Mary McDonald - No good deed

A shower? They did all this for him to take a shower? Confused, Mark followed the guard, alert for any tricks. Not that he could do anything to protect himself even if there were.

To his amazement, there was a shower stall. Several in fact, but the one they directed him to had a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap-brand new-sitting on a metal shelf. He needed no further prodding.

The soap smelled clean and fresh, not the antiseptic smelling stuff he normally had to use. He raised the bar to his nose, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply. Images of sand and surf and lazy summer days lying on the beach swirled through his mind. The scent filled the stall as the hot water beat on his back. He wanted to stay in that stall and never come out. In here, he could push aside the worry of what was coming next. He could stay in the present. Forever.

When he finished, he was given a razor and shaving cream, and the guards didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get the blade back. They led him to a locker that held a clean set of clothes, and told him to get dressed. Mark clasped the white button-down shirt, looking from it to a pair of dark dress pants. Where was the orange prison suit? He squashed his fears and decided to just enjoy each little luxury instead of ruining it with worry. If they were getting ready to take him to the gas chamber, at least he would be wearing real clothes and he’d be clean.

Sitting on the bench, he pulled on black socks and shoes. The shoes were the biggest surprise. He hadn’t worn any for so long, and he wiggled his toes as he admired the shiny leather. They felt good. Real good. Standing, he looked down at himself and took a deep shaky breath. He felt human for the first time in over a year.

The guards put the shackles back on, and Mark tried not to let that bother him, especially since they didn’t reapply the goggles. They led him down a long hallway that looked like it could be a courthouse. He squared his shoulders. Maybe he would finally get to plead his case before a judge.

He was led to a small room, over to a table and instructed to sit. Beside him was an empty chair. The guards remained standing behind him. Across from the table where Mark sat, was a longer table. An American flag and a state flag in tall stands, flanked it. Four chairs faced him.

Across a narrow aisle was a table identical to his own, complete with two chairs. Mark glanced at the chair next to him, wondering who it was for.

The only sound in the room was an occasional creak of Mark’s chains and one of the guards coughed a few times. After waiting for several minutes, four military officers entered the room and strode past Mark without a glance in his direction. While watching the officers, Mark almost missed the two men in suits who walked down the aisle and sat at the other small table. Mark tried to get a closer look at them, but the one nearest to him had his back turned, blocking the other man from view.

A rustle at his elbow distracted him. An older man with gray hair slicked over a bald spot slid into the chair next to him. The man leaned over and whispered, “I’m David Cox, your attorney.” and offered his hand.

Seeing the manacles when Mark made no move to return the handshake, Cox fumbled with the catches on his briefcase “My attorney?” Mark wasn’t aware he’d had one. The guy was sweating bullets and looked as if he had run a marathon before arriving.

“I’ve been working on your behalf for months. I even took your case before the U.S. District court.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. “The government is getting pressured about all this enemy combatant status. Technically, we won our case, but-” Cox broke off and glanced at the guards behind Mark, his expression wary. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but I feel we should continue this conversation after the hearing.”

Mark nodded but couldn’t help doubting that he would actually get the chance to discuss it.

Cox withdrew a stack of papers from his briefcase and began sorting through them. “I wasn’t notified of this hearing until about an hour ago and I’m not even sure what it’s about. I’ll try for a continuance if I don’t feel prepared to answer on your behalf.”

He swallowed hard. So, he hadn’t been forgotten. “Thanks.” A voice cut through the room. A voice he recognized and one that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It came from one of the men at the other table. Jim and Bill…shit. Mark must have made a sound because Jim broke off his conversation, his eyes meeting Mark’s. He nodded, his face impassive.

Mark faced forward with his hands in a white-knuckled clasp on the table. The men in the room busied themselves with settling in. Papers rustled, briefcases clicked, and muted conversations drifted in the heavy silence. A woman entered with a pitcher of water, Mark froze, until she began pouring it into glasses in front of each officer. Everyone had their glass filled. Mark received one too, but he could only look at it. At least he hadn’t been left out. That was something.

His knee began to jerk, the rattling clink of the leg chains loud in the small room. Cox gave him a warning look as the court was called to order.

At the long table-a man who looked vaguely familiar to Mark-addressed Jim. “Officer Sheridan, I received your report and we have discussed it at length. Thank you for clarifying some issues we had. We have come to a decision.” He shifted his focus to Mark. “Mr. Taylor, would you please rise?”

He stole a look at Jim, but the man faced the front. Was he being sentenced now? How could he be sentenced when he hadn’t been tried? Hell, he wasn’t even sure of the charges. His legs felt like jelly. Cox prodded him with an elbow, followed by a grim, “Stand.” Mark wanted to shout at him that he was trying, but instead, he shoved out of the chair and stood. He took a deep breath and raised his chin.

“Mark Taylor, this council has found insufficient evidence that you had any involvement in the events of September 11, 2001. You are to be released from custody immediately.” The man gathered his papers and he and the rest of the tribunal rose, and without so much as a nod in Mark’s direction, left the room.

His legs wobbled, and he sat hard. That was it? He was free? Mark rested his elbows on the table, propping his head in his hands as the realization sunk in. The nightmare was over. He was going home. Emotion welled up and he lowered his head onto his arms, his body shaking as he tried to suppress a sob. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and it took a moment before he heard his lawyer speaking to him. Mark swiped his eyes on his shoulder before he turned his head. “Huh?”

“I said, ‘congratulations. You’re a free man.” He clapped Mark on the back.

Mark shook his head. “It’s…it’s kind of surreal. Is it true? I’m free? They won’t take me back there?” Please, God, let it be real.

David Cox smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Yes, it’s true.”

Blinking, he tried to return the smile, but he noticed Jim stuff a large white envelope in his briefcase. What if it was a trick? After over a year in custody, now he was just free to walk out? Just like that? It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t trust them.

One of the guards stepped forward. “Stand please.”

Mark did as ordered, and when the guard removed the shackles, his whole body felt light, as though he might float to the ceiling. He rubbed his wrists and waited, hardly daring to breathe. It could be a trick, give him a taste of freedom in hopes that he’d spill his guts to stay free.

Jim approached the table and handed a stack of papers to Cox. “These need to be signed by your client.”

He made no attempt to acknowledge his former prisoner. The entire proceeding, with two exceptions, had been handled as if Mark hadn’t even been in the room.