True Light

by Terri Blackstock

  But he would learn to be like them, if God could be patient with him. Something told him that God would be — that, in fact, the dissipation of his murderous anger just now had been an act of God.

  Eventually, he sensed that the men in his cell had all gone to sleep, so he lay down again. But sleep would not come. And when the first rays of light began to seep into those windows at the tops of the concrete walls, he was thankful that morning had finally come.

  TWENTY-SIX

  DENI DREADED THE SNOW NOW FALLING IN BIG WHITE flakes. Though it seemed to paint the ground like a clean, white slate, she knew it was only covering the ugliness beneath — and making life cold and soulless. She and her mother, along with Beth and Logan, had all spent the night in the living room where the fireplace kept them warm, because it was too cold in their rooms. Doug and Jeff stayed in their own beds piled high with blankets.

  But Deni didn’t sleep. Since she’d gotten word that Mark was in jail, fears danced like phantoms through her mind. She couldn’t imagine Mark in that place with killers and thieves. She’d been to the sheriff’s department before when the jail door was open. The sounds and smells from there had given her a shivering sense of evil — as if the place was full of locked-up demons, looking for innocence to destroy.

  Instead of trying to go back to sleep, she went up to the chill of her room and lay face-down on the floor. She couldn’t break Mark out of jail, and she couldn’t protect him from others’ violence. But she could spend her night storming the gates of heaven on his behalf, begging for his safety, and even his comfort.

  When morning finally came, Martha showed up at their house, terrorized and trembling.

  “My house was robbed last night.”

  “Oh, Martha!” Kay pulled her into the house and dusted the snow off her shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” Deni asked.

  “Yes. They didn’t find me.”

  Deni helped Martha shrug out of her coat and led her to the fire. Doug came from the bedroom. “What happened?”

  Her words rolled out in rapid fire. “They broke the window on the back door and came in about three a.m. I hid in the back of my bedroom closet while they tore through my house. They came right into the closet, but I was hidden — they didn’t see me. I thought they were going to kill me.”

  Deni got an afghan from the couch and put it around Martha’s shoulders. “Martha, come sit down.”

  Clutching the afghan, she sat down. “I stayed in my hiding place in the closet until just a few minutes ago. The house is ransacked. They pulled out drawers and turned things over, like they were looking for something. They took all the food Mark had in the van.”

  Deni looked up at her dad. “Dad, do you think it was Lou and his men?”

  Doug shook his head. “I know those guys. As bad as they are, they think they’re doing the right thing. I don’t think they would have taken advantage of a woman at home alone to rob her. Have you told the sheriff, Martha?”

  Trembling, she wiped her wet cheeks. “No, I came straight here as soon as I had the courage to come out. But I have to go report the break-in and check on Mark. Whoever it was might have broken in looking for him. I’m afraid to go back there.”

  “Well, you don’t have to,” Kay said. “You’re staying here until Mark gets out.”

  “Dad and I will go to the sheriff with you,” Deni said. “We’ll take some bread for Mark. Mom made twenty loaves in the solar oven yesterday.”

  “He won’t get any,” Martha said. “I’ve heard they fight over every crumb.”

  “Then we’ll take all twenty loaves,” Kay said. “Then he’ll be sure to get some.”

  But Logan gasped. “No way we’re taking our bread to a bunch of prisoners. Mom, I spent my hard-earned stuff on that flour.”

  Deni wanted to slap him. “Logan, it’s Mark we’re talking about. Besides, it’s cruel for prisoners to have to starve. Even the ones who are guilty.”

  “But what are we gonna do when we can’t buy seeds or feed for the chickens and rabbits? Mom, you said we had to sell the bread — ”

  “Logan, that’s enough,” Kay said. “We thought we were baking them to sell, but clearly, God had other plans.”

  “I’ll skip supper tonight,” Beth said. “Mark can have mine.”

  Martha smiled through her tears. “Thank you, Beth. You’re sweet. But I know Mark would rather have you eat.”

