True Light

by Terri Blackstock

  Seeing the dubious looks on their faces, Randy tried again. “They came to us. We wouldn’t have lied, but they promised us some gold coins if we would just go to the sheriff. After we told the sheriff about seeing Mark, they met us and paid us.”

  “Where did they meet you?”

  “In the park,” Randy said. “They had red ski caps pulled over their faces.”

  Wheaton asked them if he could search their house, and Randy and his father consented, clearly hoping to clear their names. They gave him the one remaining gold coin of the four they’d been paid, and he took it into evidence. He gathered their guns, checking to see if they were the same caliber as the one used to shoot Zach. One of them matched. Ballistics would show if the shells matched.

  When Wheaton came back to the boys and Randy’s father, he blew out a long breath. “I’m afraid you boys are under arrest for obstruction of justice and conspiracy.”

  The boys gasped, and Luke stepped in front of them. “Hold on, now. They’re just kids!”

  “They’re legal adults, and they’ve just confessed to committing a crime,” Brad said.

  “But they voluntarily told you the truth! They didn’t have to! They were trying to help.”

  “Yeah,” Brad said. “Trying to help a killer cover his crime. And they did it for money. That, my friend, is a felony.”

  “I’m getting an attorney!” Luke said. “You can’t take them until we’ve talked to an attorney.”

  “Think again,” Wheaton said. “Come on, boys, let’s go.” He cuffed Blake and Randy, grabbed their arms, read them their rights, and pulled them out to the van.

  Luke followed. “Don’t say another word, Randy! Stay quiet until I get there with a lawyer.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  THE SOUND OF THE FRONT DOOR DREW MARK OUT OF the cells, where he’d been cleaning up the contents of Trish Burlin’s stomach. The sight of Randy Kraft and Blake Mahaffey in handcuffs should have lifted the heaviness in his heart, but instead it made his burden heavier. The two looked so young and frightened, and when they saw him, they couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “They admitted to lying about you,” Doug said as he sat them down. “They claim they were paid by some guys in red ski masks.”

  Mark walked closer to them. The boys seemed startled at his injuries — the stitches across his forehead, his arm in a cast . . .

  He wanted to smash his good fist into their teeth, and ask them if they had any idea what their lie had cost him. He wanted to accuse them of shooting Zach.

  But he forced himself to stay quiet. When Wheaton had finished processing them, he handed them over to Mark to lock them in, then headed back out with Doug and Brad. Mark led them silently into the dark cellblock. Behind him, he heard Randy crying.

  Lou Grantham looked up as Mark led them past his cell. “Now you lockin’ up teenagers? What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have a conscience?”

  Mark bit his lip, almost drawing blood. He went to the cell door and pulled out the pistol he’d been issued when he was sworn in. “Back against the wall, everybody.”

  The men got up and milled to the back wall. “You putting them in here?” Ellington asked. “We’re already full.”

  Mark didn’t intend to engage in a dialogue about how he planned to leave the other cells empty so he could clean them. Carefully holding his gun with his casted hand, he unlocked the cell door and motioned the two boys in.

  “Are you deaf?” Grantham shouted.

  Mark closed the cell door. The whispered voice of God came to him again, warning him to take his thoughts captive. Don’t answer. Forgiveness was not an emotion. You didn’t have to feel it. You just had to do it.

  Holstering his gun, he opened the door to the cell next to theirs.

  “You gonna torment us?” Lou Grantham’s voice echoed in the room. “You gonna make us sorry we ever knew you?”

  You were sorry for that months ago, Mark thought, but he said nothing. He opened the door of the Porta-John, and the smell made a fresh assault.

  He wondered when it had last been changed. With all those men crammed into the cells, the receptacles would have filled up quickly. Left to fester for days, even in the cold, it was a breeding ground for bacteria and rot.

  He pulled up the seat and looked inside. Nearly full. If these things were portable, then there was probably an easy way to empty them. He clicked on his flashlight and shone it around on the plastic walls, hoping there were some instructions.

