He had agreed to go with the man on the other side of the glass, but Grant never fully believed there was any chance of eating more than twice a day, much less getting a furlough from prison to hear a proposal from some random family. Yet, as he was shuffled past the intake area and glimpsed the frightened and envious faces of fresh inmates, his faith slowly grew. The armed escort had been relieved and only the warden accompanied the prisoner. The warden took Grant into a side room just before reaching the exit--a visual the weary inmate never thought he would see again. Seeing the daylight puncture the glass panes of the door just past the out-processing window on the wall was a surreal sight to behold. It was a sight that only lasted for a minute as the warden opened a plain looking door the duo almost passed by and ushered his charge into an equally plain box with white brick walls, a table in the middle and two folding chairs on either side of the table. He then closed the door before fishing a set of keys from his utility belt and unshackling Grant's wrists and ankles. The order of the actions left the freed prisoner confused.
"Listen Corrigan," the warden began, a hint of anger coloring his already stale tone, "I don't know what kind of shit you pulled, but you better believe I'm gonna get to the bottom of it."
Grant rubbed his wrists and only offered a blank stare in response. The warden sucked his teeth and put his hands on his hips. One was dangerously close to his service handgun which suddenly became relevant to Grant's peripheral focus.
"This silent tough guy bullshit doesn't intimidate me." The warden stepped closer to Grant leaving only a very small space between the two. Something stopped him from getting right in the prisoner's face, but Grant was only happier for it. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I'll figure it all out. Who the fuck ever heard of a death row inmate being granted furlough three days before their execution date?!"
Grant cleared his through and ran his palms over his face and through a plume of brown locks that had grown out of control over the duration of his two year prison stint. "Look. I don't know how any of this works," he said. The warden seemed surprised to hear a reply, but he quickly glossed over the reaction.
"Doesn't matter, Corrigan. I'll figure it all out. I brought you in here so I could tell you the terms of your furlough, personally. They'll tell you again at out-processing, but I wanted you to hear it from me. We've built quite the relationship over the past two years, yeah?" The warden glanced at Grant's jaw and looked him up and down. Grant sighed.
"Quite the relationship," Grant replied.
The warden continued. "The terms of your furlough are standard, even if the timing is suspect as fuck. You've got two days, unescorted, to get your affairs in order. Your execution date hasn't changed. And you'll be getting your last meal and last rites when you get back. So if I were you, I'd get as drunk as you could and fuck just as much. This will be your last opportunity to enjoy the many luxuries a free life affords."
Grant said nothing.
"I'll be seeing you soon, Corrigan. And don't worry. I'll be front and center when they strap you in and open the curtains. A lot of us in law enforcement have been waiting for this day for a long time. I wouldn't miss it for the fucking world." The warden smirked, chuckled, and turned and opened the door. Grant had never taken anything he said personally, but this was the first time he found himself silently agreeing with the warden in some respects. Death row inmates were rarely, if ever, granted furlough and it certainly would never have been a mere three days out from the date of execution. None of the situation made sense, but the mental image of the man on the other side of the glass invaded Grant's thoughts at that moment. He remembered thinking how it was easy to tell that man held some kind of importance and maybe this family's influence was much more wide-reaching than he let on.
Grant remained deep in his thoughts as the woman at the desk also explained his furlough terms and announced that everything he had come in with when he was first brought in had been lost. Not surprising in the least. His had been a high profile case and considering it involved law enforcement, Grant had never expected to see his belongings again. So when she finished, he simply nodded, waited for the door to slide open, and took his first steps outside.
The breeze was the first thing he felt. The sensation of air on his skin and how much fresher it was immediately stood out. It was something most people took for granted, but when a person is forced to spend twenty-one hours in a dark cell with no windows, they forget the simple and basic things first. It did not even matter that he was forced to wear his prison garb as he walked up to a high metallic fence and waited. A buzz sounded and the gate slowly slid to the left, some kind of ancient pulley system peeling it open. Grant stepped through and had to wait for the pulley system to push the gate behind him closed before a similar one in front of him opened. This time, it opened to the outside world and a few more moments passed before Grant found himself as a sudden ex-inmate standing on a sidewalk overlooking a small parking lot. And a black SUV immediately pulled in right in front of him.
