Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [199]
“If they knew the truth, they would.”
“And yet they can’t know that either, can they?”
Isolation Unit
About six months into the circus, Erlene Darby became a media star for a few days, her every step from Florida to the gate at ASP chronicled for all to see. In her late forties, she looked closer to sixty, haggard and pale despite a valiant makeover attempt sponsored by a popular talk show host.
“Hey, Ma,” Brady said, forcing a smile.
She sat staring, and then she swore. “So, you’re gonna die like Jesus. Why?”
“Thing is, I want to live like Him.”
“Well if you don’t sound like your aunt Lois. She been to see you yet?”
He nodded. “Got to see her one day and Uncle Carl the next. They’ve been wonderful.”
“Which I haven’t, is what you’re saying.”
“Haven’t heard from you till now.”
“You either. Don’t put it on me.”
“Let’s not fight, Ma. I appreciate you coming.”
“Well, I couldn’t have except for the TV people. They’re gonna pay me for a ’sclusive interview after, too. I just can’t talk to anybody else on the way out of here. You should talk to somebody, get ’em to give me more.”
“You want more money?”
“’Course! I ought to get something out of this. Never had anything, you know.”
Brady fought to hide his disgust. “It’s not up to me, and I’m getting nothing.”
“Nothing? You’re on TV every day! I never even knew anybody famous. Saw Merle Haggard once, or at least I thought I did; but then I found out he was on tour somewhere else, so I don’t know who it was. But now my own son’s on TV every day.”
“Look what I had to do to accomplish that, Ma.”
“Yeah, but TV.”
“You’d murder to be famous?”
“Just about.”
I’ll bet you would. “So, anyway, thanks for coming.”
“That’s it?”
“You wanted something else?”
“I guess not, if you can’t put in a good word for me with those TV people.”
Erlene was hounded every step of the way from the prison to the exclusive interview and finally back to her ramshackle home. Brady forced himself to watch, heartbroken that she was clearly under the influence on national TV, though she had been able to recite a line that had plainly been crafted for her by some writer.
When asked if she would watch when her son died, she said, “Probably. But it’ll be sad. He’s the only one I have left. It’s—what do you call it?—ironic. He was the devil growing up, and now he thinks he’s Jesus.”
That same broadcast also featured Jordan North for what he himself guaranteed would be the last time. “You bet I’ll be watching,” he said. “And I’ll be cheering. This is all one cruel joke, but at the end of it, Brady Wayne Darby will still be dead.”
Adamsville
No matter what radio or TV station Thomas turned to or what newspaper he read or whom he happened to run into at church, in his neighborhood, or even at the grocer, it seemed all he heard was what people thought about the idea of a public execution.
If the pollsters could be believed, the vast majority of people all over the world considered the idea barbaric and swore they would boycott it. Psychologists, on the other hand, prognosticated that few would follow through on that pledge, and media experts predicted that the event would be the single most-watched television broadcast in history.
Many stations went on record that they would not show the thing live and perhaps never, but ICN was negotiating with Web sites and private television venues, all the while publicly pontificating on the sacred right of responsible adults to decide for themselves what they preferred to watch.
One talk-show pundit intoned, “Need I remind all the nattering naysayers and holier-than-thou viewers that this was Mr. Darby’s idea from the start? He wants mature adults to see it.”
Thomas was impressed when Brady had Ravinia draft a statement in response. It said, “Mr. Darby wishes to clarify that his original intention was that viewers who choose to witness his death learn from it the cruelty and brutality of the crucifixion process. He did not have in mind a live TV spectacle in which the event may not