As he sat on the bunk and gazed across the cell, he realized the other bed was unoccupied. He wondered whether he would be assigned a cellmate.
He did not have to wonder long.
Soon, another guard led an inmate to the door of the cell and opened it noisily. The inmate slowly shuffled in, the door slamming with a metallic bang behind him. He was of medium height, thin but muscular, with greasy, blond hair and long sideburns. His sleeves were rolled up almost to his shoulders, revealing a tattoo of a grim reaper that wound down his right arm from his bicep almost to his wrist.
The man’s eyes focused like lasers on the little book on Will’s lap, then he looked at Will’s face and studied him for a moment. After a moment, he raised his right arm and pointed right at the attorney.
“What makes you think I don’t want your bunk? What makes you think you ought to be sittin’ there lookin’ at me?”
Will leaned forward on the bunk, tensing for a challenge. “This is the bunk the guard assigned me. That means the other bunk belongs to you.”
“How do I know you’re not lying? Maybe you’re a punk. How ’bout I take you down right now?” The other man steadied himself by planting his feet and tilting his head down, as if he were gazing at a caged animal through the bars.
Will stood up quickly—so quickly the inmate took a half-step back.
“I think that would be a big mistake—we both know that,” he said authoritatively.
The other inmate slowly took a step toward Will until he was eyeball-to-eyeball. Then he broke into a wide smile, showing yellowed teeth and a lifetime of dental neglect.
“Hey—I’m just messin’ with you,” the inmate said, laughing. “Lighten up.”
Will eased back into his bunk and managed a modest smile.
“I’m Ivan. You got a name?”
“Will Chambers,” Will replied and got up out of his bunk again, this time reaching out to shake hands with his new cellmate.
Ivan’s smile disappeared, and he waved Will off with both hands.
“Oh no, man. You don’t do that in here. You don’t reach out to another guy’s body—ever.”
Will understood instantly and retreated to his bunk.
“See,” Ivan continued, “all you got in here is you. Your body and your space. Now The Man controls your body. He tells you when to get up, when to get down. When to eat. But your space—your space belongs to you. Your space is that half-inch around your body that nobody better get into. Nobody.”
Will acknowledged that he understood. Then he asked Ivan what his last name was.
Ivan studied him for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to answer. Then, very slowly and cautiously, he spelled it out—T-S-O-U-G-R-O-S-K-Y.
Then he added, “It’s pronounced ‘Sugrosky.’” He raised an index finger in the air as a warning. “Just don’t ever call me Ivan Sue. That would not be a good idea.” He stretched out on his bunk, two hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
Will eased back in his bed and flipped his New Testament open to where he’d marked the place with his finger. He’d been reading the second chapter of Matthew.
In that Gospel story, Joseph had been warned in a dream by an angel to take his young bride, Mary, and their newborn baby and flee to Egypt. Joseph had been warned that Herod—jealous for his throne—had been told of the birth of Jesus and now wanted to locate and destroy him.
But while Joseph, Mary, and Jesus had been staying in Egypt, Herod died, and so an angel in a dream once again instructed Joseph. This time he was told of Herod’s death. It would now be safe to return to Judea.
“So—you’re a Holy Roller, huh?” Ivan said, breaking the silence.
“You mean this?” Will said, raising the book up so that Ivan could see the text.
“I can smell a Holy Roller a mile away.”
Will smiled and returned to his reading. After a few moments, the silence was broken again.
“So what part are you reading?”
Will gave a simple description of Joseph’s return from Egypt with Mary and the young baby Jesus.
After a bit, Ivan chimed in again.
“So—let me get this straight—Joseph and his old lady and the baby—they go to Egypt ’cause they’re runnin’ from The Man—right?”
Will paused before responding. “Well…you might put it that way.”
Another minute went by, and then Ivan offered his own homespun interpretation.
