JJ09 - Blood Moon (10 page)

“Got it.”

“And John, I’ve had people watching it for days. If you try to send anyone in to set up to capture or kill me, I’ll know. Don’t try anything. Understand?”

“I do. And you should understand something too. If you call Anna a girl again, I’ll have to kill you on principle alone.”

Emmitt Emerson used to be an obnoxious, self-centered, narrow-minded, drug-addicted, shallow asshole.

Then he was born again.

Now he was a born again obnoxious, self-centered, narrow-minded, religion-addicted, shallow asshole.

I had met him at the front gate and was now being helped by Randy Wayne Davis to get him signed in and through the sally port into the institution.

His voice was hoarse from all the yelling he did during his preaching. He said “Praise God” between every phrase he uttered, and he spoke carefully and slowly as if to give weight to his every word.

Randy Wayne had grown up with Emmitt and, like most of the town, didn’t think much more of him on Jesus than on crack. He was being professional, but his distaste for the man was apparent.

“Randy Wayne,” Emmitt said, “how’s your relationship with the Lord?”

Randy Wayne cut his widening blue eyes over at me and gave me a wry smile.

“Better than yours, I suspect,” he said. “I take his name in vain a lot less than you do.”

“If Jesus comes back tonight after turning the moon to blood, will you be called up to meet him in the clouds or will you be among all the sad, lost souls left behind?”

“Tell you what, after it happens come look for me and see.”

“But, brother, I won’t be here,” Emmitt said sincerely.

“Oh, if there’s any truth or justice to any of it you will be.”

“I’ll pray for you, brother,” Emmitt said.

“Please don’t,” Randy Wayne said.

I had asked Emerson to come early so that he’d enter with one officer on duty in the control room, in this case Randy Wayne, and exit with another. Except it wouldn’t be him exiting, it’d be Cardigan in his clothes.

“Who’s working tonight?” I asked, trying to make the comment sound offhanded.

“I am,” Randy Wayne said. “Fred Moore is sick so I’m pulling a double.”

Shit. That means I’ve got to get Ronnie Cardigan past someone who knows Emmitt very well.

“Sorry. We’ll have another volunteer coming in a little before seven.”

“No problem.”

“These are exciting times, brother,” Emmitt said.

We were sitting in my office.

All the inmates were back in the dorms for count. The chapel was empty. The front door was locked. My office door was locked. I had ample time to drug Emmitt, but the more he talked the sooner I wanted to do it.

“To be here when Jesus comes back,” he said in his shout-hoarse voice. “To witness the final blood moon of the tetrad, to see the signs of the End Times. It humbles an ol’ sinner like me that Jesus saved me just in time to help usher in his Kingdom.”

Yeah, he had been in my office less than five minutes and I couldn’t wait another second. Hell, I’d want to drug him even if I didn’t have to in order to save Anna.

“I know a lot of people don’t think you’re saved,” he said. “But I think you just need the fire of the Holy Ghost. Have you been baptized in the spirit? Do you speak with other tongues?”

“I want us to pray together,” I said.

“Yes, amen,” he said. “Praise God.”

“But first I want us to take communion together.”

“The Lord’s Supper. Yes. Hallelujah.”

I already had everything set up in the chapel, including his cup with the substance Jake had given me in it.

“Come this way,” I said.

I stood and opened the side door that connected my office and the chapel.

He stood and followed.

“I hope you use real wine and bread,” he said. “Not wafers and grape juice.”

“We’re in a prison,” I said. “Grape juice is all we’re allowed. But even if it weren’t, I’m a recovering alcoholic and––”

“You’re the one in prison if you believe that,” he said. “God can deliver you once and for all. You can be truly set free. Like me. Let me pray for you.”

“Let’s take communion first,” I said. “Kneel here and I’ll serve you. Then you can serve me.”

He knelt on the carpeted floor between the front pew and the platform. We had no altar or altar table since the interfaith chapel was used for all religions.

