“I’m-”
“You’re right. People in church aren’t perfect. Edward’s not perfect, and neither am I. Nobody you’ve ever met is perfect, unless you’ve met Jesus,” she told him softly. In the crowded room, it was difficult to hear her, and he sat forward, just a little, hoping the guard wouldn’t come and get after him for drawing so near.
The last thing he needed on top of this surprise visit would be more time added because he got himself into a tizzy or written up for what seemed the hundredth time. Yet, maybe it was. He’d stopped counting after the first year.
What was the point?
He’d have over three years added to his time for everything that had gotten him sent to the hole. No need to dwell on or add to it, since he couldn’t change it, right?
“The thing is,” Edward continued, causing Quentin to pull back again. “Jesus was right… He came not for those who thought they had it all together; not for those who thought religion could save them, but for those who knew they needed a Savior; those who knew they needed a miracle in their lives and hearts. He came, as some have put it, for those who knew the emergency their lives really were. The Church… the real Church Christ died for, it’s…”
The man’s words trailed off even as Quentin resituated himself, pulling back from him, his voice louder than his wife’s was.
“It’s as they say, the Church… the real and true body of Christ, has been made up from the beginning of people who were the hurting; the misfits; those who just… really, just messed up a lot. Not every single person, but the majority. Each and every one knows they have made mistakes; that they’re sinners that can only be saved by grace; that without the blood of Christ, they’d bleed out from sin.”
Okay, not a word picture he had expected.
Face it, Q, he told himself. You just isn’t up to this conv’sation comin’ atcha outta the blue like this.. You didn’t wake up, thinkin’, I think I have a chat wit Pal and Edward t’day… and I thinks we best talk ‘bout Jesus an’ da meanin’ o’ church; who belong an’ who don’t.
“You givin’ me the heebie-jeebies, Man. Don’t need no ideas in my head o’ people bleedin’ to death. I’m in prison, not at a fun’ral or somethin’,” he told them, trying not to shudder.
It didn’t help that he’d fantasized about just that; Edward somehow just… disappearing so he could take the man’s place, if Pal would just see reason and have him back, but that was years ago. He had given up hope about the time Lovan stopped staying at the Stuarts’ place when his Mama had gotten better, before she got worse again and then died.
Just thinkin’ on his Mama again made him wanna cry. He refused.
Best ta stick to da topic at hand, he told himself.
“Can’t nothin’ right happen, thinkin’ ‘bout those sorts o’ things in here,” he finally said once he was able to speak again past the lump that had come back. “Jesus be all well and good, and I admire Him, serisly, but I just seen way too many people say they believes in Him an’ trus’ Him an’ then go act like fools ‘cause they think it be somethin’ from Monop’ly; get outta jail card or somethin’.”
“You know what,” Paloma said in her butter-soft voice again, “you’re right. Not everyone who says they are on God’s team truly are. Even the Bible says that… that not everyone who says, “Lord, Lord” is truly a disciple of Jesus Christ. People have done horrendous things in the name of Jesus that never should have occurred; we can’t change that, but we can, we hope, rectify things with you by apologizing.”
“We judged you by our standards, and it wasn’t right. The Bible tells us to judge those who claim Christ, not those who don’t. And it took us a while to really understand that,” Edward continued, again, his voice louder than his wife’s. He turned a moment and clasped Paloma’s hand, making Quentin’s stomach begin to churn.
It was bad enough he had to see them sitting together, but did they have to hold hands, flaunting their relationship in his face?
“The first time Lovan attended our home church,” Edward continued, “he asked me to pray for you with him. He thought I would refuse, but how could I? Here was a child in need, missing the father he loved very much, worried about the salvation of the man that God used to create him. When we took him with us to other church services, he would clam up, but he absolutely blossomed from that day onward, for quite a while. We read some Scripture together, he and I, after everyone had left, and…”
He paused again, his eyes becoming misty.
