Riven (23 page)

“This is like heaven,” she said. “You used to be so tired by now you’d doze off during dinner and nap the whole afternoon away.”

“I may yet,” he said. “What is it about doing nothing that is so exhausting?”

“It isn’t as if you’ve taken the whole weekend off,” she said. “You helped those boys move your desk in.”

“Supervised is more like it. I don’t remember ever being that strong.”

She muted the television. “You haven’t said a word about the church. How’d you like it?”

“It’s close by. I like the service time. Nice building. Friendly people. About the right size.”

“But?”

“The music was okay. I could have used another hymn or two and one or two fewer choruses.”

Grace shook her head and smiled. “I think we’re in the minority there, sweetheart. The hymns are going to die with our generation.”

“Perish the thought.”

“And the pastor?”

“Seems like a wonderful young man. Humble. I like that.”

“Me too. But that sermon could have been more biblical and less anecdotal.”

“It was a good bit of both.”

“And that’s the problem, right? Are you going to be content to sit under someone who tells stories more than he exposits Scripture?”

“He wasn’t bad.”

“I know. What I’m asking is, are we still looking?”

“Still looking, Grace. Don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

He studied her. Wan. Eyes milky. She was the one who needed a nap. But she was right. This was heavenly. To be able to just sit on a lazy Sunday afternoon evaluating a pastor rather than knowing that’s what everyone else was doing to you?

Thomas Carey could get used to this.

Monday Morning | Forest View High School

Brady drank in the looks from the other kids waiting for the bus, then reveled in the attention as the preppies all seemed to make room and want him to sit next to them.

At school it seemed everyone recognized him, called him by name, waved, smiled, high-fived him. Teachers he barely knew, custodial staff, office people—everybody seemed thrilled for him.

But Brady had no illusions. He knew the other shoe would drop, and soon. Because for all those who acted happy for him, some studiously avoided his gaze. They had to know what was coming. Brady finally had to admit to himself that he had not been celebrating Saturday night. He had been steeling himself against reality.

He had been telling himself that if he became the star of the play and the hero of the school, he would somehow be allowed to do the same the next weekend. But he knew better, even though he had excelled beyond even his wildest dreams.

He entered his first class to the cheers and whistles of his classmates, and just for fun he strutted like Conrad with a twinkle and tongue in cheek. But as soon as he sat down, his teacher entered and handed him a note. Dr. Hose and Mr. Nabertowitz were waiting for him in the dean’s office.

Brady considered leaving his stuff at his desk, as if he would be back soon. But that wasn’t going to happen. “Got to take a call from my agent,” he said, rising as he studied the note. And everyone laughed but the teacher.

Even knowing what was coming, Brady had no idea how he would react. With anger? remorse? Would he beg? Nah. This was his own fault. They’d warned him. He couldn’t be angry with anyone but himself.

The receptionist even looked sad when she ushered him in, and both Hose and Nabertowitz rose. Mr. N. would not meet his eye, but Hose stared directly at him. “Have a seat, Mr. Darby. You know why you’re here.”

When they were all seated, Dean Hose spread the Sunday paper before him and turned it around so Brady could see it. “I suppose you’ve read this.”

“’Course. Nobody I know ever got a write-up like that before.”

“And the pictures,” Nabertowitz said, his voice weepy. “You had the world at your feet, Brady.”

“Had?”

“If you think you still do, Darby,” Hose said, “you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Now you think I’m dumb? I thought you said I was smart.”

“Smart but stupid, son. It’s long past time to be sugarcoating things for you. With the grade point average from your first two years, you had no leeway this fall. Everybody who cared about you made it clear what you had to do, and you didn’t even try. Yes, you’re smart. You proved that onstage. You can do whatever you decide you want to do. You decided not to try on the academic side, but that’s a prerequisite for all the rest. Now you’re done. You’re out. No more musical.”

“Oh, Brady!” Nabertowitz said. “You’ve let everyone down, but primarily yourself. We’ll make do, but you know as well as I do that the show this weekend will be nothing like last. With just a little effort, you could have made this work. You could have switched to a work-release program, stayed in drama, made something of yourself. Now you’ve thrown it all away.”

“No probation? No second chance? Can’t I sign some sort of a contract, use a tutor, get help?”

“Too late,” Dr. Hose said. “How can I ask any of these teachers to bend the rules for you when you ignored every piece of advice up to now?”

Brady searched his mind for a smart comeback, but what could he say? He shrugged.

“I informed your mother.”

“She doesn’t care.”

“I got that impression. She did say she had hoped you’d be the first in the family to graduate high school.”

“Her big dream, eh? Well, if you think I’m staying here without being in the play . . . My little brother will be first to graduate.”

26

Adamsville State Penitentiary

Thomas never wanted to get used to the ugly coldness of the ASP supermax, but already the prison clichés had become part of his daily routine. His practice became to pray in the car as soon as the great, sterile, impersonal compound loomed on the horizon. He was able to put his mind in neutral as he approached the guardhouse at the edge of the property.

This morning the hulking edifice nearly blended in with a dark, roiling sky. The news said thunderheads would roll through most of the state by noon. Thomas prayed for his day, for his colleagues, for the inmates, and mostly that he would somehow be used.

It seemed to Thomas that some good must come of the years he had spent in devotion to God and His Word. The praying, the studying, the memorizing, the preaching, the teaching, the witnessing, the counseling—up till now it had all seemed to come to naught. He could count on the fingers of one hand the people who had actually been converted under his ministry and whose lives showed marked change.

Was he simply no good at this? Was sincerity not enough? Thomas had made a decision, a commitment. He had turned his back on all the world had to offer. He didn’t necessarily believe he would have been any good in secular pursuits either, but he had staked his claim with Christ. He believed Jesus had paid the ultimate sacrifice for him and for his sin, and just before he met Grace, he had pledged the rest of his life in service to God.

He was happy enough, he guessed. Grace was the greatest blessing he could have ever hoped for: a loving mate—if sometimes too perfect—who shared his values and encouraged his every step. They had never had much, had never wanted much. Beautiful Ravinia was currently a heartbreak, but Thomas believed she would come around. It was the years and years of seemingly futile ministry that really weighed on him.

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.