The door opened and the man on the other side of the glass motioned for Grant to get in. The windows of the vehicle were completely tinted and the black motif even extended to the rims on the wheels. Grant looked to his left and right as if weighing other options and then climbed into the vehicle behind the driver's seat. The SUV pulled off simultaneously as the door closed and once again, the former prisoner's observant nature took hold. The SUV was as big on the inside as it appeared from outside. There was the driver and passenger's seats in front and two rows of supplementary seating behind them. Grant and the man on the other side of the glass sat in the first row and the second row was completely empty. The seats were all comprised of a composition of black leather and cloth and were more comfortable than Grant ever remembered a car seat being. The interior was spotless and though the trunk was massive, it, too, was immaculate and devoid of anything at all. There were two generic individuals in the driver and passenger seat in front and they remained silent as the man on the other side of the glass cleared his throat and extended a hand towards Grant.
"My apologies for not introducing myself before. My name is Benson and I am in service to the Corvec estate. It's a pleasure," he said with a professional grin. His voice matched his older appearance and he had some kind of accent.
Grant looked at his hand and paused for a moment. He slowly clasped the man's open palm and shook briefly before pulling back. He was waiting for an explanation of this entire situation.
"As I said before, my proprietors will be offering you their proposal in person. However, before we get there we must take care of a few things. As I understand it, you've been imprisoned for two years now and, from what I can see, it has not been a pleasant experience. We will need to make you a bit more presentable before we return to the estate. We have set up an appointment with a barber and a stylist who will give you new clothing. Do not worry as these services have been paid for in advance. The Corvec estate thinks very highly of you so they have taken care of all of the arrangement."
Grant said nothing, but he raised an eyebrow. Benson laughed.
"I understand your apprehension, sir. Trust, especially in these times, is not something one can expect to obtain so easily. We only ask that you hear out the proposal in full before deciding on a course of action. You will be free to refuse or accept. We do hope that you will accept, of course."
Grant turned to look out the window. Seeing buildings and skyscrapers and throngs of people going up and down the sidewalk was almost unbelievable. It was life and it was something that Grant thought he had freed himself of. In the end, his could feel the foreign wonder and awe that he imagined children felt when they saw the doctored images and videos of nature beyond the wall for the first time. Then he thought about what Benson said. These people wanted to clean him up and then offer him his freedom? In exchange for what? Because obviously it could not be free. Nothing in life was free. And more than that, after committing the crimes he committed, they would have to have some serious influence and cash flow in order to make this furlough happen. The case was highly publicized. There was no possible way they could pull this off without the media and everyone in the city knowing, right? Right?
"Ah. We have arrived at our destination. You will be going in alone, but we will be right outside should you need anything. And I was instructed to ask you not to try and run, please. A man of your skillset could easily evade us at this point, but think about exactly what you would have to endure in order to keep stolen freedom?" Benson smiled again as the door on Grant's side opened. They had pulled into a wide alley and next to a side door. There was a man waiting just inside. He was bald, short, chubby, and wore a scowl. Grant nodded at Benson as if giving his word that he would not try to flee and stepped out of the vehicle. The bald man came to the railing just outside the door.
"So you're Grant Corrigan, eh? Fuckin' amazin'. Well anyway, I'm gonna give ya a cut. Hurry up and get inside, we can't have too many mooks out here seein' ya in the flesh."
Grant turned back to Benson with a serious glare. Benson only offered another smile and motioned for him to go inside. Grant sighed and made his way up the few steps and inside with the bald man. After a short walk through a short hallway, the duo arrived in what appeared to be a private barbershop. The front door had a sign that said "open" hanging in the glass pane so it must have said "closed" to the public on the other side. There were three barber's chairs on each side of the room and the floor was black and white tile under a ceiling with bright, long lights and mirrors above desks behind each chair. No one else was inside. The bald man pointed to a chair and Grant took a seat. "Name's Kovsky," he said as he organized things on his desk and grabbed clippers and plugged things in, "And I gotta tell ya, this shit is wild. Who knew I'd be cuttin' the hair of Grant fuckin' Corrigan. You know you're one of the most famous criminals of all time, right?"
Grant groaned, but remained tight lipped.
"Shit, my bad. You're probably tired of hearin' people gawk, huh? I get it, man, trust me, I get it. Don't worry, I'm gonna buzz ya up nice. I can already tell what a distinguishin' man like you would want to look like."
The clippers buzzed to life and Grant sat more straight in his chair and allowed himself to retreat to his thoughts as he felt the warm razor begin to shear locks from his head. In a matter of hours, he had gone from sitting in a cell awaiting an execution to sitting in a barber's chair becoming a human being again. And all this with absolutely zero explanation as to why or how, but he knew one thing for sure. Whatever this family wanted in exchange was going to be big. The cost was going to be high and that likely meant there was going to be danger involved. It just made too much sense. Why release a death row inmate unless you wanted them to do something that could possibly involve... death? They were going to die anyway, right? It just made too much sense.