  Sure enough, there they were, slightly faded, but still legible.

  The instructions warned that it needed to be emptied often. Clearly, the portable sanitation company was supposed to come with their trucks and hoses and clean the tanks out at least a few times a month. But that was before the Pulses. Now their vacuum trucks couldn’t run, and if the company was even still in business, all their work had to be done with horse and wagon. Besides, it was doubtful the county could pay for such services. And not many service workers would go to the trouble for free.

  If it was going to get done, he was going to have to do it.

  Aware that he couldn’t do it with a broken arm, he examined the unit to see how the tank could be taken out, since the instructions didn’t explain. It looked like the whole back wall would have to come off.

  “My mother said it was okay.”

  Mark turned and saw Sheriff Scarbrough’s son standing in the doorway. He hadn’t expected the boy to come back. He left the empty cell and walked toward him. “You’re not lying, are you?”

  “No. You can go ask her.” Jimmy’s voice amplified over the concrete room. “She said as long as I stayed in the office and hung with you, it would be okay.”

  Mark was skeptical, but he saw the pain in the boy’s eyes and didn’t want to disappoint him.

  Jimmy looked past him to the men in the cell. “Is the guy who shot Pop in here?”

  Mark shook his head. “No, they’re still looking for him.”

  Disappointment clouded Jimmy’s eyes.

  “You gonna lock that kid up too?” Grantham called from across the room.

  “Hey, I know a day care center you could raid,” Paul Burlin added.

  Jimmy’s face flushed with fury. “I’m not a criminal like you,” he shouted back. “I’m the sheriff’s son.” Pride rippled on his angry voice.

  Grantham and Burlin had the grace to shut up then. Jimmy looked like he might cry, so Mark set his hand on the boy’s back and ushered him into the office area. “Ignore them,” he said. “They just have big mouths.”

  “Why are they here?” Jimmy asked.

  “Some of them are in there for doing this to me.”

  Jimmy regarded his cast, then glanced at his stitches. “So you got revenge, huh?”

  “I call it justice.”

  The boy walked to his father’s office and stood in the doorway, looking at the empty chair. Mark stood behind him.

  “So why don’t they have everybody out looking for the killer?” Jimmy asked.

  “They do. Except for me. Somebody has to hold down the fort.” He nodded to the files on his desk. “I’ve been going through the files, trying to find addresses where we might find the escapees. I gave what I’ve already found to Deputy Wheaton and he’s out looking for the prisoners.”

  Jimmy went to the desk, and Mark scanned it to see what Jimmy might find. On a piece of paper clipped to the front of Miller’s file, Mark had written, “Ringleader and murderer.”

  Jimmy picked the file up. “Is this him? The one who shot my pop?”

  Mark took the file back. “Look, Jimmy, you can hang around here and help with chores, but you’re not going through the files.”

  “Why not?” He gestured toward the stack on Mark’s desk. “I could help. You have a lot to go through.”

  “Because that’s my job. You have a different one.” He headed into the kitchen, looking for some cleaning supplies.

  Jimmy followed him. “What’s his name?”


  “What’s whose name?”

  “The one who shot Pop and killed the others.”

  Mark didn’t know if he should go on with this. But he’d been in Jimmy’s shoes. When news came that his father was dead, he’d wanted to know the details so he could process it all. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to tell Jimmy what he knew. “His name is Dante Miller. The other prisoners called him Tree House.”

  “Tree House,” Jimmy repeated, the words bitter in his mouth.

  Mark found a mop and turned to hand it to the boy. But Jimmy was already back at the desk, looking at Miller’s picture.

  “Here, take the mop. I need help cleaning those cells.”

  The boy bristled. “If I go back in there I’ll throw up.”

  Mark didn’t doubt it. “So how are you with digging?”

  “Good,” Jimmy said.

  “Then you can dig some holes for us to dump the waste in after I clean the toilets. Deep holes. Can you do that?”

  Jimmy crossed his arms. “I guess so. Why are you cleaning them, anyway?”