“And you know, your son taught me a very valuable lesson that day; one that I will never forget. It was one of those things where you technically already know something, but then, your heart shifts; something clicks inside and you go, “Aha! Now I really think I’m starting to get it.””
“Yeah, so then what took ya so long ta come see me, then? An’ how come ya had to come t’gether; torture me like you’s all that and I ain’t nothin’? You two, holdin’ hans and makin’ eyes, knowin’ I gots feelins for Pal, here,” he said, pointing for a moment, his hand almost touching her knee.
The guard at the desk harrumphed, and Quentin sat back up in his seat in the hopes there wouldn’t be any trouble. Did the guy think he was trying to grope Paloma?
If he ever did, it wouldn’t be in here…
Edward and Paloma looked at one another again and, Quentin noticed, Edward shrugged as they let their hands unbind. “Nobody’s trying to throw anything in your face, Quentin,” Paloma said, her voice melting into him again. “We just wanted to show you that we can own up to our mistakes, as much as we can forgive. With God’s help in both of these things… we can.”
“Don’t wanna hear more ‘bout God, you hear me,” he muttered, clenching his fists. “An’ don’t wanna hear more about you life together. You marriage and you perfec lil lives, despite how imperfec you says you is. I know somethin’ be funny up with you twos, and I may not know what it be, but I knew it from when I firs’ met him,” he pointed his chin in Edward’s direction. “Him an’ that stupid sword o’-“
Aw, man, he thought. Great! Now I done it!
“And since nobody was hurt that day, and we’re all still alive to remember it, I’d say there are no hard feelings at this point, don’t you,” the man had the nerve to reply. “Actually if it weren’t for you, I may not have met Paloma at all. In some ways, I have you to thank for changing – and in some ways, saving – my life.”
What you even be talkin’ ‘bout? I ain’t saved you life; I wasn’t there anythin’ to do wit’ you,” Quentin said, his words rushing out of him as though he’d been punched in the gut.
And emotionally, he had been. What did Edward mean, if it wasn’t for him, that Paloma wouldn’t have met him? Does that mean if he hadn’t gone to try to scare her, she might be his wife now, instead of this weirdo’s?
“What Edward means,” Paloma told him in answer, “is that our lives all changed that evening. And whatever the original reason you had was for being there, it turned out for our good, though I’m sorry you were hurt in the process.”
“I ain’t hurt,” he roared back, earning him an eye from the guard, who began to walk toward them.
“There a problem here,” the man asked.
Standing 6’7” and close to two hundred pounds, with dark, greased-back waves of hair, Officer Andre Kominga had been a fairer man to deal with among the people than most.
“Just a misunderstanding, I think,” Edward told the man, smiling. “I think things are going quite well, for a first and unexpected visit. Don’t you,” he asked, turning toward Paloma, who nodded. “We just wanted to make up some for lost time and help him realize he’s been forgiven, and request forgiveness for our own past actions and thoughts.”
Kominga nodded, his big round head reminding Quentin of a billiard ball unsure where it’d land on a table. “Alright, then.” He looked Quentin in the eye. “But quiet it down again, eh? There are other people here trying to have conversations, Quimby. And you kno
w the rules by now, I’m sure.”
After a bit more dialogue between Kominga and the Stuarts to help them better understand rules of interaction, the man strode back to his desk to do some paperwork as he continued to monitor the inmate-visitor interactions in the area, pausing only to retrieve a bottle of water from somewhere underneath the counter.
“Seems like a nice fellow,” Edward commented after the officer had left.
“I guess so,” Quentin replied, glad for neutral territory. “Iffen you like people who work at places like this,” he whispered.
“Believe it or not, people are people no matter what their jobs are,” Paloma told him. “So, if someone has a kind and compassionate heart, it’s going to shine no matter where they live, work, or go. It’s part of the territory of life.”
Wow.
Really?
The territory of life? Where she go getting’ all phil’sophical on me, like she know somethin’ I doesn’t, Quentin thought, getting frustrated all over again. Its like she done grew smarter and I just grew older. Then, so’s Edward and her; they ain’t ‘xactly no Spring chickens neither, no more. ‘Lease I ain’t got grey hair like them do now. Still all young-lookin’. Might even pass as Lovan’s olda brotha.
