Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [99]
Knowing he would be there until well after midnight, Thomas didn’t arrive at work until early afternoon. Protesters were out in full force, marching in circles outside the fences and huddling around fires in fifty-five-gallon drums. They displayed banners and waved posters for the ubiquitous press.
One long, painted sheet proclaimed, “If murder is wrong, murdering the murderer is wrong.”
Thomas saw an interview he was hearing live on the radio as he pulled up to the guard tower. One of the protesters was telling a reporter, “No one believes Trenton is innocent or that he should be freed. But killing him is hypocritical.”
Warden Frank LeRoy was in his office for one of the few times since Thomas had joined the staff. Thomas asked if he had a moment, and the warden waved him in.
“Been on the phone most of the morning,” LeRoy said. “Press wants to know if I expect a call from the governor. ’Course I don’t. Trenton’s one of the reasons we’re here. I want to see him hang, and so does George and anybody else with a brain in this state. The Deacon is what the death penalty is all about.”
“Surely you’re not saying that publicly.”
“Not in so many words, but people know where I stand. What are you telling the press, Thomas?”
“Nothing so far.”
“No calls?”
“I just got here.”
“Aah. Gladys! Any phone messages for the Reverend Thomas Carey?”
“Just one,” she called out. “One stack.” She bustled in with an inch-high pad. “I tell ’em you’re busy, you know, with preparations.”
“Well, that’s true,” Thomas said. “I’m certainly not looking forward to this.”
“It’s a valuable service, Reverend,” the warden said. “Just do your duty.”
“Has the Deacon asked for me?”
Gladys shook her head.
Thomas turned to the warden. “We both know he needs counsel and some sort of company today. Can I just take the initiative and visit him?”
“Yeah, no. We can’t start bending the rules now.”
“Can’t make an exception even on a man’s last day on earth?”
The warden shook his head.
This was going to be a long day. Besides praying and reciting and planning what he would say when—and if—he was finally given the opportunity, Thomas couldn’t free his mind of his own dread of what was to come. He was going to watch a man endure an ugly death. He shuddered every time he thought of it and used it as a trigger to pray for a miracle—not that Trenton would be spared or justice thwarted. Just that God’s unconditional love not be spurned.
Thomas began to watch the clock as he knew Henry had to be. For the latter, the second hand must have seemed to speed. For Thomas, the day dragged. He took two media calls and felt overmatched in both, finally telling Gladys he would accept no more. Death, even in this circumstance, was a decidedly personal affair, and Thomas had nothing to say.
Reporters did not want to hear of a God who would forgive such a subhuman creature, and short of that, anything Thomas said sounded absurd.
Strangely, Thomas felt most concerned for Henry when he heard that the man had asked for a huge last meal of all kinds of treats. It didn’t sound like him at all.
When the workday was over, the only lights burning in the administrative offices were the warden’s and Thomas’s. Yanno eventually moseyed in and sat on Thomas’s desk. “So this’ll be a first for you.”
Thomas nodded miserably.
“They’re never pleasant. It won’t make my day either, but there’s something fundamentally right about it.”
“I know. But it’s sad. As you can imagine, I believe I have comfort, even salvation, to offer Trenton. I can only pray a man in his position will listen.”
“Salvation? For him?”
“Certainly.”
“I’m a Christian, Reverend, but I don’t buy that.”
“Really? You’re saying God’s grace and love are limited?”
“Yeah, no. I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know that I’d want to share heaven with a guy like that. Doesn’t seem fair to me. Does it to you?”
“Of course not. That’s the point. There’s not one thing fair about grace.”
“Well,” Yanno said, “if God forgave Henry Trenton and let him into heaven, that would sure not be