  Doug shook his head. “We have enough for ourselves, Martha. We’ll take the loaves to the jail and that’s that. Mark’s fed us so many times. It’s the least we can do for him. Isn’t it, Logan?”

  His withering look got Logan’s attention. “Yes, sir.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  SHERIFF SCARBROUGH LOOKED THREE BREATHS FROM collapsing when they found him in his office. His skin was gray, and his eyes cavernous. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his lips were cracked and scabbed. He took Martha’s statement about the break-in, promising to come and investigate it further the moment he could get away.

  “I wouldn’t recommend you go back home just yet,” he told Martha. “We need to dust for prints and see if we can ID the prowlers. They were probably looking for Mark. No telling what they’d have done if they’d found you.”

  Martha had a distant, vacant look in her eyes. “I need to get word to my husband.”

  “Where is John?” Sheriff Scarbrough asked.

  “In Huntsville, working at one of the conversion plants. He thought I’d be safe with Mark — no one ever dreamed that any of this would happen.” Her voice broke, and she brought her hand to her throat. “How is he, Sheriff? How’s Mark?”

  He leaned forward on his desk, rubbing his mouth. Not meeting their eyes, he muttered, “He’s fine.”

  Deni had the sense that he wasn’t fine at all.

  “We want to see him,” Doug said.

  Deni held up her bag of bread loaves. “We brought food. Can we give it to them?”

  His voice was so hoarse he almost couldn’t speak. “Yeah, but don’t start making trouble, getting the prisoners all riled up. It’s all we can do to keep them calm, especially when they’ve been freezing their tails off all night.” He glanced down at the sack in her hand. “Get ready. There’ll be a fight for that food.”

  ”We tried to bring enough for everybody to get some.”

  “We do feed them a meal a day, you know. Some of the older ladies from the Crockett Apostolic Church take turns bringing stuff. We try to pay them for it when we can. Lately, we haven’t been able to, and with the snow, I guess they’ve decided not to come.”

  Deni was glad someone had made that a ministry. It had never occurred to her that the prisoners were starving.

  “Then I guess God provided today,” Doug said.

  The sheriff nodded. “I guess so.”

  “Can we see Mark outside his cell?” Deni asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t have the manpower to let him out and guard him while he talks to you. You’ll have to visit him inside.”

  He started coughing, doubling over, hacking his heart out. They waited until he could breathe again.

  “You’re really sick, Sheriff,” Doug said.

  Scarbrough ignored the comment and got his keys. He led them out of his office and to the door to the jail. He stopped before opening it, and looked back at Deni and Martha. “Ladies, I want you to keep your eyes on the floor until we get to Mark. Don’t look around. Don’t touch anything. Don’t engage with the other prisoners and don’t get feisty. Do you understand?”

  “What do you mean, feisty?” Deni asked.

  “I mean I don’t want you to be disruptive. You’re a pretty young woman, and these men are going to be making catcalls and yelling lewd things at you. That’ll be bad enough, but I don’t want you talking back to them.”

  Her mouth felt suddenly dry. “You act like they’re going to come through the bars and attack me.”

  “They might try. Some of the people locked up here are the w
orst of the worst, and they don’t have a lot to lose right now.”

  “Mark’s not the worst of the worst. Maybe there are other innocent people in there like him.”

  “Don’t count on it, Deni.” His breath whistled as he spoke. He opened the door, and they stepped into the rancid-smelling place. There was little light, and the temperature seemed even colder than outside.

  The men spotted Deni and Martha as soon as they came in, and catcalls started up just as the sheriff had predicted. Lewd suggestions came pealing across the room, and several of the men came to the bars, making grabbing gestures that made her cringe. She put her hand over her mouth to keep from gagging at the smell, and she strained to see through the dim light coming from the small, barred windows at the top of the wall. Today it was cloudy and overcast — only a faint, gray hue spilled in, just enough for her to see where she was walking.

  “Over here!”