Quentin smiled at the thought as he tried to come up with a reply, just as the guard called out a five-minute warning. If visitors wanted to come back, they were welcome, the man said, to come back a different day.
How was visiting time already up so soon? They’d missed the section during yard time, before lunch, and now, he’d have all this stuck in his head until who knows when….
Of course, it’d have to be a short meeting time when he finally got to see Pal face to face. They must have showed up a lot later than noon. And why did Edward insist on coming with her? It would have been so much better, just he and Pal.
“Well, guess it just be what it be, then, don’t it,” he finally said. “He alright, for a guard.”
They said their goodbyes, Edward clasping him on the shoulder and Paloma patting his arm, making it sing before he had to get in line to go back to his cell.
If that wasn’t the stranges’ thing since first meetin’ that man, Quentin thought as he moved to stand behind Rodriquez and Camferty, who were smirking at each other as though they had something up their sleeves, I sho nuf don’t know what is.
Nine
Salem, Oregon… January 23, 2025
“Thanks for permitting me to come see you to discuss these matters,” Justice said into the phone as he lifted a hand for a moment in greeting. The shelf for his elbows and belongings was avoided, as it looked as though it had seen better days, and Justice’s eyes focused on the face before him.
For being the man whose actions had altered his life forever, Justice’s difficulty was more the unknown than what he’d learned of the man, and his trial.
Arthur Reynolds had aged beyond his years, and with all he’d been through and done, it had only mildly surprised him.
The finger that he’d set on fire in order to help save Rosemary still had burn marks on it, though the nail had regrown; it had come in thicker and more crooked than the rest.
The man’s eyes were still as small as he recalled, and his ears protruded more than he was used to seeing, while his hair was phasing toward white at the front edges, closely shorn and fading toward the back. This was the first time he’d witnessed Arthur without braids or dreadlocks of some kind.
It reminded him of when that actor – what was his name? Keith something? That guy who had gone from soaps to sci-fi?– had done the same, going from a headful of braids all the way down his back to a cut that was less than half an inch long. The effect was a shock to the senses.
“Well, bein’ it be ‘bout ma gal Rosemary, didn’ have no real choice, did I,” the man said, his voice raspier than Justice was expecting. More worn-down and raw and emotional.
“Rosemary? What about her,” Justice asked, puzzled.
Even though they’d met a few days prior to Arthur’s conviction, why would she be the reason he was here? It wasn’t as though he could tell the man, in all good conscience, that she was still alive, though she was dead in the eyes of United States, as well as her loved ones.
It wouldn’t do at all.
“Ya mean ya come here t’ talk ‘bout som’thin’ ain’t worth my time, den,” the man said, his dark brown fists clenching at his sides. Justice noticed a wince as the man unclenched his fists once more and re-clenched them.
“A’cause, iffen dat be da case, ya bes’ git on away from here, an’ be known a liar, an’ never cross my way agin,” he continued. “Yous one dem people done cause me a lot o’ grief an’ junk, an’ I can’ keep up wit dat. So ‘less you here tellin’ me ‘bout Rosemary or, mebbe ‘bout gettin’ dat traitor, Mark in here and me out, aint’ nob’dy need come see me here. I ain’t nob’dy’s sideshow ac or nothin’.”
Mark? In prison? What could Mark have done to get himself imprisoned, Justice thought, raising an eyebrow at the thought. And what’s this about him replacing Arthur behind the bars?
“Ya ain’t knows what I even be tellin’ ya, den, I takes it,” Arthur continued when Justice still didn’t reply.