“So, that means—if I follow you—if I bust out of here and escape and run off somewhere to escape The Man, then I’m just doin’ what Jesus’ old man did. That right?”
“Not exactly,” Will replied.
“Why not? What’s the deal?”
“Joseph had specific instructions from God himself to escape to Egypt. He hadn’t committed a crime—in fact, a crime was about to be committed against his family. And when Joseph took his wife and his baby away, he was under the guidance and protection of God himself. That’s the difference between the hypothetical case you’re telling me and what’s in the Bible.”
After a few more seconds, Ivan asked, “You’re that lawyer, right?”
“Yes,” Will replied. “How did you hear?”
“You’d be surprised,” Ivan said.
Will put the book down. “What have you heard?”
“That you wouldn’t give some information about your client even though the judge told you to. That you’re protecting your client and the judge hammered you. And here you are, wearing the orange—just like the rest of us.”
Ivan was now lying on his side, his head propped up with his arm, talking directly to Will. “No lawyer I ever had would do something like that for me—no way. My lawyers never did much for me—ever.”
Will studied Ivan and then cautiously volunteered a rebuttal.
“So—are you saying that you’re in here because of your lawyers? That’s why you’re in here?”
Ivan scratched his head furiously and laughed.
“No, man. No way. Let’s face it—my lawyers were losers but that ain’t why I’m here. I’m here because I was buyin’ and sellin’ stuff that was falling off the back of a truck—you know what I mean?”
“Receiving stolen property?”
“You got it,” Ivan said.
“You just get in here?” Will asked.
“Naw—I’ve been in for a while.”
“Why did they just move you into my cell?” Will asked.
Ivan paused and narrowed his eyes. He looked at the cell door, and then back to Will. Then, lowering his voice, he leaned toward Will and explained.
“I was in a cell with a guy they call Jumpin’ Jack. His real name was Victor, but everyone called him Jumpin’ Jack. He threw a food tray or something like that. Anyway, they sent him to the overflow pen.”
Then Ivan broke into a strange sneer and shook his head.
“So? What happened?” Will asked.
“Well,” his cellmate continued in a hushed voice, “when they finished with him at the overflow, they had to check him into the hospital. He’s in a coma now, on life supports. He’s breathing through a tube and his brain is all bashed in.”
“How did it happen?” Will asked intensely.
“They said that he slipped in the shower and smacked his head. Of course, that ain’t it. That’s not how it happened.”
“How do you know what happened?” Will asked.
“’Cause there’s this guy that runs the overflow, this big guard. He loves messin’ people up. This ain’t the first time it’s happened.”
Will was trying to patch Ivan’s story together.
“But I still don’t understand why they moved you into the cell with me.”
Ivan laughed. “I thought you were smart. Big lawyer man and you can’t even figure it out,” he said, still chuckling. “‘You’re a lawyer from Virginia. Your client’s name is Mary Sue Fellows. She hit the road when the cops tried to arrest her for child abuse. The judge and dirt
y Harry Putnam—that’s what we call him, ‘dirty Harry’ Putnam—want to find out where she is, they figure you know where she is, but you won’t talk. Have I got all that straight, Mr. Attorney-at-law?”
Will was trying to piece together what appeared to be a stream-of-consciousness narrative from Ivan. And then the dawn broke.
Ivan must have seen the light go on in Will’s expression.
“So here I am, and here you are. So you’d better watch out, anything you say can be used against you!” Ivan said with a laugh.
Will was surprised that he had not assumed on his own that the prosecutor would place a snitch in his cell in hopes of gaining information. The attorney suddenly recognized his own naivete.
“You owe me one,” Ivan said with a half-grin. And then he added, “And I got somethin’ else for ya.”
“What’s that?” Will asked.
“You’re a Holy Roller—I got somethin’ for you to pray about.”
“Such as?” Will followed up.
“You better pray they don’t ever haul you down to the overflow pen. You better pray to God that doesn’t happen to you.”