  She heard Mark’s voice over the din, and they headed to the cell where he stood at the end of the room. He looked rough with two days’ worth of stubble on his jaw, and his hair was dirty and tangled. His mother burst into tears and grabbed his hands through the bars.

  “Mark, are you okay?” Deni asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said, but she knew he couldn’t be — not in a place like this. She got out a loaf of bread and thrust it into his hands. Immediately, the others descended on him, and men from neighboring cells cried out. Doug took the bag from her and began breaking the loaves and passing them out. It kept everyone away from Mark for a moment.

  He leaned into the bars, trying to be heard while keeping his voice low. “Mom, Deni, tell the sheriff they’re planning something. They’re gonna — ”

  A tall man with a bald head moved closer, and Mark’s words fell off.

  “What?” Deni asked.

  Mark cleared his throat. “Just . . . have you talked to the sheriff about my case?”

  That wasn’t what he’d started to say. Deni took his hand and felt the hard squeeze. He was trying to tell her something.

  “Yes,” she said, glancing at the big man who seemed to have more than a passing interest in their conversation. Mark wasn’t going to talk as long as he was eavesdropping.

  He changed the subject and looked at his mother. “Have Grantham and his men harassed you anymore?”

  The question brought tears to Martha’s eyes. “No, but . . . there’s something I have to tell you.” She brought her hand to her mouth, trying to get the words out.

  Deni spoke up. “Mark, your house was broken into last night.”

  He flinched as though he’d been punched in the gut. “Mom, are you all right?”

  Martha nodded and pulled herself together. “I hid. But they took all our food, and turned the house practically upside down.”

  He clutched the bars, his face twisting. “I can’t believe this! What is happening?”

  The big man moved away for a moment, and Mark took the opportunity. “Things are getting worse and worse.” Lowering his voice so that only his mother and Deni could hear, he said, “We had a sick guy in here last night. He almost died. They came in and got him out.”

  “What was wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know.” Mark glanced at the big man as he began to step back toward him. “But when they came in to get him . . . it was dangerous.” The man was in earshot again, but Mark kept talking. “The sheriff . . . he should have confirmed it.”

  Deni frowned. “Confirmed what?”

  The big man’s arm came around Mark’s shoulders — but his expression suggested anything but camaraderie. Mark’s chin came up and he stood taller, his muscles rigid and alert. Only then did she notice the bruises on his neck.

  Mark grew quiet again. He broke off a piece of the bread she’d given him and put it into his mouth, chewing with his eyes fixed on her.

  The big man devoured the rest of his own bread. “You tellin’ her ’bout Blatt? ’Bout how he was contagious? Tell her ’bout de human waste festering in dat toilet back dere, breedin’ disease.”

  She didn’t doubt it — she could smell the toilet. But somehow, his words sounded like a threat.

  Their food devoured, several of Mark’s cellmates turned their attention back to her.

  Some of the men pushed in around Mark, making lewd comments that made her shiver. One of the inmates who looked like a body builder on steroids pushed in next to Mark. He reached through the bars and grabbed a strand of her hair, using it to tug her closer.

  Deni screamed and jumped back.

  Mark shoved the man back and pointed in his face. “Back off! Keep your hands off her!”

  Doug stepped between Deni and the bars. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

  “But Mark — ”

  Turning back to Deni, Mark said, “You have to go now, Deni. And don’t come back.”

  Deni let her father pull her away. “Mark — ”

  “Doug, don’t let her come back. You too, Mom. Stay away!”

  Martha backed away from the bars.

  As the roar rose, Doug pulled Deni back toward the door and forced her through it. Martha stumbled out behind them, sobbing into her hand.

  “Dad, he was trying to tell me something!” Deni cried when the door had been shut.

  The sheriff sat down on the edge of his desk. “What did he say?”

  “Something about a sick man. A plan . . .”

  “He’s talking about Blatt, the prisoner we took to the hospital.”

  “No, it was something else. That big guy with the bald head made him stop talking. He was threatening him. Mark’s neck is bruised. He’s not safe, Sheriff!”

