Riven

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  He was finally in a position to perhaps do something about that. He was starting to get comfortable in his new role, learning the ropes as the warden and the former chaplain had predicted he would. Thomas was a man of order and discipline and schedules. He had designed a strategy. And while his ministry had the unusual wrinkle of requiring that his target audience seek him out, rather than the other way around, he could live with that.

  His days were mapped out, his office organized. He was ready to try to serve in this difficult mission field if God would just open a few doors.

  Thomas had to chuckle as he made his way to the administrative offices. One of the jokes at ASP was that not even God could open its doors. Well, he’d see about that.

  Forest View High School

  Something began growing in Brady Darby’s chest as he stood on rubbery legs to leave the dean’s office. It suddenly became important for him to lock in his don’t-care attitude. In truth he felt small, like a kid caught red-handed. Was it fear? shock? What would he do now?

  He nodded at Hose and thrust out his hand to Mr. N. The theater teacher had a look Brady would never forget. He appeared about to burst into tears, which was how Brady felt but refused to show. “Thanks for everything,” Brady managed.

  Nabertowitz just shook his head.

  Brady already felt like an outsider as he floated down the hall toward the front entrance. A few kids called out to him, hollering something about the play or Birdie. He just waved.

  Brady stopped by his locker and cleaned it out, dumping everything—gym clothes, books, you name it—into the trash. He headed for the exit carrying only his jacket over his shoulder.

  As he passed the security guard and pushed through the door, the guard said, “And where do you think you’re going without a pass, Mr. Darby?”

  Brady pressed his lips together and flipped off the man.

  “You’ll regret that, Darby! I’m reporting you.”

  What’re they gonna do, kick me out?

  Brady didn’t even know where he was going. There were no buses this time of the day, and he had no wheels. He lit up as soon as he was out the door, breaking the rule by doing so before crossing the road. He felt free. Like an adult. But with no prospects.

  All Brady could think as he marched down the road, chin high, was, Alex North as Birdie. Ugh!

  Adamsville State Penitentiary

  Gladys spun in her chair as Thomas passed, head down. “Don’t you be walkin’ past me without so much as a good mornin’, Padre!”

  Thomas stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, dear. I thought you were busy.”

  “Never too busy for a man of God. Half expected you to show up at my church yesterday.”

  Thomas laughed. “You scared me off. I was afraid Grace and I would be turned away at the door.”

  Gladys roared. “Prob’ly woulda been! Here, I got something for you.”

  A slip showed that a request for a meeting with him in the separation room had been granted for that very morning.

  “Henry Trenton?”

  “The Deacon,” she said.

  “That was fast. Russ said these can take as long as—”

  “Helps to have friends in high places,” Gladys said.

  “Thank Yanno for me, will you?”

  “You want to thank somebody, you thank the woman you’re talking to.”

  “You made this happen?”

  “Who else?”

  “You’re the best.”

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  Addison

  A cool breeze kicked up and forced Brady to don his jacket. Soon he had zipped it to his neck and raised the collar. He could have hitchhiked, but he wasn’t even sure where he was going, and few people picked up guys who looked like him anyway. He usually had luck getting rides only when Peter was with him because the kid looked normal.

  The sun disappeared behind dark clouds, and now Brady bent into the wind. Perfect. Everything was going to go wrong today. He tried to tell himself he didn’t care, that he had known this was coming, had had his fun, didn’t want to be in school anyway, didn’t see the value. He blamed his tears on the stiff wind, but when the rain started, he didn’t pick up his pace, look for shelter, or even try to cover his head. Brady just lumbered on, shivering.

  The rain ran off his hair and down his face, inside his jacket, chilling him. No one could see or hear his sobs, and he ignored even the occasional car that slowed and honked, offering him respite from the storm.

  At least he could finally name his emotion.

  Rage.

  Brady felt like killing someone. Trouble was, he was the only logical target.

  Adamsville State Penitentiary

  The only place within the walls of the penitentiary where one had an idea of the weather outside was under the skylights in the corridor that led from the administrative offices to the first security envelope. For those on the inside, this was the last envelope, so for an inmate to reach this relatively less secure area was virtually impossible. In the more than ten years of the prison’s existence, not even one envelope had been breached, let alone eleven.

  On a normal day, the light-sensitive fixtures in that hallway often flickered off as the sun streamed through the skylights. But now the lights burned bright, causing Thomas to glance up at the black sky. Funny thing for a man with such an optimistic outlook: he loved rain, enjoyed being safely inside and peering out at a good storm. But there was no time for that today.

  As he had been instructed, Thomas carried nothing but his Bible and his wallet as he passed through the various security checkpoints on his way to the separation room. He went through two metal detectors, and though he was greeted by name by all the officers, his ID was still compared to his face, and he was reminded that anything other than single sheets of paper was contraband. Four different officers fanned the pages of his Bible. He couldn’t imagine what he might have hidden in there that would prove useful as a weapon to the Deacon.

