Riven

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “That’s my business, but I just got mugged and my rent money was stolen.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “C’mon, Alejandro! I need money to live on. Can’t you loan me some?”

  “No way, man. You’ve really disappointed me.”

  “Well, you’re disappointing me!”

  “Brady, don’t make this worse. You screwed up. Now just get your stuff out of the house and don’t come back.”

  On his way out, Brady slammed the door so hard it flew back open. He wanted to kill someone, and he didn’t care who. Maybe he was the one who ought to die. He marched to the laborers’ shack and clomped up the stairs. Manny was alone in the house, but when he started to follow Brady, the boy turned on him.

  “Don’t even start with me!” Brady said. “Just stay out of my way right now if you ever want to see your money.”

  “Pepe’s looking for you too, Brady.”

  “Tell him to watch out too.”

  Brady grabbed his clothes and his sawed-off and stuffed the ammunition into his pocket. Manny ducked out of his way as he trotted down the stairs and bounded outside.

  Brady ran back to his mother’s trailer and found Peter watching TV.

  “Hey, Brady! Is it true that you—?”

  “All a big misunderstanding, buddy. I’m moving home though.”

  “Cool!”

  Brady stowed the sawed-off and ammo in the closet and hung his clothes.

  “Gotta go to work.”

  “Bring me home a shake?”

  “Sure.”

  Adamsville State Penitentiary

  One of Thomas’s prayers had been answered. Beyond all reason, while going through the arduous process of getting from his office into the bowels of the prison, God had granted him what Thomas and his ilk called a “burden” for Henry Trenton.

  It made no sense, and Thomas knew it could only be from the Lord. The Scriptures he had been memorizing all his life made clear that no one was righteous, but if ever there was a man who tested the unconditional love of God, it was the Deacon. Monster, predator, abuser of the helpless, murderer. Even the most ardent anti–capital punishment activist would sooner not talk about Trenton.

  But something had come over Thomas. As he thought and prayed about what to say, he never once doubted that justice would be meted out the following night. The tragedy would be that a man would also be sentenced to hell. Oh, the so-called Deacon deserved that too. But so did Thomas. So did everyone.

  But how great was the love of God available even to a man such as Henry Trenton. Like the thief on the cross, Trenton would have no time to do good, to live for God, to tangibly thank Him for His unspeakable gift. But grace was available even to him. What a God Thomas served, who would pour out His love on the basest of sinners if they would sincerely repent and believe.

  Thomas picked up his pace, so eager was he to plead with Deke to listen, to understand, and to comply. It would be a mistake, he knew, to allow his emotions to show. Or would it?

  Thomas had been warned by everyone to never show weakness, but was that what it would be if his urgency and compassion became obvious? Knowing that Russ and Gladys and Grace and Pastor Kessler and others would be praying caused Thomas to expect a miracle. He wanted Henry Trenton for the Kingdom, an example of the deep, deep love of Jesus.

  The Deacon stood near the front of his cell, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Thomas knew he should stand far enough away to avoid tempting the man to try to grab him. But that seemed counterproductive to everything he was expecting from God. So Thomas approached the front wall and leaned close. His face was inches from Trenton’s. If the man wanted to spit at him, throw something at him, grab him by the tie and try to choke him, he could go ahead. Many officers were watching and would immediately come to Thomas’s aid.

  “You just can’t go anywhere without that, can you?” the Deacon said, nodding at Thomas’s Bible.

  “I could, but I wouldn’t. Especially when there is such important news in it.”

  “I know as well as you do what’s in there, Reverend.”

  “Well, I doubt that, but who knows? You just might. If you do, then you know what is available to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You don’t? I’m here at your request. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I hear Russ isn’t coming, even though he promised.”

  “Don’t start with that now, Deke. He never promised that. In fact, he made quite clear—”

  “Whatever. So I got to die alone.”

  “That is your choice.”

  “You got plans for New Year’s Eve?”

  “Of course, but I am here to serve you, sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir.”

  “To tell you the truth, Henry, I’d rather call you that than ‘the Deacon.’”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. You know me too well.”

  “I don’t know you the way your Maker knows you. And in spite of everything—”

  “I told you, I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Your time is running out, Henry.”

  Trenton moved away and shook his head. “You think I don’t know how much time I have?”

  “Of course you do. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry. You said something out of line, and you’re sorry. You’re standing here in front of a man who is unforgivable, and you’re—”

  “Don’t ever say that, Henry. When you say you’re unforgivable, you besmirch the name of God Himself. Forgiveness is His job, not ours.”

  Trenton was silent for more than a minute, and while it was awkward, Thomas felt he should wait the man out.

  Finally Trenton lifted his eyes. “So you’ll be with me tomorrow night?”

  “As you wish.”

  “You will do as I wish?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I don’t want you to bring your Bible.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You think I haven’t thought this through? Yes, I’m sure. That’s what I want.”

  “May I bring my heart?”

  “What?”

