Donita gave me a lift back to the Bog so that I could collect my personal belongings and say goodbye to my friends, who were really my family.

How do you say goodbye to people you've shared every waking moment with for the past five years? How do you thank them for giving you their love, their support, their friendship? How to you express your undying gratitude for the many times they've saved your life and even your soul? What words can you possibly use to cover the enormity of your feelings for them?

I found myself in the strangest position. It was almost surreal. I was allowed to stay in the visitors' room while my belongings were gathered from the prison to be brought to me. The door into the prison itself was locked against me and a guard stood at my side, for my protection, no less.

Whereas before I was barred from getting out of the Bog, now I was barred from stepping into it.

The door to the prison side opened and Sandra stepped through, her face wreathed in a smile, and her hands filled with a cloth sack bearing my worldly possessions. Placing the bag on the table, she opened her arms, and I ran into them, hugging her hard and starting to cry.

"Angel," she whispered, her own voice heavy with tears, "I'm so proud of you. I knew you'd beat this. We all did."

"Thank you Sandra," I blubbered, holding her strong body close. "For everything you've done for me. You helped make this place livable and I'll never forget that. You're a wonderful person."

Squeezing me one last time, she stepped away, drying her tears on the sleeve of her uniform. "You made this place better for everyone just by being here, Angel. Thank you. It won't be the same without you. I wish you only the best of luck in your life. I know you'll do yourself proud. With a heart like yours, how could not?"

Clearing her throat, she gave me a watery smile. "We seem to have quite a lot of inmates who've requested a visitor's pass for today. Coincidentally, they've all requested to see the same visitor. Mind if I show them in?"

Wiping my own tears away, I managed a smile. "Of course not. I'd like to see them."

"Alright then." Grinning, she opened the door.

The sound of cheering, shouts and clapping filled the central square as women streamed through the doorway and into the visitors' room. I could hear the sounds of my name being chanted with a tenor and an excitement almost rivaled Ice's entrance into the prison five years ago.

A giddy smile broke over my face as my friends came inside, hugging and kissing me. There were a lot of tears and a lot of laughter, just how I imagined a real goodbye to family and friends might feel. It warmed me right down to my toes.

Pony, Sonny and Critter gathered around me in a tight circle, our heads bowed inward, tears streaming down our faces. Pony and Critter were both due for parole hearings within the next several months, and I had good feelings about each of them and told them so.

When we finally broke apart, I looked at each one individually.

"Pony, if you hadn't been there when Mouse was trying to rearrange my face, I don't know what I would have done. Thanks for being there for me and introducing me to the Amazons. Thanks for teaching me how to fight and how to stand up for myself. I won't ever forget you." Leaning in, I gave her a light kiss on the lips.

Everyone in the room burst out into laughter as Pony's face turned a fiery red. "Awww, damn," was all she could say.

I turned slightly. "And Sonny, thanks for everything you've done for me. Especially helping me build back my strength after my little flu problems. You've been a good friend." Grinning, I hugged and kissed her as well.

Returning my smile, she punched me lightly on the arm. "You've taught us a lot too, Angel. Good luck out there, alright?"

Nodding, I turned to Critter, my closest friend among the Amazons. We both started crying again, and embraced one another tightly. "You're the best, Critter," I whispered in her ear.

"So are you, Angel," she whispered back. "I won't ever forget you. You made this an okay place to be."

Holding the hug a moment longer, we then pulled away and kissed. Reaching up, I brushed the tears from her eyes. "Knock 'em dead at your parole hearing."

She laughed through her tears. "If I do that, I'll never get outta here."

From her place in one corner, Sandra cleared her throat, looking faintly chagrined. "Alright, guys, it's time to get back out there."

There were a few grumbles of good-natured protesting, but then my friends began to file back into the prison, each one touching me and wishing me goodbye and good luck as they passed.

Soon, the door closed with a muted click, leaving the guard and one other person left behind.

Corinne.

