Leah pulls into the parking lot of the Bridgeport Correctional Facility. It's six twenty-five, five minutes away from her meeting with Osvaldo Huertas, the man who offered her the job. She's very nervous; she's about to agree to letting a criminal live with her. Was she suicidal? She asked herself this question over and over again since she left the office building.
She enters the facility, goes through security, and is escorted to Mr. Huertas' office. She's not the least bit scared, but she's a little worried. She'd never set foot in a prison before. It's nothing like she imagined. She imagined closed rooms with metal beds and not-the-slightest-bit-private toilets. She expected guards at every corner, guns always prepared, and security cameras that follow her every move. As she and her escort passed a row of occupied jail cells, she knew that definitely was not the case.
They pass at least twelve of them. Leah can't help but take note of the twenty other rows of cells above it. She looked at the prisoners in the cells. Some of them looked as if they didn't belong there at all. Others, on the other hand, looked as if they didn't belong in public. Leah, in her head, tagged the muscular, intimidating ones as dangerous.
There was one prisoner she could not exactly read. He has dirty blonde hair cropped just to his ears, and he had tan skin. He wears a white undershirt that is being stretched by his major muscles. The only part of his uniform he wears is the bottom half, his orange pants. He iss barefoot, and his hands are wrapped in some material that looks like gauze. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring down at the ground. He looks like he belongs in that cell; he probably did something horrible to get there. But at the same time, he looks like he is ready to leave. Leah doesn't find him intimidating. She actually feels kind of bad for him.
"Please keep up, Miss Price," her escort says.
It isn't 'til he said that that she realizes she's slowing down. She seems to have some interest in the blonde man's story. What did he do to get here? she thinks. She hurries to the escort's side again, hugging her purse close to her.
They go through another set of doors and move down a long hallway. The escort opens a door at the end and let's Leah in. The door shuts, and Leah is left in a large office that looks much neater than the rooms she's passed through. The desk looks brand new, as well as any other furniture in the room. Everything is black-and-white themed. Leah likes it.
There's a soft flushing sound, then a door on the other side of the room unlocks and opens. A tall, heavy, hispanic-looking man exits the bathroom. He wears a gray suit, with an ear piece in his ear, a shiny bald head, and a black mustache across his lip.
"I assume you're Mr. Huertas," Leah says.
"That's what my mother told me. You can call me Osvaldo if you'd like."
"Thank you, but I prefer Mr. Huertas."
"Okay. No problem. Have a seat." He gestures his hand toward an empty seat in front of his desk.
Leah takes it, keeping her purse on her lap.
Osvaldo takes the seat opposite from her, and he takes out a file from his drawer. "Okay. Leah Price, citizen of the U.S., graduated from University of Connecticut." He continues to read Leah's file quietly.
Leah taps her thumb on her purse, reading a bunch of certificates on the wall behind him.
Finally, he sets the folder down and looks up. "Leah, your records are phenomenal, as well as your grades. Is this your first time here?"
"Yes, it is," Leah answers.
"That's very good. I find it horrible when someone knows what the inside of a prison looks like. Anyway, I told you about the program, I told you about the pay. All I need is an answer from you. Are you willing to take over the responsibility of changing a criminal's life?"