24
WHAT’S THAT, MOMMY?” Joshua asked, pointing to a clear plastic cylinder containing ten sticks with cotton swabs at each end.
“They look like Q-Tips, don’t they, honey?” Mary Sue answered.
Joshua was methodically walking around the doctor’s examining room, inspecting each piece of medical equipment and all of the medical supplies.
Mary Sue glanced nervously at her watch. It had been at least fifteen minutes since the nurse had ushered her and Joshua into the office and said that the doctor would be “in to see you in a few minutes.”
The fugitive had a rising fear that the delay had something to do with her. Perhaps a problem with the medical information she’d given the receptionist. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d listed no insurance company. But Katherine had accompanied her and assured the nurse that she herself would be paying for the visit.
Or perhaps the doctor was contacting the local sheriff’s department—and they were on their way right now with multiple squad cars to arrest Mary Sue and snatch Joshua from her care.
“What’s that, Mommy?” Joshua asked.
“That’s a stethoscope.”
Mary Sue looked at her watch again. She got up from her chair and quietly cracked the door open an inch, glancing through the hallway and to the lobby beyond. She could see Katherine seated in the lobby, reading a magazine. She could also see the main desk area, where the receptionist was typing calmly at her computer.
She closed the door and sat down. Joshua trudged over to her with a bored expression and flopped onto her lap.
“Can we go now? I’m tired of this room.”
She set Joshua squarely on her lap and gave him a big hug and kiss.
“We have to wait for the doctor, Josh.”
“Why? Why don’t we go, Mommy?”
“Because we have to make you better and the doctor is going to help us.”
Then there were voices outside the door, just down the corridor. A man’s voice, and another voice that sounded like a woman’s. And another voice. For a moment, Mary Sue began to feel the overpowering grip of panic.
She set Joshua down and quickly walked over to the window. She pulled back the curtain and saw that there was no screen on the other side. When unlatched and fully opened, the window would be large enough for her and Joshua to easily climb through.
The voices outside the door stopped. Mary Sue glanced out at the highway and the dusty, rolling hills in the distance. She stretched out her hand and touched the latch on the window. Then she felt a presence at her side, and she turned around. Joshua was looking up at her, watching her wide-eyed. He wrapped his arms around her leg and smiled.
She took her hand off the latch, bent down, and took him into her arms, feeling the sense of panic melt away.
Then she began walking around the room, telling her son about some of the pictures on the walls. She stopped in front of one of them that showed a farm scene, with a farmhouse not unlike theirs.
Out of nowhere, Mary Sue felt the empty, gnawing pangs of loneliness and fear.
She began praying. Please heal my baby boy, whatever the problem is. Protect us. Let Joe know how much I love him. Bring our family back together. Make this nightmare end.
Then after a few seconds she added, And give your wisdom and courage to Will Chambers—wherever he is.
The door to the room swung open suddenly. Caught off guard, Mary Sue was startled, and she clutched Joshua even closer to her as she spun to face the door.
Dr. Bill Kendoll, dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt with his tie loosened at the neck, holding a clipboard, was standing in the doorway.
He strode into the room smiling, reaching out a hand and cupping the side of Joshua’s face. Joshua smiled back.
“Mary Sue, I’m Dr. Kendoll,” he said, motioning for her to sit down on the chair he pulled up. “But everybody calls me ‘Dr. Bill.’” He flipped through the documents on his clipboard.
“Okay, first visit for mother and child. The nurse indicates in her notes that there is some lethargy, some complaint of possible developmental delays—below the fifteenth percentile in height-and-weight bracket. Vomiting after meals. Lack of appetite. Temp is only slightly elevated. Any other symptoms you have noticed?”
“No, I think you’ve got it.”
“I do note you feel that the vomiting and loss of appetite have improved recently—is that right?”
