Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [75]
Nabertowitz just shook his head.
Brady already felt like an outsider as he floated down the hall toward the front entrance. A few kids called out to him, hollering something about the play or Birdie. He just waved.
Brady stopped by his locker and cleaned it out, dumping everything—gym clothes, books, you name it—into the trash. He headed for the exit carrying only his jacket over his shoulder.
As he passed the security guard and pushed through the door, the guard said, “And where do you think you’re going without a pass, Mr. Darby?”
Brady pressed his lips together and flipped off the man.
“You’ll regret that, Darby! I’m reporting you.”
What’re they gonna do, kick me out?
Brady didn’t even know where he was going. There were no buses this time of the day, and he had no wheels. He lit up as soon as he was out the door, breaking the rule by doing so before crossing the road. He felt free. Like an adult. But with no prospects.
All Brady could think as he marched down the road, chin high, was, Alex North as Birdie. Ugh!
Adamsville State Penitentiary
Gladys spun in her chair as Thomas passed, head down. “Don’t you be walkin’ past me without so much as a good mornin’, Padre!”
Thomas stopped and turned. “I’m sorry, dear. I thought you were busy.”
“Never too busy for a man of God. Half expected you to show up at my church yesterday.”
Thomas laughed. “You scared me off. I was afraid Grace and I would be turned away at the door.”
Gladys roared. “Prob’ly woulda been! Here, I got something for you.”
A slip showed that a request for a meeting with him in the separation room had been granted for that very morning.
“Henry Trenton?”
“The Deacon,” she said.
“That was fast. Russ said these can take as long as—”
“Helps to have friends in high places,” Gladys said.
“Thank Yanno for me, will you?”
“You want to thank somebody, you thank the woman you’re talking to.”
“You made this happen?”
“Who else?”
“You’re the best.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
Addison
A cool breeze kicked up and forced Brady to don his jacket. Soon he had zipped it to his neck and raised the collar. He could have hitchhiked, but he wasn’t even sure where he was going, and few people picked up guys who looked like him anyway. He usually had luck getting rides only when Peter was with him because the kid looked normal.
The sun disappeared behind dark clouds, and now Brady bent into the wind. Perfect. Everything was going to go wrong today. He tried to tell himself he didn’t care, that he had known this was coming, had had his fun, didn’t want to be in school anyway, didn’t see the value. He blamed his tears on the stiff wind, but when the rain started, he didn’t pick up his pace, look for shelter, or even try to cover his head. Brady just lumbered on, shivering.
The rain ran off his hair and down his face, inside his jacket, chilling him. No one could see or hear his sobs, and he ignored even the occasional car that slowed and honked, offering him respite from the storm.
At least he could finally name his emotion.
Rage.
Brady felt like killing someone. Trouble was, he was the only logical target.
Adamsville State Penitentiary
The only place within the walls of the penitentiary where one had an idea of the weather outside was under the skylights in the corridor that led from the administrative offices to the first security envelope. For those on the inside, this was the last envelope, so for an inmate to reach this relatively less secure area was virtually impossible. In the more than ten years of the prison’s existence, not even one envelope had been breached, let alone eleven.
On a normal day, the light-sensitive fixtures in that hallway often flickered off as the sun streamed through the skylights. But now the lights burned bright, causing Thomas to glance up at the black sky. Funny thing for a man with such an optimistic