Riven (52 page)

Brady was furious. No wonder men went crazy here. Why would he flood his own cell? And was seventy-two hours in an intake cell justified? On the other hand, who cared? According to most who knew anything about his case, death was too good for him. What was a few days of more discomfort?

Brady began praying he would fall sick and die. But then he remembered what eternity held for him and decided to go back to simply trying to endure his time.

Administration Wing

“You hear your boy is in Ad Seg?” Gladys said.

Thomas shot her a double take. “Darby?”

She told him what had happened.

“Makes no sense,” he said. “Was he belligerent?”

She shook her head. “Claimed it was an accident, but he’s been docile as a lamb. Just like always.”

Thomas had not felt released from his compulsion to pray for the man. Now he had an idea. Was it time to parlay his years in this place for a little privilege? He knew if he asked Frank LeRoy for permission to just mosey past the intake cell and see if he could strike up a conversation with Brady Darby, the warden would respond with the trademark answer that had given him his nickname.

So instead of asking, Thomas grabbed his Bible and a few books, just for props. He wanted to look like he was on an errand and would be careful not to lie; people could think what they wanted. In truth, he was just on his way past intake to the last pod on that floor.

For what?

For nothing. He hoped no one would ask. Thomas had simply decided to take a stroll to that location and come back. If he got a chance to whisper a word or two to Brady Wayne Darby, well, wouldn’t that be an interesting development?

As he moved through the security envelopes, the occasional officer said, “Visiting, Reverend?”

“Just on an errand.”

A hundred yards from intake, his steps echoing throughout the unit, Thomas was praying desperately.
Let him notice me and say something.

And for the first time in years, maybe ever, it seemed God impressed something so deeply on Thomas’s heart that it was almost audible. It was as if God said, “Tell him how I feel about him.”

Thomas’s knees buckled and he almost stumbled. He wished God would repeat Himself, but there was no doubt in his mind what he had heard or at least felt. And he also knew how God felt about Brady Wayne Darby. That was one thing Thomas Carey did know after a lifetime in the ministry.

As he passed the only occupied cell, there sat Brady in the typical Ad Seg pose, backed into one corner, head between his knees, forearms hugging his bare shins.

Thomas cleared his throat. Nothing.

He peered in at Brady, tempted to say something but knowing he would be heard over the intercom in the observation unit. Someone banged on the Plexiglas behind him. Thomas turned and saw the officer waving him on.

Thomas played dumb. He raised his brows as if to ask what the problem was. The officer came on the intercom. “No visitors in Ad Seg, Reverend. You know that.”

“Right. My mistake.”

When Thomas moved past the cell, Brady looked up, clearly surprised. Thomas whispered, “Got to tell you something.”

But the officer came on again immediately. “You’re on the edge, Reverend. You got business down here?”

“Sorry, officer. It’s just that God told me to tell this prisoner that He loves him, and now I realize I’m not at liberty to tell him that until he’s back in his own house.”

The officer laughed. “Yeah, okay then, God loves him. Think he heard that. Now keep moving before I have to report you.”

Thomas saluted and hurried back the way he had come. How he wished he could have seen the look on Darby’s face. That either piqued the man’s interest or Thomas had lost him forever. He wouldn’t know for two more days, minimum.

59

Ad Seg

Terrific, Brady thought. Just when he had cleared his mind and was determined to keep the horrific thoughts at bay, at least until he got back to his cell, now this.

God loved him. Uh-huh. That’s why he was born in a trailer park, had an alcoholic mother, lost his only brother, and screwed up beyond repair every last thing in his life. Sure, made sense. That was how God showed His love.

Better yet, it wasn’t just the chaplain, whom Brady had found kindly and seemingly genuine, who was telling him this. God
told
the man to tell Brady.
Great. Now we’ve got a God who ignores a guy for thirty years and now wants him to know He loves him.
Well, so much for the murder scenes playing and replaying every waking and sleeping moment. Brady had something new to stew about now.

