Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [209]
“That can’t be. That’s the last thing Grace would choose to see.”
“I’m just telling you what was told me. You want me to call Nellie back, or—?”
“Tell her I’m on my way. No way that’s going to happen.”
As Thomas drove out the front gate, he carefully picked his way through a thousand protesters, who by now recognized him from the newspapers and TV. They shouted and banged on his car and pleaded with him to stop the barbarism.
He couldn’t find a radio station that wasn’t airing opinions on both sides of the issue. All Thomas could hope was that everything would work as Brady had envisioned from the beginning and that millions would see what he wanted them to see—what Jesus endured for their sins.
At home, the matronly Nellie, who had agreed to stay until dawn, threw her hands up. “Talk some sense into her, will ya? I mean, I’ll be gone, but if I was here, I wouldn’t let her near that TV.”
Thomas asked Nellie to fix Grace a light supper, then went in to talk with his wife. He intended to let her know he was not going to allow this. But she had an impish look, and he had to smile.
“What in the world?” he said. “You’re not serious about this.”
“And you’re not going to deny me a last wish, are you?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m not being morbid. I’m just saying that I’m asking for only this one thing, and I promise not to cross you on anything else as long as I live.”
“Gracie, you turn your head when I squash a bug. You can’t look when I’m emptying a mousetrap. When everyone else is craning their necks at an accident, you cover your eyes. Now you’re telling me you want to see a man die?”
“The last thing in the world I want is to see anyone die, Thomas.”
“I know, so—”
“It’s not what I want. It’s what he wants. Brady could have just taken the lethal injection, and justice would have been served. But God put it in his heart to show us something, to teach us something. Well, I think I need to see that too. When he was quoted about all the pretty pictures of the crucifixion, I knew exactly what he was talking about. If this will give me a truer picture of what it was really all about, I owe it to myself to see it.”
Where was the timid little thing Thomas married?
“Now, Thomas, the news says the phone lines are jammed with procrastinators who are just now trying to sign up for this thing. So it may take you a while. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve decided it’s what I want. If you won’t do it for me, bring me the phone.”
“I’ll do it,” he muttered.
Thomas skulked out into the kitchen, where Nellie was cooking. He dug out his credit card and gave her a sheepish look as he grabbed the phone.
“Wimp,” she said.
73
Death Row
“No TV tonight, brothers!” Skeet said. “Let the man think.”
All the TVs went off. Brady heard quiet conversations but nothing else. “Thanks, Skeet,” he whispered.
He lay on his back in the darkness, pleading with God to make this whole thing be about Jesus and not about himself. Brady found himself naturally petrified at the thought of dying. Lord, don’t let that get in the way.
He knew he should sleep, but there was no way he would be able to do more than doze for a few minutes at a time. His mind raced. Occasionally he had to rise and pace.
About four in the morning, wide-awake, Brady suddenly found himself enveloped in an agonizing fear. He had been so immersed in all the memorizing and reciting that he had somehow shoved from his mind the stark reality of his fate. He was going to die and in one of the most horrible ways imaginable. He had no doubt he was right with God and that he would be with Jesus in heaven, but to be crucified . . . and he himself had insisted on this!
“God, give me peace!” he whispered, realizing when he heard sounds from nearby cells that he had awakened some of the others. He covered his mouth, but his chest was heavy, his throat full.
Could he really go through with this? It was coming too quickly; he had been rash. Everyone said so, even his lawyer. Could she be