“Yes—in fact, I’ve been living with a family in the area for a little while and Josh has had a change in diet. I’ve noticed that his nausea seems to have decreased and his appetite is getting better ever since we came out here to South Dakota. In fact, I’ve written down a list of the things he’s been eating in comparison to what he was eating before to see if that might be tied into a possible diagnosis.” She handed the piece of paper to the doctor, who took it and looked at it with interest.
“Very impressive. That’s very smart on your part.”
“Are you going to be taking any blood?”
“Yes. No question about that. We’ve got to rule out some things. From the history you’ve given, this appears to be a problem that was getting progressively worse over the course of a year—until most recently, when you think there has been an improvement.”
“How about the blood analysis?” Mary Sue asked, “Are you going to be doing a broad-spectrum evaluation rather than just a simple blood count?”
“Well,” Dr. Bill said, smiling and looking at Mary Sue directly, “it is true that a broader blood test might pick up some of the more esoteric diseases—some of those metabolic disorders, though they’re pretty rare. But I think we should be open to all kinds of possibilities.”
Then, after turning to one of the pages in the notes and glancing at it for a moment, he looked up at Mary Sue again.
“So—what brings you to South Dakota?”
“Some family problems,” Mary Sue replied.
“The chart indicates that you are staying over at Tommy White Arrow’s ranch. Are you a friend of the family?”
“Actually, I’ve just gotten to know them recently. They’re wonderful folks.”
“Yes, they certainly are,” Dr. Bill confirmed. “I’ve known them for a number of years. I’ve taken care of all of them, I think—Tommy, Katherine, even Andrew on occasion. And I’ll probably be doing checkups on Danny, now that he’s back here in South Dakota living with his brother and sister.”
The physician glanced down at the piece of paper with Mary Sue’s notes on Joshua.
“You say here that Joshua has been eating lower-protein foods and you wonder whether that might give us a clue?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Katherine does the cooking, and she wanted to experiment with a low-protein diet she read about. So we’re all her guinea pigs!” she added with a laugh. “And the other thing is, that he’s be
en a little bit healthier since I’ve taken him out of a one-day-a-week day care that he’d been in—fewer colds and flu and that kind of thing. I’m not sure if that makes any difference to coming up with a diagnosis.”
The doctor leaned back in his chair and studied Mary Sue for a moment. Joshua was now squirming impatiently in her arms.
“You seem very educated on medical issues—do you have some kind of medical background?”
“Yes,” Mary Sue responded. “I am a nurse.”
“Well,” Dr. Bill said, rising and walking over to the cabinet with the syringes, “let’s draw some blood and see what we find out.” And then he turned to Mary Sue and remarked, “As you know, it’s amazing what you can find out from a little bit of blood.”
25
THE LAST OF THE DINNER GUESTS had left Jason Bell Purdy’s mansion outside of Atlanta. The cook, the two maids, and the housekeeper were cleaning up after the feast, which had been held in the grand dining room that seated forty.
Purdy was pacing in his study, in front of the French doors that led to a large veranda outside, and sucking on a piece of hard candy. He strode over to the Moroccan leather couch, plopped down, and punched the TV remote with his right hand while he flipped open his Palm Pilot with the other and began tapping into his calendar for the rest of the week.
On TV, a congressman was giving a press conference, sharing his comments on the potential airline pilot strike. Both the House and the Senate were closely divided on the question of emergency legislation to deal with the issue. The president had not yet commented on whether he would use executive power to order the pilots back to work if a strike occurred.
Purdy muted the sound on the TV and considered his own position on the issue—or more precisely, his difficulty in forming any position at all.
Ever since the death of Senator Jim Boggs Hartley, the political caucus had been seriously considering Purdy to finish out Hartley’s term. He had money, connections, experience on several prestigious volunteer projects, and that golden commodity of name recognition. He even possessed local-hero status, having been all-state quarterback during his high-school days at the prestigious Exeter Academy. And what he lacked in raw IQ he could make up with cunning, charisma, and charm.
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