  “Relax, Deni. I’m about to go back to the hospital. I’ll see if Zach’s woke up yet. And I have some other leads I’m following. But until I come to any different conclusion, Mark is staying put.”

  “But you have no right to hold people in those conditions. There’s disease festering in those toilets. At least clean them out. And separate the violent prisoners from the civilized ones.”

  “I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got. If you people want to come clean out the Porta-Johns, be my guest. I’m down to a skeleton staff, and last I noticed, crime hadn’t taken any commercial breaks.”

  Deni watched Martha move toward the front door, her shoulders shaking. She was falling apart. Turning from the sheriff, Deni put her arms around Martha and let her cry against her shoulder. Finally, Doug opened the door. “Let’s just go.”

  Casting one final look back at the jail door, Deni helped Martha out into the cold.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  MARK WAS SICKENED BY HIS CELLMATES’ TREATMENT OF Deni and his mother. He hoped Doug would keep them from returning. His mom was fragile, and Deni, despite her toughness, was small and pristine and naive . . . not the kind of woman he wanted to parade in front of men like these. If he couldn’t protect her from the verbal assaults, or the groping hands through the bars, then he wanted her to stay away.

  He slid down the wall of his cell and sat on the floor, elbows resting on his knees. He thought of his poor attempt to warn Deni of the scheme Tree House was cooking up. He’d meant to give her a message for the sheriff, but it had been so poorly phrased that he knew she hadn’t gotten any of it. As astute as she was, his vague words didn’t have a shot of hitting home. How could she guess that his mention of the need for sickness to be “confirmed” was a warning to the sheriff? No, she was probably so shaken from her experience here that she was racing home, glad to get away from this place.

  His gaze drifted up to the huddle in the corner. He didn’t know when Tree House would set his plan into action, but he knew it would be soon. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to stop it.

  Even if it meant he got beaten to a pulp.

  “She’s purty, that girl o’ yours.”

  Mark glanced at Pete, the little guy who’d slept next to him on the floor last night. Pete was no more than five-foot-six, maybe a hundred pounds with all hi
s clothes on.

  “I don’t want to talk about her,” Mark said.

  “Don’t blame ya.” Pete sat down next to him, legs crossed like a little boy in front of the television. “They’re like animals, sometimes. That’s why they’re here, I reckon. Ain’t nobody here for bein’ a gentleman.”

  Mark looked toward the huddle again.

  “They’re plannin’ to attack the sheriff, you know,” Pete said in a low voice. “They say we’ll all be able to walk free. You think they can pull it off?”

  Mark shivered at the thought of these prisoners let loose in Crockett all at once. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I gotta get outta here,” Pete said. “My wife and two kids can’t survive without me. She come up here yesterday and tol’ me she got throwed outta the room we rented, on account of what I done. I don’t know where she’ll go, and it’s mighty cold out there.”

  Mark’s heart softened. He looked at Pete then, saw the sincere worry in his eyes. “What did you do to get put in here, exactly?”

  “Defended her,” he said. “Landlord’s boy was comin’ at her, forcin’ hisself on her, and I fought him off.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No, but almost. He claimed it was attempted murder, that I was tryin’ to rob him. They believed him, of course. Why wouldn’t they? He had money, and I’m a nobody.”

  “Did you tell the judge what happened?”

  He laughed bitterly. “I ain’t seen a judge since I been here.”

  “Well, you have a lawyer, don’t you?”

  Pete thought that was even funnier. “You think we have PDs poppin’ up in here seein’ if there’s anybody they can help? No, I won’t see a lawyer till I go to court, and the way things are movin’ ’round here, that could be weeks. I ain’t even been able to enter a plea yet.” He glanced toward Tree House and his group of violent followers. “I just hope I survive long enough. I been in jail before, but that was easy time compared to this. Back when there were lights, and running water, and real toilets. We got showers every day and clean clothes to wear. Heat and air conditioning. Three meals a day. This here is my idea of what hell is like.”