we were lovers in the past?"

"Yeah. That'd be it."

"And it bothers you because the two of you are together now and I'm here to see it?"

"Yes." If I could have sunk my chair through the ground right then, I would have done it.

Her hand reached out and cupped my chin, bringing our gazes level. "Angel, never apologize for being happy. And never apologize for making Ice happy."

"But . . . ."

"No buts, Angel. Ice is a very important person in my life. To see her as happy as she is makes me very happy. It wasn't meant to be for Ice and I. We both knew that while we were together." She smiled. "Still, in a way, we were a good match. She took great pains to keep her personal life a secret from everyone, including me. Though it shouldn't have been a surprise to find out what I did about her with her arrest, it did. Of course, we never lived together and were never in one another's presence for long stretches of time. Still, I felt a bit guilt-ridden that I missed some kind of sign I should have seen. And, of course, I was very angry."

"I can understand that. I would have been as well."

She spread her hands. "And when she wouldn't let me defend her, well . . . ." She sighed. "It almost ended our friendship." Then she smiled. "I'm glad it didn't. And I'm also glad that it gave me a chance to meet you. You're a good soul, Angel. And there are damn few of those around anymore. So stop worrying and, for God's sake, stop blushing. Everything's fine from that angle, alright?"

Reading the absolute sincerity in her eyes, I nodded. "Thanks."

Donita tipped me a wink. "Not a problem, Angel. Not a problem at all."

Moving away from me, she went around to the other side of the table, stuffed my file into her expensive leather briefcase, and latched it shut before pulling it off the table by the handle. "I'll talk to you in a couple of weeks, if not before, alright? Just try to take it easy and relax. Let me do the worrying for the both of us."

I gave her a half smile, the best I could offer. "I'll try my best."

"You do that. Bye for now."

With a final smile and a wave, she was gone, leaving me alone in the visitors' room with only my tears and my thoughts for company.