  “I have hidden His Word in my heart, so I will bring those Scriptures.”

  “Whatever. I just don’t want to hear any of them, all right?”

  “If that is still your wish at the end, I will reluctantly honor it.”

  “Count on it.”

  35

  Addison

  Brady picked up his cornball Burger Boy smock and cap at Stevie Ray’s and began the long walk to the fast food place. His festering trip-wire rage abated somewhat as he tried his well-honed lying on himself. He would turn on the charm, lay out a sad story for the shift supervisor about why he’d had to miss work, assure him he would call if it ever happened again, and beyond that, tell him he was ready for more responsibility, like supervising.

  By the time he arrived, shivering and embarrassed by the road-salt residue on his shoes, Brady had convinced himself he could pull this thing off. He would be more conscientious, make more money, pay down his debts, and start over in his quest to get out of the cursed Touhy Trailer Park.

  His supervisor for that shift was Red, a usually perky, pudgy, late-twenties guy with a sandy crew cut. He didn’t appear so chipper just now. “Well, look who decided to finally show up.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that, sir. I gotta talk to you.”

  “Just turn in your uniform,” Red said. “I’ve already cut this for you.” The man held out a check for just under fifty dollars.

  “You kiddin’ me? I miss one shift and you can me?”

  “I don’t want any trouble, Brady. Now let’s just trade and be done with this.”

  “You got to hear me out first,” Brady said, taking and folding the check.

  “We’re about to get busy. Make it quick.”

  “Can we talk in private?”

  “Just for a minute.”

>   They went into the cramped office behind the kitchen, and Brady sat. Red didn’t, which made Brady feel strange. He stared up at the supervisor. “I woulda called you; I really would have. But when I got word my uncle was near death, I just forgot everything else. I hitchhiked all the way to my aunt’s house, and we were taking care of him around the clock until his medicine kicked in. I’m really sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too. I hope he’s okay—that is, if you’re telling me the truth.”

  “’Course I am. I owe you; I know that. I also want you to know that I like my work here so much that I want to commit myself to Burger Boy and make it full-time. I quit school, and I quit my job as foreman at a paving company because I want to prove I’m serious about getting onto a management track here, like you. I think I’m ready to be your assistant, and I promise I’ll give you and the company everything I’ve got.”

  Red crossed his arms and glared down at Brady. “What do you take me for?”

  “A great boss. I’ve enjoyed working for you and I want to learn more, learn to get ahead, like you.”

  “You’re so full of it, you can’t even see straight.”

  “I’m serious, Red. Give me a chance to prove it.”

  “Listen, Brady. You’ve been nothing but a bad apple since the day you started. You don’t listen; you don’t cooperate; you don’t follow instructions. You do as little as possible to get by. All you care about is punching out and collecting your pay. Well, the last of your pay is in your pocket.”

  “C’mon, Red! You’re right, I know, but I see how wrong I’ve been. I want to start over, to make things right. I’ll even work New Year’s for you!”

  “Don’t you read? Don’t you listen? We’ve told the staff, and it’s all over our windows for the customers. We close at midnight New Year’s Eve, and we reopen for breakfast January second.”

  “Well, I’ll work New Year’s Eve, then. That’s time and a half, isn’t it? I need all the income I can get, now that I’ve decided to make this my only job.”

  Red shook his head. “You think I’m as dumb as you are, and that’s insulting. You think I don’t know all the trouble you’re in? Everybody knows, man. Dropped out of school, in hot water at the trailer park, suspected of pushing drugs, and you were never foreman of anything. I’ve even got parents of workers here calling me, telling me to watch out for you, that you’re trying to get their kids to smoke dope.”

  “No way! I would never do that! I got a little brother myself, you know, and—”

  Red held up both hands. “It’s over, Brady. Just cash your check before headquarters calls in a stop payment on it. And do yourself a favor. Take that line you were trying to shovel me and try it somewhere else. Only mean it this time.”

  Brady hung his head. “All right, Red. But let me just ask you one more thing. I promised I’d bring my brother a shake, and I got no money, not even any change till I cash this check.”

  “Tell you what I’ll do, Brady, if you’ll promise to think about what I said. Since that’s a company check, I’ll cash it for you. And on top of that, I’ll give you the shake.”

  “For real?”

  “My word is my bond, Brady, a policy you ought to adopt.”

  Brady handed over his outfit and followed Red out to the counter.

  “Excuse me, Mike,” Red said to a behemoth teen manning one of the registers. The kid, six foot six and on his way to three hundred pounds, stepped aside as Red used his key to open the register. “Give Brady a shake,” Red said as he counted out Brady’s money.

  “Flavor?” Mike mumbled.

  “Strawberry.”

  “Ninety-nine cents,” Mike said.

  “I got it,” Red said.

  And Brady headed back out into the cold, unemployed and broke, save for forty-eight dollars and change.