  “Because those cells are not fit for humans. I know firsthand what it’s like to sleep in there with that filth.”

  “Who cares?” Jimmy asked. “Let them wallow in it like pigs.”

  Mark started to tell him that he’d felt the same way, but that God had given him orders. The kid wouldn’t understand. He almost didn’t himself. “Do you want to help or not? I told you what I need to have done.”

  The kid blew out a sigh, puffing his cheeks. “Where’s the shovel?”

  “It’s leaning against the wall next to the back door.”

  Jimmy didn’t look happy as he headed out the door. Mark went back into the jail cell and stepped into the Porta-John again.

  Once again, he heard the front door. Had Wheaton, Brad, and Doug come back with more prisoners? Or were Blake’s and Randy’s parents bringing attorneys?

  He abandoned the toilet again and walked toward the door.

  Then he heard Deni’s voice. “Mark? Where are you?”

  He hoped she hadn’t come to give him a hard time. He came out of the jail.

  Deni looked relieved to see him. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought something might have happened to you, and I wasn’t about to go into that place.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I was just cleaning the cells. The illustrious Oak Hollow gang is here, and they’re used to better accommodations.”

  She wasn’t amused. “Are you kidding me? Let them sit there in it like you did.”

  He went to a bowl of water in the kitchen and washed his good hand. “Believe me, I thought about it. But I’m a Christian, so I can’t.”

  She stood in front of him and looked him in the eye. “What does being a Christian have to do with cleaning out toilets?”

  “It has everything to do with it.” He looked around on the shelves in the kitchen — there were supplies there, so maybe there was a handbook for the portable restrooms. He saw some boxes stacked on a lower shelf and some large, five-gallon jugs of fluid with the Porta-John label on them. “There it is,” he said. “Just what I need. Now I can figure out how to get those tanks out.” He picked up the booklet he’d spotted and turned to the table of contents. “Here it is. ‘Evacuating the effluent.’ ”

  “Gross! You are not going to do that!”

  He breathed a laugh. “Oh yeah, I am. I may not be in any condition to help enforce the law, but if I’m in charge of the jail, I’m going to treat the prisoners humanely.”

  Deni followed him out of the kitchen and into the office area. “So how do you plan to do this?”

  “I’ll manage. I’m resourceful.”

  “You have a broken arm!”

  “Deni, you have to understand. It doesn’t matter what else I do to clean up those cells — if I don’t start with this, it’s futile.”

  The sound of banging came from the cells, and someone’s voice echoed through the place. Angry profanity reverberated out of one of the cells.

  “You’re going to go in there and do this for them? The same ones who beat you? Lied about you?”

  Mark sat on the corner of a desk. “Deni, I’ve been praying about how to do what the Bible says and forgive them for what they did to me. It’s not easy to turn the other cheek when I’m full of hatred.” His voice broke, and he swallowed.

  Deni tipped her head and took his hand. “Don’t fake it, Mark. Jesus didn’t mean for you to put on some big performance.”

  He knew she didn’t understand. “I think maybe you do fake it. Maybe you get into the rhythm of forgiving, just by doing the things you would do if you cared about them.”

  She wasn’t buying it. “Mark, why can’t you just keep the jail door closed?”

  He thought about coming up with more arguments, but he really didn’t have any. It all boiled down to one thing, and he decided to give it to her straight. “Deni, I’m doing this because God told me to clean the toilets.”

  She breathed an astonished laugh. “He did not!”

  “He did, Deni. I was praying, and it popped into my mind from out of nowhere. His still, small voice.”

  “Well, if it was still and small, maybe you heard wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t even him.”

  “Who else would tell me to go in there and do for my enemies what I’d want done for me?”

  Her amusement faded, and she stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re not going to be talked out of this, are you?”

  “Nope.” Moving away from her, Mark started back to the jail. “If you’re going to stay, let me know if anyone comes in.”

  She stood frozen a moment, then blew out a disgusted breath. “All right!” she shouted. “If you’re dead set on doing this, I’ll help you!”