I had placed the communion wafers and the plastic chalice filled with grape juice on a tray on the platform beneath a white handkerchief. Removing the small cloth, I lifted the plate of wafers off the tray and turned toward the kneeling Emerson, who was now holding his hands out and up and speaking in tongues.

Forgive me for the sacrilege I’m about to commit.

“The body that was broken for you,” I said, holding out the tray to him.

He took a handful of the wafers and tossed them in his mouth like popcorn at a ballgame, then went back to babbling.

The way he took the wafers was a good sign. I needed him to drink enough of the grape juice for it to be effective.

After returning the plate to its place on the platform, I lifted the prison-approved plastic chalice with the grape juice and date rape drug in it––a nonalcoholic version of the cocktail Emmitt was said to have administered to more than one young girl in Pottersville back before Jesus saved him to usher in his Kingdom.

I’m sorry for this.

“The blood that was shed for you,” I said, extending the chalice to him.

“The blood of Jesus,” he said, taking the cup and sipping from it. “The soul-cleansing blood of the lamb.”

He attempted to return the cup to me.

“This one is all yours,” I said. “I have another. Take. Drink. Do this in remembrance of me.”

He leaned his head back and guzzled the entire cup in a single long gulp, staining the sides of his mouth and chin crimson.

As I turned to replace and re-cover the host, he began to pray even louder, an angry, aggressive prayer—demanding, disrespectful, egocentric.

I hadn’t intended for him to drink the entire cup, but when it looked like he wasn’t going to drink enough, I overreacted. I wasn’t sure how it worked, how much it took for a man his size, how long it took to go into effect, or how long it would last, but I was fairly certain he had taken a much larger dose than was required.

“Now I’ll do you,” he said.

“Let’s give it a minute to take effect.”

“Huh?” he asked, confused. “Brother, the blood of Jesus has an immediate effect. I ass––”

When he tried to stand, he couldn’t get his balance and leaned to the right until he fell prostrate on the floor.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Ehhmm feuhhen bruuehuutheuaa.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Ehmmenn aaissee eeesssuuss.”

After count cleared and during the chaos of chow, I called down to have Ronnie Cardigan sent to my office.

This not only ensured he’d actually make it to the chapel tonight but would mean he wouldn’t be counted as part of the group attending the service.

Since the yard was closed, Cardigan should be escorted to and from the chapel, but in the past when I had called an inmate up while it was still daylight and everyone was busy with the feeding of twenty-five hundred men, I was asked to stand outside the chapel so that the center gate and I could keep an eye on him as he walked up on his own.

And that’s exactly what happened.

Center Gate, which was some two hundred yards away, was swarming with inmates, long lines on both sides extending way out on both the upper and lower compounds, as men whose virtually every move was controlled, waited to eat or to return from eating.

Ronnie Cardigan walked alone through the empty upper compound, passing Classification, Medical, Psych, Education, Laundry, and the library, his steps awkward and seemingly self-conscious.

Was it because he knew what we were about to do and how unlikely it was to work?

“I was planning on attending the service tonight like you asked me to,” he said when he reached me. “Is something wrong? Did Mom––”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “Come on in.”

I waved down toward the officer on duty at the center gate, though I doubted he was watching––or could see me even if he were, and we walked into the chapel.

“Did you talk to your family?” I asked.

“I did,” he said, his words sounding too loud as they bounced around the hard surfaces of the empty hallway of the chapel.

I paused in the hallway between the door to the darkened library and the staff chaplain’s office to talk to Cardigan.

The unconscious and undressed Emmitt Emerson was in my office, and I wanted to go over everything with Cardigan before we went in and exchanged their clothes and prepared to leave.

“What’d they say?” I asked.

“Whatta you mean?”

“About tonight.”

“Tonight?” he said, his face wrinkled in confusion. “What about tonight? We just talked about Mom.”

“They didn’t say anything about tonight?”

“No. Why would they?”

“So you don’t know why you’re here?” I asked.

He obviously had no idea what was going on, which meant whoever had Anna wasn’t his family or hadn’t clued him in on the plan.

“What’s going on, Chaplain? You’re starting to freak me out a little.”