It was over much faster than Grant anticipated. That, or he had been so lost in thought that he had lost track of time as well. He found himself staring in the mirror and Kovsky standing behind him holding a smaller mirror to show the back of his head. Grant was never one who cared much about his physical appearance, but even he had to admit he looked a lot better. His brown locks had been sheared and styled into a shorter, more rugged looking landscape befitting of some kind of corporate security guard and his beard and mustache, while still thick, had been trimmed. Kovsky laughed and admired his work. Grant, for the first time in a long time, offered the smallest grin at the corner of his mouth--one that could barely be seen due to his mustache.
"Perfecto! You look a brand new man my friend. Now, I need you to walk back down the hallway, but take the last door on the left. Next door is the place where they're gonna give ya a set of new clothes. I wouldn't keep'em waitin' if I were you, ya know."
Grant nodded and began taking long strides back the way they had come. He was six feet and two inches at full height, but it was easy to forget that when you were used to shuffling because your ankles were shackled and slouching had become the norm. He stopped at the door on the left and it was already unlocked. He walked into to another retail establishment with racks of clothing all over and hanging up on the walls. Again, the storefront seemed to have a closed sign posted even as crowds walked briskly back and forth passed the windows. A woman this time, slim and just a tiny bit shorter than Grant, greeted him. Her skin was caramel and her face was made up and it was all complemented by a feminine business suit and heels. She was young. Much younger than Grant.
"Welcome, Mr. Corrigan," she said in a light, yet mature tone. It had been two years since Grant had laid eyes on a woman. His body could understand it as well. He nodded, but said nothing.
"I have been instructed to allow you to choose a full outfit for yourself. I will take care of your present attire. Once you have found suitable garments, you can take them to the fitting room in that back corner and just leave your current garb inside. There's also a shower just beyond that room as well. It is usually reserved for our more discerning clientele, but full services had been paid for today. Take your time and I will be around if you need any assistance."
Grant tore his gaze from the woman, nodded, and proceeded to look around. He could not remember the last time he had been a retail store. Even when he was free he had never been one to shop frequently or frivolously. Due to this, it had not taken him long to find an outfit at all. He made his way to the fitting room which turned out to be as large as a walk-in closet and set his new clothes on a bench seat before opening another door that revealed a full bathroom. "Jesus... " He muttered. He was thankful though. If nothing else, he had always enjoyed being clean. He had no hesitation in stripping and stepping into the glass box that comprised the shower and turned it to the hottest setting. The steam and heat of the water flow was the best thing the prisoner felt that day. The water poured over old scars and refreshed both the man's body and his struggling mind. It was the most relaxing ten minutes he would have.
Fifteen more minutes later, Grant was out and heading towards the front door of the establishment. He had chosen simple, yet comfortable clothing--a white shirt, dark denim jeans, ebony boots, and a dark leather jacket with a high collar folded into a bit of a lapel since it was left open and unzipped. The woman smiled and nodded at the man as he exited the store and the black SUV pulled up at the same time as he hit the sidewalk. The door opened and Benson was waiting, a look of approval coloring his expression. "Excellent, sir," Benson said, "We will head to the estate now. The Corvec family will offer you their proposal."
Grant said nothing as he climbed in and the SUV pulled off. And then he found himself in the world of his dreams. The fatigue had never been far behind and it seemed that even outside of the prison it was persistent. The dreams always played in the same order. Flashes of explosions and fires. Men in military uniforms running and screaming commands and orders. Blood, dirt, and grime all over his body. And raging roars of inhuman creatures coming from all directions. This time though, a new vision accompanied the gallery. A boy, just old enough to enlist, stood in front of Grant. His face was also caked in dirt and grime and he had a rifle strapped to his back, but he was squeezing Grant's shoulders. His expression was begging, but the words were slurred and muddled. His eyes were glassy and tears were seemingly being forced back. And then he awoke.
Grant popped up with a start as the SUV came to a rolling stop. Benson exited the vehicle and the refreshed inmate followed to that side as well; his eyes immediately widened. They stood in front a large mansion, white exterior with multiple windows, pillars in front of the entrance, and it towered large and looming. It was grandiose to be sure and the roundabout parking with the ornate fountain in the center was like the cherry on top. Benson was already at the front double doors and he rung the doorbell. Grant snapped out of his awe and quickly caught up to the butler, bounding up a set of steps and passing through the pillars. The doors opened and the two walked in just as a man appeared on a second level balcony high above the ground floor.