  He turned around and almost laughed. “What?”

  “I said, I’m helping you.” Her voice was brittle and angry, as if he’d been begging her to for hours.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Watch me.” She took off her coat and tossed it on a chair, then rolled up her sleeves. “If you’re doing it, so am I.”

  “Deni, you’re not serious. This is smelly, dirty work.”

  “I know it is. It’s absolutely gross, and it’ll probably turn my stomach.” She went into the kitchen and got a towel, then tied it around her face, mask-style, with a knot at the back of her head. She pulled on some rubber gloves and put one on Mark’s good hand as well. “Now, let’s get this stupid thing over with!”

  “Deni, I can’t let you — ”

  “Shut up, Mark! If I can’t stop you, you can’t stop me. If God told you to clean the toilets, then we’re going to clean the toilets.”

  Mark couldn’t help grinning at her furious determination as he led her back to the open cell. Strangely, none of the prisoners said a word as they passed. Mark supposed they’d heard the exchange, and didn’t want to divert them from the filthy work.

  Deni just gritted her teeth and got to work.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  THERE WERE SOME THINGS SO TOTALLY DISGUSTING THAT you had to just hold your breath and dive in. Deni tried to make her mind numb out as she gasped for breath behind the towel covering her nose and mouth. They cleaned out the Porta-Johns in the four empty cells, dumped the waste into the holes Jimmy Scarbrough was digging, cleaned out the tanks, then filled them with fresh, sanitary liquid. With a bucket of water cut with bleach, they wiped down the mattresses and mopped the concrete floors. There were no clean sheets to put on the beds, but at least these cells were better than they’d been.

  She was thankful when her father and Brad got back, bringing three of the escaped prisoners. They also had five new men with them, recent volunteers who’d come to be sworn in by Deputy Wheaton. Wheaton moved all the prisoners into the clean cells, leaving the other cell open for Deni and Mark to finish cleaning.

  How thoughtful.

  The cells already smelled much better, and even the new prisoners weren’t complaining that much. All who had smelled the cells befor
e Mark and Deni’s work knew they were in much better shape than they’d been before.

  Mark and Deni took the last receptacle out. Jimmy had finished digging his holes and the shovel was leaning against the building. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. They dumped the “effluent” into the last hole, then covered the holes.

  By the time they’d finished, their shoes and the bottoms of their pant legs were covered with dirt.

  “Did you see Jimmy inside?” Mark asked.

  “No, I saw him inside when they came in with the prisoners. But I thought he came back outside.”

  Mark frowned. Deni followed him back in and saw a group of men at the desks, filling out paperwork to volunteer for the force. “Have any of you seen Jimmy Scarbrough?” Mark asked. “The thirteen-year-old who was out back?”

  One of the men looked up. “I saw him leave.”

  “Leave? Did he say where he was going?”

  “No. But he seemed like he was in a big hurry.”

  Mark frowned and looked around the room, as if wondering what had prompted that.

  “Maybe he just got tired of doing grunt work,” Deni said. “He probably went home.”

  Mark’s gaze drifted to his desk. Tree House’s file was gone. The legal pad on which he’d written addresses was also gone.

  “Oh, don’t tell me.” He went to his desk and started flipping through the files.

  “What’s wrong?” Deni asked.

  “He took the file of the guy who shot his father!”

  “What would he want with that?”

  “An address,” Mark said. “The kid is going to try to find him himself.”

  FORTY-NINE

  “IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO THAT BOY, IT’LL KILL RALPH and Mary.” Wheaton grabbed his coat and pulled it on. “Doug, let’s go look for him. You too, Brad.”

  “I’m coming too,” Mark said.

  Heading for the door, Wheaton glanced back at him. “What good will you do?”

  “I can talk to Jimmy if we find him. I know how it feels to have that kind of bitterness churning inside you. I’ve been there.”

  Wheaton slowed his step, studying him. “And what if we’re walking into trouble? You’re in no condition to help.”