Seeing her standing there, her face a curious tableau of loss and pride, I, for the first time, broke down completely, running into her arms and hugging her soft body tightly to me.

It was only with this woman, who was more of a mother to me than my own would ever be, that I could feel safe enough to let the fears of my future out of their tightly locked closet. Like a small, lost child, I sobbed on her shoulder. Even the sweet fragrance of her sachet, which will forever signal 'home' to me, failed to comfort me. "Oh, Corinne," I sobbed, "what am I gonna do? I feel so lost. This is my home. You are my family. I don't know if I can make it out there."

"Nonsense," she murmured back, sniffing away her own tears. "You'll thrive out there, Angel. You're one of the strongest people it's ever been my privilege to know. You'll do just fine. All you have to do is believe in yourself."

"But how do I do that? I don't know if I have the strength . . . ."

Pushing me away, she gripped my shoulders in an almost painful grip. "You listen to me, Angel. You have the strength of twenty people. You brought a hope and a joy to a place which, before you came, had none. We might have taught you how to exist here in the Bog. But you . . .you taught us how to live."

"But . . . ."

"No 'buts', Angel. You did what you did to a bunch of hardened criminals with little hope for a future. You taught me how to feel again, something I thought could never happen. For the first time in a long time, I look forward to getting up in the morning. You did that. No one else. You." She touched my chest with her finger. "That heart of yours is as big as the whole world out there. It's been caged long enough. It's time to go out there and show everyone else what you've shown us. What you've shown me."

Taking off her glasses, she wiped at her eyes. "I think I'll unlearn this crying thing, though, if you don't mind," she grumbled, polishing her glasses before balancing them on her nose once again.

Reaching down, she picked something hidden on the chair behind her, and held it out to me. It was the tiny bonsai that Ice had made for me for our anniversary. A fresh yellow ribbon adorned its trunk. "Here."

As I took it, fresh sobs starting again, she handed me something else. It was the book I'd given to Ice, also on our anniversary.

"But how?" I managed to choke out, setting the tree down and opening up the cover. Inside was the photograph of Ice and her family. "Oh god," I sobbed. "Oh god. Corinne, I miss her so much. How am I going to do this without her?" I pressed both the book and the photo close to my body, hugging it to me and rocking.

Stepping up to me, she placed gentle hands on my cheeks. "My sweet little Angel, if there's one thing above all that you've taught me, it's to always have hope. Carry it with you now. It'll give you the strength you need."

Looking deep into her eyes, I swore I could detect the faintest shimmer of some hidden knowledge deep within her gaze. My heart leapt into my throat, but when I opened my mouth to give voice to my question, she placed a finger over my lips. "Always have hope, Angel," she whispered.

Taking her finger away, she leaned forward and kissed me warmly, lingering a bit. Then she pulled away. "I love you, Angel."

Turing away quickly, she stepped to the door and opened it.

"Corinne! Wait!"

She turned back, tears liberally streaming down her cheeks.

Walking back over to her, I kissed her soundly. "I love you too. Never forget that. Ever."

Smiling, she touched her lips, then cupped my cheek. "I won't, sweet Angel. Ever."

With a small, sad little wave, she turned once again and stepped through the door and out of my life.

The door closed and I stood there for a long moment, touching the cool metal with my palm as if I could imprint everything that had happened to me somewhere deep inside where I'd never forget it. I leaned my forehead against the door. "Goodbye," I whispered.

Behind me, the guard cleared her throat softly. "Should I call a cab for you?" she asked.

After a moment, I turned to her, a brightly false smile affixed to my face. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'm gonna walk."

"Alright then. Just be careful, alright? Lotta crazies out there."

That statement broke my somber mood and I brayed out my laughter. Just yesterday, I was one of those crazies. And now, I was being cautioned against them.

As someone I'm sure much wiser than me has been known to say, what a difference a day makes, huh?

Giving the guard a quirky grin, I waved my fingers, grasped the door to the outside, inhaled deeply, and took my first step out of the Bog, a free woman forevermore.