“Sorry. I guess there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. Is today your mom’s birthday?”

He thought about it. “No. It’s not for . . . another two weeks.”

It was all I could think of, but I got lucky that it was so close.

“No wonder,” I said. “I got the dates confused. I was going to let you call her and wish her a happy birthday.”

“That’s very nice, Chaplain. But . . . I wonder if she’ll still be alive by the time her birthday gets here.”

His mom was sick. Very sick if she might not make it to her next birthday. Whoever had Anna knew that much. But did that have anything to do with why they wanted him? Was there another motive? Did his family have anything to do with this?

“Sorry I jumped the gun.”

“That’s okay. It’s a very nice thing to do.”

“Come on into the chapel and let’s talk for a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

I led him into the sanctuary where we took a seat on the front pew closest to my side office door.

“What’re you in for?” I asked.

He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Bogus drug and burglary charge. I know you hear it all the time. Everybody in here claims to be innocent. I truly am. I’ve never done a drug in my life. Never sold any drugs. And I’ve never stolen anything. I’m in the middle of a nightmare like you can’t imagine. I keep tryin’ to tell people, but . . . no one will listen. Well, nearly no one. Officer Price did. Said he believed me. Said he had a friend who was a TPD cop, would have him look into it, but . . .”

“TPD?”

“Tallahassee. That’s where it happened.”

“What happened exactly?”

“I’m living my life one moment. Next moment, I’m in here. I was working. Back in school. Doing well. Living in this small, old duplex. Broke as hell, but . . . Then this chick moves into the unit next to mine. She’s got guys comin’ over all the time. Different guys nearly every day. I figure she’s a pro, you know? Like maybe she’s working her way through school on her back. I don’t like it, don’t like having that many strangers around all the time, but . . . none of ’em ever bother me. And she’s quiet. A good neighbor. Even when she’s entertaining, she’s never too loud. Next thing I know, she’s dead. Suicide they said. Two days later, I come home from work to find cops searching my place. They find stuff of hers. Jewelry, shit like that. And enough drugs to give me intent to distribute. None of it mine. Girl was pregnant. They did a DNA test. Proved the baby wasn’t mine, but didn’t help my case none.”

“Any of the investigators indicate it might not have been suicide?”

He nodded. “They were looking at me for killin’ her. Said they’d’ve pressed it if the kid had been mine. Said I was lucky to just be going down for stealing her shit.”

“That’s what they said?” I asked. “I mean that’s the way they said it?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Like the drugs were hers too. They thought you stole them from her.”

“Guess so. No one ever said that exactly, but . . . . I guess that could be what they meant.”

“Did you ever actually see or hear her having sex with the parade of guys? Was it just guys or girls too?”

“Sometimes. Yeah, some girls. Why?”

“Just thinkin’ maybe she was a dealer and not a prostitute,” I said. “Or maybe both. Did Officer Price find out anything?”

He shrugged. “Said he’d let me know, but . . .”

“You know his first name or initial?”

He shook his head.

“What dorm does he work in?”

“Was in B Dorm. Don’t know where he is now.”

“What made you tell him?”

“Told any and everyone who’d listen. He’s the only one said he’d do anything.”

“I’ll look into your case,” I said.

“
You
?”

I nodded. “Used to be a cop. Still an investigator.”

“Really? Wow. Okay. Thanks,” he said as if grateful but doubtful.

“In the meantime, how would you like to see your mother?”

I had to figure out a way to talk him into leaving the institution with me tonight.

“I told you. I’d
love
to see her.”

“You also told me you’d do anything to get to,” I said.

“Well . . .”

“You feel differently now? You said you’d be willing to get more time if you could see her.”

“No, I mean, I would, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I think maybe I got a ticket out of here.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Don’t want to say. Just something I think I can leverage. We’ll see.”

“But what if I told you you could see your mom now, tonight?”

“How?”

“I’d help you.”

“How?”

“Do you want to or not?”

“Do you mean a furlough or . . . something else?”

“Something else. Getting out, but risking more time when you turn yourself back in.”