Riven

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Thomas’s comment:

  “No one knows the genuineness of a man’s heart except God and that man himself. I do know, however, that despite Mr. Darby’s profession of faith in Christ for salvation, he remains adamant that he will not seek any reduction, mitigation, or stay of his sentence. He insists, as he has all along, that he is guilty of the crime with which he was charged and will not cooperate with any attempts to appeal his fate.

  “Based on such assurances from him, I believe his spiritual transformation is real and that he does not intend to benefit from this in any legal sense.”

  Warden Frank LeRoy did not have jurisdiction over Jordan North, who was eager to add his two cents’ worth:

  “Two and a half years is not soon enough to see the end of the monster who murdered our daughter. He can make any claim or profession he wants, but if there’s a God and He doesn’t send Brady Wayne Darby straight to hell, they deserve each other.”

  The press rode the story for as long as it could, but with LeRoy having effectively shut down the information coming from inside the prison and the newshounds’ inability to dredge up any evidence that Brady had changed his mind about his death penalty, the din finally faded.

  Isolation Room

  When Ravinia Carey-Blanc, acting under the authority of an official request on the part of her new pro bono client, met with contract attorney Jackie Kent, he proved more than relieved to be out from under the Darby appeals. She told Brady, “We’re still required by law to file these appeals, but you finally have counsel who takes into consideration your personal wishes, unconventional as they may be. The necessary documents will be filed with each appellate board at the last minute on the days they’re due, and we will do nothing to encourage the court to act on them. When asked, if I understand you correctly, I will remind them that you wish each appeal to be summarily denied and the sentence expedited with dispatch.”

  Brady peered at his new lawyer through the Plexiglas and cocked his head. “If what you just said means I want to lose and lose fast, you got it.”

  “Anything else?” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “You being treated okay? Not every inmate still has a lawyer. You might as well take advantage of it. Is anyone treating you poorly? denying you anything? humiliating you? harassing you? making you wait egregiously?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “You have rights, Brady. That’s all I’m telling you. Not many, of course. Neither of us should be naive about this. Nearly everything normal has been stripped from you, but it is not legal for you to be treated less than humanely, especially when it is clear you are not high maintenance. You’ll let me know, won’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Now,” she added, standing, “I want to remind you one more time: I am honoring your request to get these appeals denied, but just like your previous counsel, this flies in the face of everything I believe and everything I was taught. It’s never too late to change your mind. I mean, you aren’t likely to win after all the fighting you’ve done to lose, but all you have to do is say the word, and I can put on the brakes. I can probably buy you another year or two. Execution after just three years’ incarceration is almost unheard of.”

  “But you promised to work for me, not against me.”

  “By all means. This is totally your call. Just know that I stand ready to serve you, regardless whether your decision changes.”

  “You know you look like your dad?”

  Brady thought she blushed.

  “People say that, but I think I look like my mother.”

  “I don’t guess I’ll ever meet her.”

  “Probably not. I’ll bring a picture sometime.”

  “That’d be nice. I sure love her singing.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  “Tell her I want some more.”

  “I’m not sure she’ll be up to that. You know she’s not well.”

  Brady shook his head. “Reverend Carey never said that. What’s wrong with her?”

  “Leukemia.” Ravinia told Brady how it had manifested itself. “Maybe my dad didn’t think you needed to know.”

  “That makes me sad. I’ll pray for her. Will you tell her that? But don’t say anything about me wanting more music.”

  Later, as Thomas met with Ravinia, he was surprised at her tone.

  “There is something about that young man, Dad. A sadness. Grief maybe. But despite his obvious lack of education, he’s got some sort of depth. I might just enjoy helping him.”

  65

  Death Row

  The tumult may have ended in the press and among the public, but the cons on the Row were not letting it go. They yammered incessantly, and Brady was convinced they were trying to drive him insane.

  It wasn’t working. While he could rarely bring himself to even smile, he did enjoy a deep sense of contentment and satisfaction as he continued to read the New Testament and all the other material he could get from Reverend Carey.

  When the chaplain discussed Brady’s maturing in the faith, he quoted Romans 10:17 from his own Bible: “‘Faith comes from hearing, that is, hearing the Good News about Christ.’ In other words, Brady, the more you read the Word, the more faith you’ll have.”

  Brady told the chaplain that he felt mixed up all the time. “I have what I’ve always wanted—forgiveness and knowing that I’ll go to heaven when I die. But I can’t quit thinking about what I did. I think God has somehow kept me from the worst of the daydreams and nightmares, but it doesn’t feel right to even try to put it behind me, even though I know God promises to never remember it.”

  “I don’t claim to speak for God on this,” Reverend Carey said, “but I’m not sure you should try to forget it, unless it keeps you from pursuing Him. Sin has consequences. Sin leaves scars. Your crime left a shattered family. I’m sure you feel that if you simply tried to push that out of your mind, you would be doing Katie’s memory and her family a disservice.”

  “Exactly. How can God forget it?”

