Chapter 11: The Gate Swings Open
After six years of exemplary conduct and uninterrupted service in the prison medical volunteer unit, Stephen was granted early supervised parole.
On a crisp, clear morning in early October, the heavy steel security gate of FCI Allenwood buzzed and slid open.
Stephen walked out onto the empty rural road.
He was forty-four years old now. His wavy dark hair was heavily salted with silver at the temples; his frame was lean, muscular, and stripped of all excess weight. He wore a ten-dollar flannel shirt, dark work trousers, and worn leather boots, carrying a single canvas duffel bag containing his books and his release papers.
Waiting by the tree line across the road was an old blue pickup truck.
Sitting on the tailgate was Arthur Campbell, wearing his familiar tweed coat, holding a thermos of hot black coffee.
Stephen stopped, looking at the old lawyer in disbelief.
""Arthur?"" Stephen called out, his voice cracking with emotion.
Arthur climbed down from the tailgate, a warm, wry smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. ""Get in, Stephen. The traffic on Interstate 80 is terrible, and the clinic in West Virginia expects you by seven o'clock tomorrow morning.""
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Stephen walked across the road, shook Arthur’s hand with a firm, respectful grip, and climbed into the passenger seat.
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