As though she knew where I was going with this, tears began to fill her eyes. Blinking them back, she said, “What?”
“I couldn’t help but notice the bruises on your wrists.”
Instantly, she jerked her arms back, and began to shake and move, as if no longer in full control of her body.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I had to ask. Are you okay?”
She nodded, her eyes flattening, her face becoming a impenetrable mask. “I’m fine. But it’s sweet of you to ask.” She glanced down a moment, then back at me. “They look worse than they are. I bruise very easily.”
“They look like they were made by someone grabbing you,” I said.
“Even men of God can lose their tempers,” she said. “Besides, I can be nagging and disrespectful.”
“If-” I began, but she put her fingers over my mouth in a gesture that expressed an intimacy we didn’t share.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Really. Please don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s very sweet of you to care, but they really look worse than they are.”
“Okay,” I said. “But if it ever gets-”
“Then I have friends and family I can call,” she said.
I nodded, embarrassed.
When I walked into the sanctuary, I found Coel still alone and Bobby Earl giving an impassioned altar call.
“Where’s Whitfield?” I asked.
Coel shrugged and shook his head.
“I’m going to check the bathroom again,” I said.
“Ten-four,” he said.
Two steps into the back hallway, I bumped into Theo Malcolm, the institution’s only literacy and GED teacher. Without a word, he shoved past me and rushed out the door.
I turned and considered him, wondering what he was doing here, and why he was in such a hurry to leave. I called after him, but he didn’t even pause, so I decided to go ahead and check the bathroom. I could always talk to him later.
In the bathroom, I found Officer Whitfield washing the sweat off his face with water he splashed from his cupped hands.
“I’m glad you’re back,” I said. “Coel needs some help.”
“I’m heading in there now,” he said.
Tim Whitfield was tall and lean, but seemed soft. His dark brown hair was thick and wavy and sat high on his head. The front of his hair was damp and small rivulets of water snaked out of it and down his long forehead.
“Anyone else in here?”
“Just two convicts,” he said, looking at the dull reflection of the stalls behind him in the sheet-metal mirror bolted above the sink. “You convicts get back in the service.”
“Yes, sir,” Dexter Freeman said, stepping out of the stall.
“Just a minute,” the voice of what sounded like a young black guy called from inside the other stall.
“Just make it fast,” Whitfield said.
When I walked back into the sanctuary, Bunny was singing “Just As I Am” while Bobby Earl finished his altar call.
I searched the stage for Nicole, but she wasn’t there.
“Where’s Nicole?” I asked Coel.
“Who?” he said.
“The little girl,” I said.
“The black one?” he asked.
Making no attempt to mask my anger, I said, “There’s only one little girl in this entire institution.”
“She’s still in your office, I guess,” he said. “She didn’t come out with her mother.”
“Who’s with her?” I asked.
“No one right now,” he said. “The preacher went in while his wife was singing, and since he came back out for the altar call, I’ve had my eyes on both doors. He hasn’t been out of your office long.”
Relief washed over me when I saw that the altar call was over and Bunny was slipping back into my office, Bobby Earl remaining behind to say one last prayer.
Bobby Earl’s prayer was simple, but passionate and persuasive, and I could see why he did well on television. His prayer, which had started off loudly, had now become a whisper and the sanctuary fell into a reverent hush as well.
“In Jesus’ name,” he whispered. “Through the shed blood of the lamb-”
He broke off as the scream erupted.
The entire congregation turned to see Bunny Caldwell stumbling backwards out of my office, her staccato shrieks piercing the silence like stabs. Her screams were not those of fear, but of absolute horror, a horror so dark it seemed to echo from some sudden void in her soul.
For a moment, perhaps as she took a breath, there was absolute silence, and in that one quiet moment, no one moved. Like children slapped for the first time, everyone was too stunned to do anything. Then, after the initial shock subsided, everyone began to scramble as hesitation gave way to panic.
As I ran down the side aisle toward her, I somehow knew what I was going to find. Her scream had told me that, and my mind, as if divided into two parts, was simultaneously telling me it was so and absolutely rejecting that it could be.
Bobby Earl reached Bunny before I did, wrapping her up in his arms while looking into my office. His knees buckled and they both fell as the inmates began gathering around them, all straining to see what the small office held that could elicit such strong reactions.
“Get back in your seats,” I yelled, but no one moved. They stood there transfixed like the Caldwells had been, and when I reached the doorway, I knew why.
Beyond the open door of my office was the crumpled, lifeless body of Nicole Caldwell.
CHAPTER 6
“Go home, Chaplain,” Colonel Patterson said. “The inspector can take your statement in the morning.”
My nerves were humming like high-voltage lines, my eyes and fingers twitching like an addict in need of a fix. Head aching, heart pounding, adrenaline-rich blood coursing through my veins, home was the last place I wanted or needed to be.
It had taken a while to quell the overwrought crowd of inmates, most of whom had rushed my office door in an attempt to see Nicole’s body. By the time they were cajoled and, in some cases, beaten into submission and securely locked in their dorms, Colonel Patterson and Inspector Fortner had arrived.
With the Caldwells being cared for and interviewed by the trauma response team, I had made the mistake of stepping out of the empty chapel to take in some fresh air and collect my thoughts. Now, the colonel was refusing to let me back inside.
“We’ve got a lot to do tonight, Chaplain,” Patterson said, adding, “We know you’re not goin’ anywhere,” as if I were a suspect. “Pete can take your statement tomorrow.”
He knew it wasn’t my statement but the investigation I was worried about, and I could tell he was enjoying my frustration almost as much as the tobacco juice that trickled from the corner of his mouth.
I had to laugh at him trying to be so tough. He just didn’t have the physique to pull it off. He had the body of a bird, his thin, stick-like legs looking incapable of supporting the weight of his enormous belly. The white shirt of his uniform, holding back his belly above his belt, always appeared about to burst open. Like his legs, the strength of his buttons was a mystery. And he wore boots for height, but they only made him look and walk funny.
All I could think about was Nicole, how I had failed to protect her, how I had let her get killed-in my office. I