  Adamsville

  Thomas Carey found himself in a good mood that evening after dinner, so convinced was he that God would answer his prayer—and those of so many others—and make a trophy of one who had to rival the apostle Paul when he was Saul, the murderer of Christians, as “the chief of sinners.”

  Grace seemed more cautious, but late that night as they were getting ready for bed, she softly sang:

  Alas! and did my Savior bleed

  And did my Sovereign die?

  Would He devote that sacred head

  For such a worm as I?

  Was it for crimes that I have done

  He suffered on the tree?

  Amazing pity! grace unknown!

  And love beyond degree. . . .

  As he lay in bed, hearing his beloved’s breathing fade to the deep cadence of sleep, Thomas read through the entire book of Romans, which he had committed to memory years before. After each chapter he turned the Bible over and silently recited it word for word. He prayed Henry Trenton would change his mind, even as late as when he reached the top of the gallows stairs, and would allow Thomas to quote the sacred words of redemption.

  Finally he laid his Bible on the nightstand and shut off the light, turning onto his back with his hands behind his head. Romans chapter 4 was the answer for Henry Trenton. Paul had written to the church in Rome as if writing directly to Deke, speaking to his crisis.

  And as Thomas drifted off, he was running over in his mind the verses he planned to quote to the condemned:

  The Scriptures tell us, “Abraham believed God, and God counted him as righteous because of his faith.”

  When people work, their wages are not a gift, but something they have earned. But people are counted as righteous, not because of their work, but because of their faith in God who forgives sinners. David also spoke of this when he described the happiness of those who are declared righteous without working for it:

  “Oh, what joy for those whose disobedience is forgiven, whose sins are put out of sight.

  “Yes, what joy for those whose record the Lord has cleared of sin.”

  Knowing he was ready as he could be for the Trenton crisis, Thomas found himself still troubled in his gut about having to confront Grace. But he simply couldn’t complicate either of their lives more with that until the execution was over.

  Addison

  Brady Darby, his mind full of ideas and possibilities, arrived back at the trailer with Peter’s strawberry shake. The fury was still with Brady, but now plans were attached. He would ask for Stevie Ray’s help. Was there something he could do at the garage or for the band? Did Stevie know of anyone else looking for help?

  But all those dreams vanished when he realized his mother’s car was there, and he heard the shower running as he entered. Petey wouldn’t look at him. The boy’s face was red, his eyes moist. He took the shake and put it in the refrigerator, then returned to his perch before the TV.

  “She do something to you?”

  Peter shook his head. “She’s got the day off ’cause she’s working all night tomorrow.”

  “Working, then partying, more likely,” Brady said. “Now what’s wrong?”

  “Nuthin’.”

  “Tell me, Petey,” Brady said, shutting off the TV.

  Peter buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “A guy named Pepe was here.”

  “Here? What’d he say?”

  “He said you owed him money and he wanted you to know he knew where you lived and that he also knew your mom and your little brother lived here.”

  Brady swore. “I’ll kill that—”

  “Do you owe him money, Brady?”

  “Yeah, but not much, and he’s really making way too big a deal out of it.”

  “What do you owe him for?”

  “Oh, uh, just some shotgun shells.”

  “He was threatening us, Brady.”

  “Ma was here?”

  Peter nodded.

  “He’s gonna regret this.”

  “Just pay him, will you? He said he has to have his money this year. That means by midnight tomorrow.”

  “I know what it means. I always pay my bills, but
I can’t have a guy coming over here—”

  The shower stopped, and his mother called out, “Who’s that? Brady?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Don’t you dare leave! I got to talk to you.”

  Minutes later she emerged in a ratty terry cloth robe. Their loud exchange sent Peter to his room. Brady told her he had just been promoted to assistant manager at Burger Boy and would have plenty of money to pay his small debt to Pepe for the ammo. “So just stay out of my business!”

  Erlene screamed that his business became her business when people came to her house and threatened her and Petey. “And if you plan on moving back in here, you’re gonna pay!”

  He demanded to know why she had ratted him out to the police.

  “I wasn’t ratting you out, you idiot. I was worried about you. I didn’t know where you were or if you were guilty or what. They asked if you lived here and I told them you lived at the paving company’s shack, that’s all.”

  Her tone had softened, and Brady was sure it was because she liked what she had heard about his having a full-time job, an income, the ability to pay rent. That could only be good for her if they could stand living under the same roof. They were hardly ever there and awake at the same time, which suited him.

  Of course, if he didn’t come up with some real cash soon, she would realize he’d told another whopper.

  And there were only two ways to get out from under Pepe’s threat. Brady could pay him. Or kill him.

  36

  New Year’s Eve | Adamsville State Penitentiary

  Knowing he would be there until well after midnight, Thomas didn’t arrive at work until early afternoon. Protesters were out in full force, marching in circles outside the fences and huddling around fires in fifty-five-gallon drums. They displayed banners and waved posters for the ubiquitous press.

  One long, painted sheet proclaimed, “If murder is wrong, murdering the murderer is wrong.”