Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [171]
He was forced to mop up the mess himself, then was accused of having done it on purpose and hauled off to Ad Seg while a plumber came in to repair the fixture. While in the intake cell, shivering in his underwear and living on the cold bologna sandwiches, Brady was informed that a review board had determined he would spend a total of three days and nights right where he was.
Brady was furious. No wonder men went crazy here. Why would he flood his own cell? And was seventy-two hours in an intake cell justified? On the other hand, who cared? According to most who knew anything about his case, death was too good for him. What was a few days of more discomfort?
Brady began praying he would fall sick and die. But then he remembered what eternity held for him and decided to go back to simply trying to endure his time.
Administration Wing
“You hear your boy is in Ad Seg?” Gladys said.
Thomas shot her a double take. “Darby?”
She told him what had happened.
“Makes no sense,” he said. “Was he belligerent?”
She shook her head. “Claimed it was an accident, but he’s been docile as a lamb. Just like always.”
Thomas had not felt released from his compulsion to pray for the man. Now he had an idea. Was it time to parlay his years in this place for a little privilege? He knew if he asked Frank LeRoy for permission to just mosey past the intake cell and see if he could strike up a conversation with Brady Darby, the warden would respond with the trademark answer that had given him his nickname.
So instead of asking, Thomas grabbed his Bible and a few books, just for props. He wanted to look like he was on an errand and would be careful not to lie; people could think what they wanted. In truth, he was just on his way past intake to the last pod on that floor.
For what?
For nothing. He hoped no one would ask. Thomas had simply decided to take a stroll to that location and come back. If he got a chance to whisper a word or two to Brady Wayne Darby, well, wouldn’t that be an interesting development?
As he moved through the security envelopes, the occasional officer said, “Visiting, Reverend?”
“Just on an errand.”
A hundred yards from intake, his steps echoing throughout the unit, Thomas was praying desperately. Let him notice me and say something.
And for the first time in years, maybe ever, it seemed God impressed something so deeply on Thomas’s heart that it was almost audible. It was as if God said, “Tell him how I feel about him.”
Thomas’s knees buckled and he almost stumbled. He wished God would repeat Himself, but there was no doubt in his mind what he had heard or at least felt. And he also knew how God felt about Brady Wayne Darby. That was one thing Thomas Carey did know after a lifetime in the ministry.
As he passed the only occupied cell, there sat Brady in the typical Ad Seg pose, backed into one corner, head between his knees, forearms hugging his bare shins.
Thomas cleared his throat. Nothing.
He peered in at Brady, tempted to say something but knowing he would be heard over the intercom in the observation unit. Someone banged on the Plexiglas behind him. Thomas turned and saw the officer waving him on.
Thomas played dumb. He raised his brows as if to ask what the problem was. The officer came on the intercom. “No visitors in Ad Seg, Reverend. You know that.”
“Right. My mistake.”
When Thomas moved past the cell, Brady looked up, clearly surprised. Thomas whispered, “Got to tell you something.”
But the officer came on again immediately. “You’re on the edge, Reverend. You got business down here?”
“Sorry, officer. It’s just that God told me to tell this prisoner that He loves him, and now I realize I’m not at liberty to tell him that until he’s back in his own house.”
The officer laughed. “Yeah, okay then, God loves him. Think he heard that. Now keep moving before I have to report you.”
Thomas saluted and hurried back the way he had come. How he wished he could have