  “Because He’s God and He chooses to and promises to. If you thought God was thinking of it every time He thought of you, how would you feel?”

  Brady nodded. “I guess remembering just makes it more amazing what God has done for me.”

  “You look good, Brady,” the chaplain said. “Still eating better and working out?”

  “I’m actually running a little in the exercise kennel. Makes a big difference.”

  “And how goes the memorizing?”

  “Good. I don’t have much else to do. Besides all the stuff you send me, I only read a couple of movie magazines. I sure miss the movies.”

  Gradually Brady began noticing that the guards were nicer to him, less cold, more cordial. They even looked away when he showered or was strip-searched. He still knew enough not to trust anyone and had not gotten over how Rudy Harrington had betrayed him. Brady guessed they were more than even as far as favors went. He heard on the news that the state dropped the lawsuit against Officer Harrington. Brady worried that that might encourage other officers to trade their futures for payoffs.

  Administrative Wing

  Thomas found himself overwhelmed with gratitude to God for allowing him some role in Brady Darby’s life. Thomas still had heartache. Dirk and Ravinia seemed stalemated. And he could see the pain in Summer’s eyes. Plus Grace was getting only worse.

  But of all things, business was picking up for Thomas, if he could phrase it that way. It wasn’t that other inmates seemed impressed with what was happening with Brady. They heard it only secondhand, and no one knew too much about it because the work was done privately by Brady in his cell and by the two of them in an isolation unit. Everyone knew Brady claimed to have found God, but most on the inside were as skeptical as those on the outside.

  And yet Thomas had been reinvigorated, and something in his earnestness or aggressiveness or urgency had made him a bolder witness. When a man asked to see him about some trivial matter
or something only slightly related to Christianity, Thomas never missed an opportunity to contend for the faith. In season and out of season, as the apostle Paul taught, Thomas reminded himself.

  And while no one else had come to faith or even claimed to, Thomas believed it was only a matter of time. He actually looked forward to coming to work these days.

  One afternoon in the isolation room, it was clear to Thomas that Brady had something on his mind.

  “I’ve been wondering about something. Do you think people understand what Jesus did for us? On the cross, I mean?”

  “Well, not enough of them, obviously,” Thomas said. “You mean taking our punishment?”

  “Actually more than that. Tell you the truth, I’m getting tired of just reading the New Testament all the way through over and over, great as it is. I’m starting to skip Revelation. I don’t get that at all. But I’m trying to do something when I read the Gospels. I keep flipping back and forth between them and seeing how each of them tell the same stories, you know?”

  Thomas chuckled. “Theologians have been doing that forever.”

  “Well, I’ve been looking at when Jesus died on the cross. And it’s just so different, really reading how it looked to them.”

  “Different from what?”

  “Different from what I remember. Whenever I heard about Jesus dying on the cross for our sins, I saw pictures of Him hanging there like some angel. It was sort of heroic, I guess. I mean, it was heroic, but those pictures made it look all saintly. Then there are the paintings of His friends taking Him down. And of course Him rising from the dead. In a way I suppose I knew that it had to hurt. There was talk of agony and pain and thirst.

  “But, you know, now that I’m reading it straight out of the Bible and really studying it . . .” Brady had a faraway look.

  “I see,” Thomas said. “It isn’t so pretty, is it?”

  “No, and I wonder how many people are so used to hearing about it and seeing it in paintings and movies that they think they know what it must have been like. It makes me wonder if people really understand. I mean, okay, Jesus died for our sins and we’re all happy about that. But I think we say it too lightly. It was an awful, horrible death. To me, that makes it mean so much more.”

  Thomas could only nod. What a joy to see this young man grow. The change from the wasted, lonely, broken boy to this vibrant young man astounded him. Brady’s eyes seemed alive, and while there was—as he himself had described—a deep sadness over what he had done, Thomas was certain that what he detected in the man was hope.

  Later that afternoon, Thomas caught himself rhapsodizing while recounting his conversation to Ravinia.

  “The son you never had, huh?” she said. “And he’s become what you always wanted me to become.”

  “I’m sorry, Rav. I’m just trying to encourage you about your client. Nothing and no one can ever rival your place in my heart.”

  She looked at him as if trying to formulate a response. “Well, anyway . . . ,” she said. “It appears I’m in trouble with the federal appeals court. They assigned an independent auditor of sorts who informs me I’m suspect because I don’t appear to be performing to the best of my ability for Mr. Darby. He accused me of being late on filing appeals, which we weren’t, but also sketchy and seemingly not interested in the process, both of which are true.”

  “No such quarrel from the state?”

  “Are you kidding? We have a hanging judge for a governor, more so than any since Andreason. The state review board is quicker to dismiss these appeals the more you push them. I gave them no reason to give it a second look, but they didn’t even give it a first. This federal thing is the last hurdle, and then Mr. Darby gets his fondest wish.”

  “His fondest wish is that he could change history, take it back, make it so it didn’t happen.”