  Thomas told each new corrections officer, “This is my first time, so . . .”

  And each rehearsed the procedure with him. He would be ushered into his side first and would sit in a chair facing the Plexiglas. Inmate Henry Trenton would be cuffed and shackled and brought to the other side in due time.

  “Will he be uncuffed so he can use the phone?”

  “There is no phone, Reverend. There’s a built-in voice-activated intercom that allows you to hear each other fine. Just be careful to not talk over each other.”

  High-tech as the room was, as soon as Thomas sat he was struck by how old the place felt compared with the rest of the facility. The dull, gray-green walls were awash in a dingy light emanating from long, bare fluorescent fixtures. They cast a reflection on the Plexiglas that would force him to dip his head to see Trenton when the time came.

  Thomas wasn’t sure why he expected the prisoner to be brought within minutes of his own arrival. He had assumed that with all the computers and tracking devices in the place, there must be a record of his progress from his office all the way deep inside to this room and that someone would decide it was time to fetch the inmate.

  No such luck. Fifteen minutes after sitting, Thomas began to idly page through his Bible. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had not brought it. The only other reading material was painted on the wall.

  Do not touch the glass.

  Do not attempt to pass more than one sheet through the slot at a time.

  Do not attempt to pass anything through the slot a corrections officer has not authorized.

  Thomas heard nothing for fifteen more minutes, then finally poked his head out the door.

  “Finished?” an officer said.

  “Not even started,” Thomas said. “Are they going to bring him, or what?”

  “No idea. They don’t tell us. They’ll inform personnel on the other side when the inmate is ready.”

  “Can you call someone and ask?”

  “I wouldn’t kno
w who to call, Reverend. Sorry.”

  After ten more minutes Thomas emerged again. A new officer stood in the hall. “I’ve been here forty minutes, and no prisoner. Could you please telephone the warden’s secretary for me and ask her what I should do?”

  The officer smiled. “You’re gettin’ a taste of what the cons go through every day. If he’s still not here in twenty minutes, I’ll let you use the phone down here.”

  The delay seemed so wasteful and inefficient, but then Thomas realized that the Deacon didn’t have any pressing appointments. And neither did he. It was up to Thomas to redeem the time. He turned back to his Bible.

  Finally, just minutes before the hour was up, he heard muffled conversation, then a door open and close. Eventually, shuffling into view came the shackled and manacled Deacon. He looked small and thin and weak, no surprise for a man of nearly seventy who had spent half a lifetime in prison.

  “Good morning,” Thomas said, resisting the urge to stand.

  The Deacon sat wearily. “Is it?”

  “Well, I guess not. Big storm outside.”

  “Like I would know. I can’t even verify it’s morning.”

  “Trust me, it is. What can I do for you, Henry?”

  “Call me Deke.”

  “Okay.”

  “First off, you won’t be needing that.” He nodded toward Thomas’s Bible.

  “If you don’t need it, that’s fine, Deke. But I always need it.”

  “Spare me. We won’t be praying today either.”

  “As you wish.”

  “I need an emergency phone call, Reverend.”

  “You do? You know the rules. Is there an imminent death in your family?”

  “Yes, mine. In ten weeks and a day, but who’s counting?”

  “And whom did you want to call? A family member?”

  “My family abandoned me years ago. I want to call Chaplain Russ. Want him there when they string me up.”

  “I can’t allow that, Deke. Sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s retired; you know that. I asked him specifically if there were any loose ends, anything he needed to come back for, anything to finish up. He told me no, that he had promised his wife he was done and gone. He did say he would send you a note, remind you of a few things, tell you he’d be thinking about you.”

  “On my special day?” the Deacon said with a smirk.

  “I suppose that’s what he meant, yes.”

  “So I got to be alone up there with just a screw and an executioner?”

  “You’re permitted a spiritual counselor, but you’re aware of that, too.”

  Henry Trenton looked away and shook his head. “You volunteering?”

  It was the last thing Thomas cared to do. He did not know this man, didn’t like him, and didn’t need to be just a few feet from a hanging. “I’m willing,” he said.

  “I’ll think about it,” Trenton said. “I don’t guess I want to be alone.”

  “Can I ask you where you are spiritually, Deke?”

  “That’s personal.”

  “As you wish. You know I only care that you’re right with God. You wouldn’t want to face eternity apart from Him.”

  “I’m sort of used to that by now.”

  Thomas prayed silently for wisdom and the right words. “He hasn’t abandoned you, Deke. Not even in here.”

  “Well, I’ve abandoned Him.”

  “Have you? Someone told me they thought you were right with your Maker. I hope you are, and if you aren’t, I’d like to show you how you can be.”