By the time he was ushered back to his cell—again with the humiliation of making the entire trek shackled and in his underpants, then being unhooked and showering and shaving and being searched before dressing, then being hooked up again for the short walk back to his house—Brady realized he felt a normal emotion for the first time since the murder. Yes, there was some sense of satisfaction that he was dressed and back in his own place, privileges returned.

“Hey, Heiress Boy!” someone shouted. “You’re on channel 5! Check it out!”

Brady was curious but wouldn’t bite. He didn’t need to. As soon as the others heard that, every set within earshot was tuned to the station where an anchorwoman on one of the celebrity roundup shows was telling the story.

“Authorities report that Darby put up no resistance when sent to and brought back from solitary, and while he was confined there for three days, there is no move afoot to have this incident affect his sentence. Of course, he has been condemned to death, though the mandatory appeal process is under way.

“An unnamed source says that while it was clear Darby was trying to flood the entire death row unit, he succeeded in making a mess only of his own cell.”

Over the next few days the story was played out on all the newscasts and tabloid shows. Brady couldn’t avoid it, though he tried to switch channels every time it came on. One station allowed viewers to call in and give their opinions, which ranged from “Why on earth should anyone care about such a waste of space?” to “He’s getting what he deserves and shouldn’t be appealing his sentence.”

Appealing my sentence?

Brady answered every communiqué from Jackie Kent the same way, in pencil—a short, stubby one because a prisoner had killed himself with a long one. “I will never challenge my sentence and will not help anybody else try to.”

As Brady began changing channels more than he used to, just to stay away from inaccurate stories about himself, he landed on a religious station just long enough to hear a preacher close his program with, “And remember, God loves you.”

Couldn’t prove it by me.

Anyway, God couldn’t love everybody, could He? Brady had to be one of many exceptions. Why did God send some people to hell if He loved them? Brady dredged up a vague memory from his childhood when he had asked Aunt Lois the same thing.

“God doesn’t send people to hell,” she had told him. “The Bible says He’s not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance. If people don’t want to repent and turn from their sin and trust Jesus, they send themselves to hell. God made hell for the devil and his angels, not for us. He wants us in heaven with Him.”

Brady turned on a classic movie channel and tried to interest himself in an old black-and-white. He always imagined himself as one of the actors and how he would have studied the script and done his research and performed the lines. But he couldn’t concentrate. How could he?

Was it possible for a person to repent of murder? Brady figured he could repent of all the lying he had done to everybody he knew, repent of vandalism, theft, pushing dope, assault, sleeping around, all that. But no way God was going to hear him or believe him if he said he was sorry about killing someone. That seemed so cheap. Like,
Yeah, my bad, sorry about that.
Brady wasn’t even sure he wanted to be forgiven.

But he sure didn’t want to go to hell.

He asked for a chaplain’s visit request form.

Administrative Wing

Ten days later, Gladys buzzed Thomas on the intercom. “Warden would like to see you, sir.”

As he walked past her to knock at Frank LeRoy’s door, Thomas mouthed, “What’s up?”

“Darby.”

“No need to even sit, Rev,” Yanno said as he entered. The warden was peering at a single sheet of paper. “Review board’s been sitting on this and wanted your input. This Darby guy’s requested a private meeting with you. After you saw him last, he pulled that toilet stunt and got himself Ad Seg-ed.”

“How long ago was this request?”

“Just after he got back to his cell.”

“What, they’re punishing him more than the seventy-two hours he spent in intake? Why wasn’t this green-lighted?”

“Letting him cool his heels. These aren’t automatic, you know.”

“If it’s up to me, I’d meet with him immediately. This is a man in crisis, sir. It’s what I’m here for.”

“All right, no need to overreact.”

“Well, how long do I have to wait now?”

“I said all right, didn’t I? How many times I gotta tell ya, I’m captain of this ship. When do you want to see him?”

“As soon as possible.”