  “Yeah, okay, and short of that he’ll take death because he now has fire insurance.”

  “Brady insisted on death long before he came to faith.”

  “Fair enough,” Ravinia said. “This guy is deeper than what meets the eye.”

  “So what are you going to do about this challenge to your work ethic?”

  “Take it to the Honorable Jonathan Allard, I think. Once the governor gets wind of what Washington is trying to do to one of his state’s inmates, it’ll be newsworthy and could be noisy. All I need is Darby’s permission.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know, Rav. I mean, I’ll let Brady speak for himself, but I don’t think all this publicity is good for him. It frustrates him that he’s not free to speak for himself. He wants everybody to know his motives now and to assure them that he’s seeking no favors, no privileges because of what’s happened to him.”

  “Then this will be exactly what he wants. No, he won’t likely be quoted. But Governor Allard can speak for him. Believe me, he’ll be saying virtually the same thing.”

  Thomas stood and wished he had a window to look out. “No, he won’t. Allard would use Brady as a political football, making it look like he wants to give nothing to a condemned man. If you could be guaranteed that it would be clear that Allard wants the feds to butt out and so does Brady, that’s one thing. But if it can appear that Allard is personally putting the kibosh on Brady’s appeal, that’s the way the governor would want it to appear.”

  “I’m resigned to acceding to his wishes. . . .”

  “He admires you a great deal. He worries about you though.”

  “Brady Darby worries about me? Whatever for? Oh, Dad! You haven’t revealed any personal information about me, have you? I don’t need him knowing about—no, wait, you didn’t even tell him about Mom. Surely you’ve said nothing about Dirk and me.”

  “Of course not. He just senses a sadness in you. That’s all.”

  Ravinia squinted at him. “Really? Well, he can ask me if I’m all right if he’d like. Meanwhile, feel free to assure him I’ll survive.”

  66

  Adamsville

  Thomas sat next to Grace’s bed, helping her eat as they watched the evening news. Governor Allard feigned anger and waxed eloquent as he stood on the steps of the state capitol building and railed against Washington.

  “We take care of our own state business,” he said. “We caught Brady Wayne Darby, we sentenced him to death, and by heaven, we’re going to carry it out. Delaying his fate even one more day would put an unnecessary financial burden on our taxpayers. The federal appellate court can stew over this as long as they want, but we have an execution date, and all the other mandatory appeals have failed. The condemned man himself, I remind my respected colleagues, pleaded guilty and has insisted all along that he will in no way cooperate with any attempt to overturn his sentence.”

  “That’s the part Ravinia made him put in there,” Thomas said. “She had counsel from her learned father on that.”

  Grace smiled. “She told me. Said you were afraid the governor would try to make it look like Brady was pushing the appeal.”

  “This will put an end to it,” Thomas said. “The protesters will always be there, and I admire their devotion and tenacity, I really do. But any delay in this would be the most unpopular political move anyone could make.”

  “Brady will get what he wants,” Grace said quietly. “It saddens me, but I know it’s the right thing.”

  “Interesting,” Thomas said. “Brady said your illness made him sad.”

  “Bless his heart. I wish I could record more music for him, but I just can’t.”

  “He asks for the first one every time we meet. He’s got some of the songs down. You should hear him sing.”

  Grace seemed to study Thomas. “You light up when you talk about him. You love that young man, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I care for him a great deal. He’s such a sad case.”

  “But he’s also your spiritual stepchild. You’ve invested yourself in him.”

  “It’s not just him. I’ve wanted to do this with any of the men all thro
ugh the years. He’s just the first who’s seemed genuine. Did I tell you he’d like a picture of you and wondered if you’d mind if he taped it on his wall?”

  “Sure, but not a recent picture. I don’t suppose they’d let you shoot a picture of him for me.”

  “No, but there have been plenty in the papers.”

  “He looked so forlorn in those.”

  The phone rang. It was Ravinia. “Anything wrong?” Thomas said. “Summer okay?”

  “We’re fine, Dad. I’ve asked Dirk if I can drop her off. I need to talk with you.”

  “Urgent?”

  “Sort of, but nothing personal, so nothing to worry about. I’ll be there within the hour.”

  Death Row

  Brady sat trying to memorize some verses from Matthew while letting one of Mrs. Carey’s songs echo in his mind. But he found it hard to sit still. He had spent much of the previous night penning a letter to his aunt Lois that began, “You’re going to find this hard to believe, but some of what you tried to teach me about God must have stuck, enough to make me worry what was going to happen to me when I die. . . .”

  She would be disappointed to hear that he had not become a true believer until recently, but she would also be overjoyed to be sure about him now. Aunt Lois would insist on coming to see him. And finally, he would be more than ready.

  That morning Brady was struck by an idea so bizarre that he began to believe it could have come only from God. He paced. He sat. He stood. He turned it over in his mind. Impossible. Could it work? He couldn’t wait to bounce it off someone. But he didn’t dare even suggest it to Chaplain Carey yet, not until he found out if it could even be done.