EPILOGUE.

I'M WRITING THIS beneath the flickering lamp of a hotel room that saw 'new' two decades ago and 'clean' only shortly after that. But the door has a lock that I can open any time I want and the bed is the most comfortable I've slept on in years.

That bed is calling to me longingly, and I'll go, willingly and joyously, just as soon as I get this pressure of words out of my head and on to this paper.

Walking out that door and into the fresh air was the hardest, and conversely, the easiest thing I've ever had to do. As I began to take my first steps into freedom, the Bog seemed intent on pulling me back, as if it had sunk invisible talons into my spine. My legs became almost leaden with the strain I was under. The prison seemed to whisper to me on a current of wind; promising to hold me and keep me safe if only I would look back.

But I didn't look back. It was a promise I'd made to myself and one I was determined to keep. Looking back would only make things harder and I knew that. So I didn't.

And because I didn't, my next steps, and the ones following that, became easier as the weight I didn't know I carried was lifted off my shoulders to be tossed into the drifting spring breeze.

The first sound I truly remember hearing as a free woman was the tether of the American flag slapping forlornly against its metal pole. It was a lonely, desolate sound, and seemed like a bad omen until I recognized the sound of birdsong playing a melodic counterpoint to the 'ting ting' of the rope against metal.

The noise of passing cars, fairly uncommon this far out, drew my attention to the road. How the styles had changed in just five years. I hadn't really noticed it on the drive to and from court, being so wrapped up in my own emotional struggle.

I looked at that road, pitted and pot-holed by winter's icy reign, curving gently over the breast of a small hill, and wondered where it led. My future was on that road, somewhere, unfettered by the constant metal specter of chains and cuffs and bars and fences. It was as broad as my imagination and as narrow as my fears.

Freedom's Siren call was infinitely sweeter than the Bog's brutal cacophony, and so, with a lightness to my step, I walked into that future, alone, afraid, but carrying with me the hope that things would turn out well for me in this new life I was being urged to make for myself.

When my legs began to tire, I headed to a small park, interspersed with walkways and drive-paths, and settled on a wooden bench to watch the sun set over the small pond dug there. A flock of ducks had obviously chosen to make this quiet, out of the way place their spring nesting grounds, and I watched as, tame and winter lean, they were fed by giggling children holding out crusts of stale bread.

Innocent, joyful laughter filled the air around me and I felt a bubble of happiness well up from inside me. The bench's warmth seeped into my body through my clothes and I leaned back to watch the activity going on around me, just another woman taking a brief interlude from an otherwise stressful day.

Young couples passed by, their hands intertwined, their faces wreathed with the smiles of young love, a smile which had seemed permanently etched into the lines of my own face such a short time ago. I was hit with a pang of jealous longing so strong that my breath seemed to have taken leave of my lungs as I sat there, watching them pass slowly by, their interest only in one another.

When I could breathe again, I noticed that a young mother had come to sit beside me, watching her two youngsters chase the ducks and each other while she worked at her knitting, her hands moving quickly with casual skill. We conversed briefly about nothing of importance and I felt myself gradually begin to relax once again.

When she left, carefully grasping her children by their grubby hands and leading them back to their no-doubt safe and comfortable little lives, I contented myself with watching the play of light on the gently rippling water. I allowed my mind to go mercifully blank for a long stretch of moments, existing only in this moment of perfect peace and solitude, unencumbered with thoughts of future or past.

Gradually, with some subliminal sense that had been honed to a razor's edge in the Bog, I became aware that I was being observed. Looking casually, first to the left, then to the right, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the hairs at the back of my neck stood at stiff attention and a warning tingle caressed the nerves of my spine.

As nonchalantly as I could, I turned to look over my right shoulder. There, beneath a grand oak cloaked in the first vibrant green of spring, a man stood straddling a motorcycle. He was clad, from head to foot, in black leather with red and white piping running down the sides of his jacket and leather pants. His black helmet had a mirrored visor that reflected the fiery orange blaze of the setting sun back at me. It was impossible to tell if he was my observer, but his head seemed to be inclined in my direction and my heart sped up in an autonomic reaction.