Yanno pressed his intercom. “Gladys, get word to somebody to have Darby delivered to an isolation room immediately.” He looked up at Thomas. “All right, Mr. All-Business? See if you can beat him there.”

Thomas rushed back to his office and grabbed his Bible, a book on basic Christianity, a booklet on personal salvation, an easy-reading New Testament, and a legal pad. As he hurried through all the prison checkpoints, he scribbled Bible references on the pad.

He should have remembered that no prisoner had ever beaten him to the isolation rooms. When Thomas arrived, the coordinating officer already knew whom he was there to see and in which room. “You know you can’t give him anything but a single sheet that passes through the—”

“How long have you worked here, officer?”

“Coming up on six years.”

“More than fourteen for me. I know the drill.”

“Well, I have to see what you’re planning on sliding through the slot.”

Thomas showed him the list.

“What’s this, some kind of a code?”

“Yeah. Tells him how to break out of this place in less than a minute.”

“No, seriously, I can’t let you give him this unless I know what it is.”

“These are references to Bible verses. I have my Bible here. You want to look them all up, be sure I’m not trying to give him secret information?”

“Just doing my job, Reverend.”

“So am I.”

When Darby finally showed up and noisily sat on the other side of the window, chains rattling, Thomas was stunned at how a man could age in so little time. Every time he saw this guy, he looked worse. It was plain he was not exercising, not eating much, and likely not getting more than a few hours’ sleep each night.

“You don’t look so good, son.”

“Yeah, fine, okay, listen, can we cut right to it? You know all about me and I think I know what you’re about. I don’t mind dying, I really don’t. I know I deserve it and everybody else knows it too, you included. I heard what you said about God loving me, which is a laugh because He’s had a strange way of showing it all my life, but here’s the thing: I don’t want to go to hell. Call me selfish, say I’m only thinking of myself, and you don’t have to remind me that I’m never going to be forgiven by Katie’s family or anyone else who cares. But I don’t think I could feel worse about what I did, and if I could, I’d do anything to make it so it never happened. But it did and here I am. Does God still love me, and if He does, can He keep me out of hell?”

Thomas sat back and studied the man. “My, you do get right after it, don’t you?”

“Just don’t waste my time, Chaplain.”

“You in a hurry?”

“I’m done fooling around. I can’t change what I did, and I’m not trying to get out of what’s coming to me, except burning forever.”

“I have good news for you, Mr. Darby, but I don’t want to sound glib about it. You bring up some interesting things, particularly about how God has never shown that He loves you.”

“Would you do me a favor and call me Brady?”

“Honored. And you may call me—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling you anything but Reverend Carey, if that’s all right.”

“Whatever you wish, Brady. You sound like you don’t want to argue or get into a long discussion. You just want it to make sense that God is supposed to love you and yet you never saw evidence of that, right up until the time you were sent here.”

“Exactly.”

“Let me just ask you, Brady, what did you ever do to deserve God’s love?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Then why should He love you?”

“He shouldn’t.”

“Whom should He love?”

“People like you. People like my aunt and uncle. People who love Him.”

“But the Bible says we love Him because He first loved us. What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what to make of any of this.”

“You want to know what I believe?”

“That’s why I’m here, Reverend.”

“I believe only what is in the Bible. Everything else is just someone’s opinion.”

“But isn’t the Bible just someone’s opinion too?”

“I hope not, Brady. I believe it is God’s Word, His love letter to mankind.”

“There you go with the love again.”

“God loves us because He made us, and He proved it too, whether or not you felt it or were aware of it. Here’s what the Bible says about that. Ready? I want you to imagine yourself as the object, the target of this. You with me?”

“I’m listening.”

“And I’m quoting: ‘When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners. Now, most people would not be willing to die for an upright person, though someone might perhaps be willing to die for a person who is especially good. But God showed His great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners.’”

Brady shook his head as if it was too much to grasp. “I’d like to read that for myself a few times, you know, to try to follow it.”