It wasn’t long before I found myself back in the red hat section of Angola State Prison. It was just a few days until his execution. I came to tell him all the things I discovered, and how, with more time, we could find enough evidence so he can go home. But he was, of course, no fool.
“There be no freedom for me,” he said.
His words jumped from his tongue in such a painful manner. The heartache inside him pulsated out from his cell into the rest of them like a virus. I knew this because it was even more solemn than usual.
Knowing they would never see daylight again, the other prisoners openly lived through him. They never said it. But you can sense it. Their eyes lit up every time I came and their eyes poked through their cells when we talked. The dream of freedom wasn’t just his; it was ours. It was all of us. From the man who murdered his wife for lechery. To the rapist who butchered five little girls. A man’s longing for freedom is understood past any boundary the world could put between us. Beyond race, or religion, or country. A man’s need to choose whether he wants to walk with or against the wind is inherited in all of us. That need, that want, had been ripped from his soul in the cruelest of ways. Not even I could him help get it back.
“I just need some time to check a few things,” I said, attempting to give his already-languished mind, rest.
But he saw no need for it. “Let me go Danny.”
“No. I-I can’t.”
“You can. There ain’t no point in fighting a war without soldiers.”
“No! There ain’t no point in giving up!”
“It ain’t no use. I counted it in my head a thousand times over. Within everything that has been done to me, there’s one thing they can’t take—and that’s my word. They can’t force me to mumble those words because I’m more than not guilty. I’m innocent! Before God, I will see to it that they remember!”
“You will die in the process. So what will it all be for in the end?”
“No. You’re wrong. I will live! And live far longer than the men who put me here because the truth lives in me.”
His tone impervious, fixed and grave, showed a man reputed to be undaunted by death. But he was much afraid. The problem was, they had already killed him. He just hadn’t noticed.
“Can you do me a favor?” I asked.
“Okay.”
“Don’t give up just yet. Even if there’s only a second left. Revel in it!”
Paralyzed by his thoughts, his mouth became still, rendered frozen in silence. Thus I left him with that, hoping he’d use my word as an excuse to carry on.
After gesturing to the guard, I turned my back to the prisoner and walked toward the exit. And right as I reached it, he posed a question that, until then, I never sought the answer to.
“How are you sure?” he asked.
I paused, uncertain of what he meant. My back faced his cell. “Pardon?”
He repeated himself once again. “How are you so sure I didn’t kill her?”
I turned and walked back toward him. “Come into the light.”
He rose, hesitant and slow, and came close until he was able to lean his brow against the cell bars.
There, face-to-face, we stared at each other. And I assured him just as he did years ago when I was vulnerable. “I’ve spent some parts of my life surrounded by some of the most evil people you could ever meet. They were mean and coldhearted and selfish, all the things they claimed you to be. But there was goodness in your eyes that day. More goodness than I’ve seen since I looked into the eyes of my sister, the love of your life. You saved me! And ain’t no murderer capable of that.”
The prisoner smiled and reached his hands between those cold depleted bars. There, we bonded, shook hands, sealing the bonds of our unlikely friendship.
Late that night, I arrived home with a mind blanketed with a new load of consciousness. Entrenched in worry, I walked into the front door as Mr. Hollis was walking out.
“We need to talk, Danny.” He hurried down the porch steps.
“About what?”
He was, for some odd reason, unusually vague. “It’s really late. I’ll swing back around, tomorrow.”
“Alrighty.” I rushed inside.
There was a cold wind, and truthfully, I wasn’t in the mood for any words from him. It had been a long day. All I wanted to do was lie my head down to sleep and forget. Even if I awoke to the same grievances, at least I had the chance to pretend. Not many people get a chance to say that because it’s true and it hurts. A long time ago, I’d live graciously in them because they were an escape—a way out without dying. But that fateful night, all of it changed because I did no such thing. This time, it was too real. It wasn’t like a fantasy any more. It was life, and the setting was the wretched place I called home. There, I sat in the same spot, and I dreamed, except my eyes were open. The skies were too. Even the wind touched the glass in the same meticulous fashion. Everything was the same, everything except time. But that’s hard to explain because it moved so gently, yet fast.
Imagine being conscious—and, I mean conscious to the point where you can sense everything around you, like feeling the earth move around its axis at exactly sixty thousand miles per hour, while watching those same seconds turn into hours at the same pace a mustard seed becomes a flower.
I felt and saw everything, even Him. He spoke to me. I knew it to be Him even though I had never seen his face but there was complete virtue behinds His words. Every time He spoke, the universe paused just for a second because His presence was greater than anything they’ve ever seen. They loathed Him, endlessly—and I, for some reason, could not bring myself to do the same.
“Why did you come here?” I asked.
He just smiled and whispered, “My son,” in complete adoration.
His face was perfect in beauty, somewhat pale and old. Yet, He was neither white nor black. In fact, He was nothing because He transcended that. He was just Him.
“Why are you here?”
“Because you need me to be,” He replied.
“No I don’t. Not anymore! I did! A long time ago! But that was when I still believed in fairytales. I’m all grown up now.”
“I know you have your doubts, Danny.”
“Doubts? Doubts! There’s no doubt that when I’ve needed you the most, you were always somewhere else—probably filling another poor child’s mind with your stories. The same ones you told to Man.”
“You may not see it, son. But I’ve always been right here.”
“You’ve been here… Where? Where were you when that bastard was beating my mother every day? Where were you for Caroline, or Samantha, or Donnie, or C.J.? Where were you for me?”
“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He grabbed my hand, firm but tender. “I’ve been right here, son. I’ve been right here.”
The way He held me was unlike anything I’ve ever felt and my heart melted for every second His hands warmed my skin because He sullied me. And I mean that in the strictest sense of the word. So I cried. I cried for hours, and sure enough, He consoled me for the same length of time.”
“I love you so much,” He said.
“I love you too,” I replied.
Together, we sat a while longer, discussing things about the world both big and small. Like, what’s behind the stars, and when will Clark Gable make a good movie? He laughed when I asked Him that, which made me wonder if anyone had ever seen Him smile, because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
We even talked about me. I watched as He gushed about the day I was born. He even compared me to his own son, though I was years younger.
I’m not sure how much time elapsed, but every word He spoke to me, carried with it centuries worth of knowledge that, for some odd reason, aged me by the second, until I was nearly as old as Him. And with that old age, came all the things we tend to forget when we’re young. Things like emptiness and sickness, and even death. I was dying in my own dream. Every word from Him pulled the life out of me a tad bit more. But just as I t
hought he would, He made amends and told me the secrets of the universe that no one else knew. He even promised me my very own stake somewhere in heaven. I was special because He told me so. I believed it to be true because He was Him. To assure me that we were real, He pulled a shiny ruby from his own skin and offered it to me in return for one thing.
“There’s a storm approaching,” He said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, one day down the road, if you’re not careful, you will let your guard down and the devil will sneak in like a roaring lion. And he is not merciful.”
“What will you have me do?”
“Stay close to those who love you. Find it in your heart to forgive them. Recognize when there’s a child of mine in your presence. Sheriff Hollis is a good man, a holy a man. Go to him and listen. It will serve you well. Understand?”
“I understand, sir.”
“Good. Very good.”
He hugged me once more, wrapped His palms around my forehead, and blessed me. “Farewell, my child.”
“Goodbye.”
Before I knew it, He was gone and I was no longer sitting, but lying under the covers with my eyes open. It was morning.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Devil Prowls