Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [167]
Lord, Thomas said silently, I still don’t know what to ask You in regard to this man, but You put him on my heart, so I hope his request is an answer to my prayers.
An officer met Thomas as he emerged from the last security envelope before death row. It still struck him that if one didn’t know, he would not have been able to tell this pod from any of the others. It was different, there was no question. These men were all living by the calendar and the clock. But no sign or look or noise or smell distinguished it from any of the other units.
Thomas caught sight of Darby from about twenty feet away. Usually the sound of anyone walking nearby captured everyone’s attention. They would at least look up, just for the change of scenery. But Darby was sitting on his cot, fiddling with his TV. He appeared thinner than Thomas remembered. Could he have lost that much weight in three months?
The officer rapped on Darby’s door and called out, “Your chaplain visit!”
The young man immediately turned off the TV and stood, but he seemed to carefully approach the front of his cell, as if he had learned not to appear threatening. Thomas kept his distance but tried to welcome the approach with a smile. Brady Darby looked wretched, wasted.
From all over the pod, other cons began to stand and yell and whistle.
“Chaplain visit!”
“Lover boy has a meeting!”
“Gonna get right with your Maker?”
Thomas leaned close and spoke directly. “Thomas Carey.”
“I’m Brady. You didn’t bring your Bible.”
As soon as they began, someone shushed everyone else. Thomas and Darby whispered, but Thomas was certain some could hear.
“Happy to bring it, anytime you’d like me to. Lucky for you, I have much of it memorized.”
“Seriously?”
Thomas nodded.
“I memorize too,” Brady said. “You want to hear what it says on the juice boxes and in the induction packet?”
“You know one of the things I can offer you is reading material. You can borrow anything in my library and keep it for as long as you’re here.”
“What’ve you got?”
Thomas pulled a folded list from his suit coat pocket, showed it to the officer—who checked it for staples or paper clips and nodded—then rolled it and passed it through one of the openings.
Brady tossed it on his cot. “So you believe in Jesus and all that?”
“I do,” Thomas said. “Helps in this job.”
Brady nodded, either not catching or not appreciating the humor. “Heaven and hell? The devil? Satan?”
“Everything in the Bible,” Thomas said. “Yes, I believe it.”
“Sinners go to hell, good people go to heaven?”
“No, I don’t believe that.”
The con looked genuinely surprised, just as Thomas had hoped he would. “What then? Heaven and hell aren’t real? They just stand for something else?”
“Oh no. Heaven and hell are real. Jesus talked more about hell than He talked about a lot of other things. You believe in Jesus, the afterlife is part of the package.”
“Then who goes where?”
“Sinners go both places.”
“Sinners go to heaven? How does that work?”
Suddenly the cacophony from men in the nearby cells erupted again.
“Get him saved, Reverend!”
“Bring him to Jesus!”
“Hallelujah!”
“Amen!”
Thomas beckoned him forward and the man turned his ear toward one of the openings. “You want to talk about this somewhere else?”
“Yeah, I guess we’d better.”
“Because, listen to me, son, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you have serious questions. We both know you’re not talking about sinners, plural. You’re talking about you.”
Brady hung his head.
“We’re all sinners,” Thomas said. “The Bible says no one is good enough. ‘No one is truly wise; no one is seeking God. All have turned away; all have become useless. No one does good, not a single one.’ So, we’re all sinners, but it’s the believing, forgiven ones who get to go to heaven.”
Brady looked desperate. “What if you believe but aren’t forgiven?”
“You’re saying, what if you do your part