“Nothin’ ‘bout Mark comin’ an’ confessin’ t’ da people here his part in dem women’s dis’ppearance. How he done gone in dat basemet an knew dem was dere but didn’ do nothin’ ‘bout it until days later, when maybe I kill them. I didn’, but ya know ‘bouts dat? First, I done thought mebbe he be who doned it, or yous twos together, but by you’sef? Didn’ think so…. Knew wasn’ much anybody else could be, and he an’ Rosemary only ones I ever knowed to have ‘ny keys to Ol’ Dabney’s.”
Justice startled at the revelation a moment, the recomposed himself. So that’s why Mark had acted so strangely in the courtroom those many years ago…
“Well, no, we weren’t given that information, Arthur, though it isn’t totally surprising – I mean, learning he’d stayed friends with you after… what happened,” he said, trying to be discreet despite the glass between them, “would be enough to jar anyone close to him, don’t you think? So now the reason for staying in touch makes more sense.”
“It do?”
There was a bewildered look on Arthur’s face; his full lips twisted up, and his brows furrowed for a moment before he relaxed them again.”
“It does,” Justice said, trying to keep himself calm. “He probably kept in touch because of guilt; like he owed something to you, when, really, all he’d done is made a stupid decision that he couldn’t remedy.”
Justice paused a moment, trying to switch gears back to his original purpose now that they were speaking. “What I actually came here for was something entirely different, though.”
“Yeah, an’ dats what, Man?”
“I came to forgive you. And I came to extend forgiveness on behalf of my wife. I think you know I married the woman who was once Rosemary’s best friend… you met her one day at the house. She says you were arriving as she was leaving, and she’ll never forget it. Said you scared her half to death because you both reached for the door about the same time, and she didn’t recognize you except, possibly, from school as kids. She couldn’t recall for sure.”
“So ya came all dis way; ya jump through all da State’s stupid hoops jus’ to come say you’n’ her fo’give me? Like I needs yo fo’giveness or sumpin’? Like I really done did somethin’ wrong on purpose-like?”
“I jumped those hoops, as you call them,” Justice said, “because I wanted to see the look on your face when you learned you were forgiven. I wanted to come because I knew I had to say this face to face. You hurt a lot of people; you damaged a lot of relationships, some that are unrepairable, because you wanted revenge or whatever it is that you had going on in your mind when you took those women.”
“Hey, dey comed ta me, Man. I didn’ force’m ta walk into da house. Dey comed to me, and dey didn’ know ‘bout good manners. Andrea, she comed over a’cause I
caught her a’cheatin’ jus’ like da firs’ time; dunno to dis day who wit; I jus’ knew wasn’ a baby she was carryin’, an’ as fo Rosemary, she comed right into da house; if she knock, I didn’ hear it; scare the… scare the crap out of me, Man.”
Justice’s heart recoiled as he listened to Arthur.
His thoughts went to his own daughter, Izzie. If someone ever spoke about her the way Arthur spoke of Rosemary, he’d…
Did Arthur seriously think that there was anything excusable about his behavior those days and weeks the women had been missing?
Did he really think that everything was someone else’s fault; that Andrea had caused her own death, and that of her baby, too? That Rosemary would have gone through the mirror and that Justice would have lit his hand on fire – though he didn’t know Justice was who’d done that, as far as he knew – just because it was fun for them?
Bile rose up in his throat as he tried to speak once more. Words refused to come to the surface.
What could he say to a man who felt no remorse and saw no need for redemption?
No need for forgiveness.
“Whatever you might have thought about either of those women –and testing proved, by the way, that yes, the little girl Andrea was carrying when they died was your own flesh and blood– that was no reason for death to occur,” Justice finally said, making sure his words didn’t imply anything that could point to his knowledge about Rosemary.
Rosemary, who was now Calico, and whom someone from her past had already found. Someone who she loved but had to yet again move away from, to her broken heart’s revelations, for the safety of not only herself, but her husband and young son.
“Andrea had been faithful to you; she loved you. She loved you enough to take you back after you accused her of so many horrible things. She loved you enough to give you a second chance when you were released from prison the first time, Arthur. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see that, even though she was frustrated with you sometimes and you scared her sometimes, there was something inside of her that refused to give up on you?”
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