Chapter 36
Facing Down the Enemy
It had been a week since Robert asked for the favor. While John and Jonesey sat in the latter’s office arguing about the wisdom of John setting up the jail visit, Robert was sitting in a visitor’s cubicle in the Darkwell County Detention Facility’s visitation area. The telephone handset was still sitting in its cradle. He felt very uncomfortable, wondering what he’d say when the man who had almost killed him sat down in front of him, face to face. He silently prayed that God would give him the words he needed to say. He also asked God to give him the grace he needed to forgive him. The anger he’d been feeling leading up to the meeting had mostly waned. He felt periodic anger eruptions every time he tried to lift his right arm, which, although not in a totally immobile cast anymore, was still in a sling as the healing process continued. He felt even angrier when he considered the reality that he would never fully heal.
Suddenly, he caught a flash of orange out of the corner of his right eye. Butterflies churned in his gut. Anger mingled with nervousness. Robert kept his gaze fixed forward toward the empty chair in front of him. The orange blur grew bigger and clearer.
Why am I here? He asked himself. A voice in his head screamed, “Leave!” but he was frozen to his chair, immobile and paralyzed with anger, fear, and trepidation. “Leave!” the voice screamed again.
Too late.
Michael A. Thomas took the seat on the other side of the glass. He picked up the handset and placed it to the left side of his face. Robert sat frozen in time. Thomas didn’t see anger, surprise, or whatever emotion one would expect to see on the face of a victim of a crime who was now facing the perpetrator. Instead, Robert just sat still, seemingly oblivious to the outside world, mouth agape. Thomas had to tap the glass with the handset to get his attention, to snap him out of his stupor or whatever it was. He mouthed “Who are you?” through the glass, and perhaps “Hello?” Though the glass was too thick for anyone to hear him on the other side without a handset to his ear.
Robert snapped to attention and slowly removed his handset. Like Thomas, he also placed it on the left side of his face, though he did so not because he was left-handed but because it was awkward to place it on the right side with his only usable hand, the left.
“Who are you?” Thomas said aloud this time. “They told me I had family here to visit. You don’t look like family to me.”
The man sitting across from Robert was much thinner and shorter than he was. Physically, Robert had nothing to fear, especially since the prisoner had manacles on his ankles and wrists and was sitting behind a two-inch thick, shatterproof glass wall. Still, Robert felt fear.
“I’m …” his voice cracked, and his throat suddenly grew very scratchy. He coughed loudly. “Sorry. I’m Robert Baxter.”
Thomas’ eyes squinted shut, then opened. “Why are you here?” he said, trying to not look impatient or fearful. He knew he wasn’t the smartest bulb in the box, but he was certain that what was happening at the moment was not normal.
“I’m not sure.”
“How did you get in?”
“I can’t say.”
“My attorney would be ticked. I don’t think you should be here.”
Robert smiled. “You don’t look crazy to me,” he said sarcastically.
Broken: A story of hope and forgiveness Page 52