  “Do you know what I’m in here for, Chaplain?”

  “I’ve seen your file.”

  “I told you I murdered those kids so they wouldn’t rat me out. But most people think what I did to ’em before that was worse than killing them. Do you?”

  Thomas hesitated but held the Deacon’s gaze. “I suppose I do.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “Tell me something. Why do people call you the Deacon?”

  The old man shrugged. “I read the Bible. Pray. Talked to Russ a lot.”

  “Ever share your faith with other guys? try to get them to become believers?”

  “Nah. That’s rude. Anyway, I’m not sure what I believe.”

  “You want to be sure?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just tired. All I know is, I want to die, but I don’t want to die alone.”

  Thomas sighed. “I can guarantee you won’t have to die alone, Deke. But I can also guarantee you’ll spend eternity with God if you want to.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  27

  Dennis Asphalt & Paving | Addison

  The work crews were huddled in the outbuilding out of the rain as Brady sloshed past and mounted the steps of the double-wide into Alejandro’s cluttered office. The secretary was out, and Alejandro was on the phone, his back to the door. He spun and stared at Brady, holding up a finger as he finished his conversation. But the more Alejandro stared, the wider his eyes grew. Finally he covered the phone and said, “Grab a towel from the bathroom and get yourself dried off, man. You look like a drowned rat!”

  Brady caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror as he toweled down. He ran both hands through his hair. What a mess. When he returned to sit across from Alejandro’s desk, the foreman hung up and smiled at him. “I don’t know where to start, dude. Did your brother love the play? Did you see the paper? No school today? What’re you doing here?”

  “Yeah, he loved it. Did you?”

  “’Course! And now you’re a star, a celebrity!”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, what are you doing here?”

  “I quit school. I need to work full-time.”

  “Quit? Why, muchacho? You don’t wanna do that! Best you can do around here is what you’re doing, and maybe drive truck now and then. But I don’t know how many more hours I can give you. Times are tough.”

  “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

  “What do you need money for?”

  “A car. And to live. I don’t want to live at home any longer than I have to.”

  “The guys who work here live together in that shack at the edge of the property. You don’t want to do that, do you?”

  “I might.”

  “You’d be the only gringo, but they’d love to have someone help with the rent.”

  “I could get along with those guys.”

  “Sure you could. But do you really want to do this, Brady? I mean, I’ll talk to the big boss and see what I can find, but I honestly don’t know.”

  “I’ve decided, Alejandro. It’s done. Let me know as soon as you can.”

  “You’re working tonight, right? Maybe I’ll know by then.”

  Brady had forgotten it was his mother’s day off. No wonder she had been less than thrilled to be awakened by the dean’s phone call. The last thing he wanted was to talk to her, but he was freezing and needed to shower and change. He found her lounging in front of the television in her robe. She muted the TV as if relishing the chance to confront him.

  “If it isn’t my favorite failure. So you’re out of the musical. That was one dream that needed to die, and you know it as well as I do.”

  “What’re you talking about? You saw the paper. You know I was good. I could’ve become a star.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “I quit school too, you might as well know.”

  “Brilliant. Well, you can’t live here without working because—”

  “I’m working.”

  “I mean full-time.”

  “So do I.”

  “Good, because no school means you pay rent.”

  “What?”

  “House rule.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since now. Take it or leave it.”

  “Pay to live in a hole like this with you? You have got to be kidding me.”

  “What do you think I do, Brady? I pay to live in a hole like thi
s with you.”

  “Well, I already got a place to live, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

  “You gonna be working at the ash-phalt place?”

  “Asphalt, Ma. Asphalt. Learn to talk.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it, dropout.”

  “Anyway, what do you care where I’m working? Just know I’ll be close enough to keep an eye on Petey.”

  “You can’t protect him all the time.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Just that if he needs discipline, he’s going to get it, especially with you not here threatening me all the time.”

  “The threat still stands, Ma. You keep your hands off him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  “I’d have you in jail so fast your head would spin.”

  “It’d be worth it if I was paying you back for hurting Petey.”

  That afternoon, when the skies cleared, Brady walked all the way into Arlington to the storefront office of the Community Theater Players. A paunchy, middle-aged man was futzing about. He introduced himself as Walter. Brady told him he was an actor, working full-time, looking to audition for any roles they might have coming up for evenings and weekends.

  Walter sat and studied him. “Are you even twenty-one yet?”

  “Soon,” Brady said. Five years was soon enough.

  “You know, we do light comedies, that kind of stuff. Most of us are my age or older, and if we need young people, they are usually relatives. Do you like to do crew stuff?”

  “Nah. I’m an actor.”

  “Um-hm. I can take your information and keep it on file.”

  “Any productions coming up?”

  “Kiss Me, Kate, but I don’t see a role there for your type.”