Just as casually, I returned my gaze back to the pond before me, considering my options. When you've been in prison for awhile, you begin to listen to your body's signals. And my body was warning me that something bad was going to happen if I didn't either prepare to run or prepare to fight.

Was it just jailhouse paranoia? The kind that presupposes a killer behind every locked door? Was this something I was going to have to deal with every day of this new life I was going to forge for myself? Would every stranger's glance spark this adrenaline rush within me?

My peaceful solitude broken, I concentrated on my breathing, determined to wait this particular test out. After all, people were allowed to look at the sunset in a park without having sinister motivations. I was living in the real world now, and jumping at every shadow just wasn't going to be an option for long. Not if I wanted to retain some tattered shred of sanity.

Hearing the motorcycle come to life behind me, I let out a relieved breath, congratulating myself for not bolting from something that obviously was turning out to be nothing.

But then, instead of moving away, the motorcycle appeared to be getting closer, its tires crunching over the remains of last autumn's bounty strewn over the newly luxuriant grass. My heart leapt into my throat again, and my hands, of their own volition, curled into tight fists, ready to defend me if need be. I could feel my spine stiffening as my muscles clenched in an instinctive 'fight or flight' response.

The cycle purred closer and I blinked rapidly, my eyes suddenly dry. "Alright, Angel," I whispered to myself. "Don't panic. Whatever you do, don't panic. If he's after you, and you don't know that he is, he won't dare do anything in broad daylight with all these people around, alright? Just keep calm. He probably just wants a closer look at the pond or something. He has as much right to be here as you do."

The motorcycle braked to a smooth stop right beside my bench and it took everything I had in me not to just jump up and start to run. Visions of Morrison calmly ordering my execution from the comfort of his prison cell ran through my head tauntingly.

The engine was turned off and I could hear the kickstand as it was lowered to the ground. I prevented my head from turning only with the greatest strength of will, keeping my gaze focused on the play of light over the rippling water. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.

I could hear the light crunch of gravel as the man got off his motorcycle. Then nothing but the quietly ticking engine and the seemingly far off sounds of children at play.

Why doesn't he do something? Why is he just standing there?

Because, the darkly paranoid part of my mind supplied, he's just waiting for the opportunity to kill you without all these witnesses seeing it.

That's nonsense, my more rational thoughts proclaimed. He's looking at the water, same as you are.

He could see the water just fine from where he was. Run now, Angel, while you still might have a chance.

Stay calm. Nothing's happened yet. Start running now, and you'll never stop. You'll be looking over your shoulder forever and screaming every time a dog tips over a trash can.

I was so wrapped up in my internal argument that I didn't even notice when the stranger walked closer to where I sat, stopping less than two feet to my right, just beyond where the bench ended. Knowing that I was betraying my terror more by not looking, I turned my head fully in his direction, summoning up a smile from somewhere.

My image was reflected back at me from the mirrored visor, showing my smile for the false thing that it was. My eyes were wide with barely controlled panic. My heart sped up even more as a sweat broke out over my forehead, stinging my eyes.

He stared at me for so long that I finally just wanted to scream at him to just kill me and get it over with so that I could have some peace.

His gloved hand came up then, and in my panic, I swore I saw a gun. My own hands raised, palm out, in pure reflex, before I noticed that his hand was empty and he was merely reaching for the visor of his helmet.

He moved the faceplate up slowly and I can remember thanking God that at least I would see the face of my killer before I died. Not great, as prayers of thanks go, but it was something to focus my panicked thoughts on.

I couldn't see much of his face. It appeared to be covered with a black hood of some sort, covering all features but the eyes.

I blinked.

The eyes.

I blinked again, bringing my hand up to shade against the nearly horizontal rays of sunlight shining in my face.