Lost in Dreams (28 page)

“That I hoped.”

“You said you’ve never prayed before … maybe I forgot to mention that I’ll say the words of the sinner’s prayer, and you repeat them after me. But don’t do it unless you really mean them.”

“Ah? That is good. I mean them.”

And so we prayed.

“Dear Jesus,” I started.

“Dear Jesus,” Alfredo repeated.

“I am a sinner.”

“I am a sinner.” Pain and sincerity in Alfredo’s voice brought quick tears to my eyes.

I swallowed hard and continued the prayer, pausing for Alfredo to repeat the words after me. “I confess my sins to You … and ask Your forgiveness …”

After a soft
amen
, Alfredo beamed. “God forgives me. I am clean. God is my
padre
now. He wants good. Red Cedar bad before, but I not Christian then. Good I not still outside.”

I could barely see Alfredo. Too many tears blocked the way.

I’ll never stop believing that God put additional words in my mouth. “Alfredo, God will continue to forgive you, no matter what you have done in the past, but you must confess your sins daily—those things you do that displease Him—and ask His forgiveness. Then you must try never to do them again.”

I hoped we wouldn’t bog down now with something like
“But what happens if I do those things again even though I try not to?” We’d
have time to disciple him a little bit before going home.

“That prayer … that sinner’s prayer … not confess all my sins. Must do now.”

He threw himself facedown on the floor—did the New Testament say something about praying prone, or did he instinctively recognize that position as the best demonstration of his humility?

Laurie and I knelt beside him, and each of us took one of his hands, but reaching down like that was awkward. So we prostrated ourselves, too, one of us on each side of him.

He began listing the sins in his life, beginning with the one that landed him in prison. Statutory rape with a number of different young women. Maybe that should have shocked and horrified me, but his plea for God’s mercy was too moving for me to be the least judgmental.

Next he confessed petty crimes he’d never been caught or

punished for. As he begged for God’s forgiveness, he spoke of wanting to make things right. He would talk with the warden and tell him about those other crimes. If he had to spend more time at Red Cedar, so be it. That would give him time to try to win other insiders to Christ.

He must have prayed for thirty minutes as he asked forgiveness for what seemed to be the major sins in his life. Then he moved on to the minor ones. I fought to keep from laughing when he admitted grabbing the muffin from a new insider’s tray that morning at breakfast.

“Jesus, I will try do right thing. I will tell him I am Christian now. I am sorry. Give him my bread three days show I am change.”

Oh, man! Have I ever met such a sincere new Christian?
“Señorita Kimmy, must talk now of sin someone else. Against me. Against others. Will you permit?”

A
nd he was specific?” Warden Jenkins said. “Quite. He has good reasons for hating the chaplain.” “But he’s afraid to go public with his knowledge?” “Not exactly afraid. Alfredo has taken his Bible reading seriously. He said if Jesus could forgive the people who put Him to death, he should forgive the chaplain. He feels strongly about that.”

“So he’s not going to cooperate?”

“I didn’t say that, sir. I agreed that forgiving the chaplain was
one
of his Christian responsibilities. But I believe I convinced him that protecting other people from the chaplain is
another
one.”

“Good approach. So he
will
cooperate?”

“If we can find one additional witness. Alfredo doesn’t want to be the only man to file a complaint. He doesn’t want Chappy’s future to rest in his hands alone.”

Warden Jenkins shook his head. He appeared to be fighting back a frown. “So near and yet so far.”

“Yes, sir.” I hadn’t seen him look so serious before. Not even after the unhappy phone call from his supervisor a day or two earlier. “Hmmm.” He traced the writing on the Bible cover with his forefinger. “But he’s willing to testify if someone else does?”

“If and only if. I think he’s read in the Bible that a man can’t be convicted of a crime unless two witnesses agree.”

“And if there’s only one and he’s a convicted felon … and the accused is a respected professional …?”

I didn’t answer. As frustrated as he sounded, I got the impression he also understood and respected Alfredo’s point of view.

He spent several minutes jotting down the things I’d told him. I couldn’t help noticing that his handwriting looked like the stereotypical doctor’s writing—completely illegible. Periodically, he asked me to repeat something or clarify a detail. When he finished, he looked up.

“Kimmy, don’t be offended, but I’ll have to ask Laurie the same questions I’ve asked you. Even though we can’t convict Thomas on hearsay, it’s important to have stories that match in every detail. Unfortunately, because of Laurie’s relationship to me, her testimony will automatically be suspect. Quite possibly inadmissible in court.”

Good grief! Are you saying we didn’t accomplish anything?

He must have noticed my frustration. “No need to fret, Kimmy. You’ve made a major breakthrough today. Now we
know
the man is guilty. I don’t need a second victim to confirm that.”

“But you’ll need one in court, won’t you?” I said.

“Sometimes I think you must have watched too many years of courtroom dramas on television, young lady. But additional witnesses in this case—whether one or twenty—would help tremendously.” He paused and then sighed so pathetically I wanted to hug him.

“But at least you have one,” I said. “That’s a start.”

“Even though he won’t talk with me as long as he’s the only one …”

“What are the chances some other insider will step forward?”

“I can’t say. I can’t even guess. The grapevine here is the speediest one I’ve ever seen. Despite our best efforts to keep your talk with Alfredo private and confidential, you can be sure the other men in his cell block already know he didn’t come to

the infirmary to talk to a doctor about his allergies today.”

“He’s not in any danger, is he?” I’d feel worse than horrible if I’d endangered him by meeting with him.

“From other insiders? I doubt it. Because everyone believes he barely speaks English, they probably think he doesn’t understand much of what’s going on. He’d be wise to keep it that way.”

“But now that he’s a Christian, he wants to convert his whole cell block.”

His eyes seemed to plead,
Please don’t question me
. “He’ll be very wise to keep his knowledge of English to himself—at least until this situation has been resolved.”

“And what about Chaplain Thomas?”

“What? Will he hurt Alfredo? Not likely. If he suspects anything, Thomas will probably steer clear of him for a while. That’s not to say he won’t warn his other victims to keep their mouths closed around Alfredo.”

“I can’t believe the power he holds over those men. Can he really use his position to affect their release?”

“A bad report on his part may not extend their prison time—not except under unusual circumstances, and I know of only one of those—but if he reports that an insider has become a Christian and that he’s seen x, y, and z signs of a complete change in him, that goes a long way with the parole board.”

“So he’s swinging a two-edged sword …?” I was catching on.

“Hmm?”

“If the men give him what he wants, he eventually gives them what they want. And if they don’t, he threatens to add bad things to their records.”

“Not exactly. He just withholds his support. That’s more effective.”

“Oh, of course.” What had I just thought about
catching

on? I was wrong.
This is all too much for me. I just want to go home. Not to the hostel, but back to Georgia where life is normal
.

But things wouldn’t be normal there either, though. My guilt would confront me every day and night for the rest of my life. But at least I wouldn’t have to worry about the insiders at Red Cedar.

Who was I trying to kid? I couldn’t quit caring about these poor guys any more than I could quit praying for the salvation of the villagers of Santa María.

“You ready to go back to the hostel?” Warden Jenkins asked.

I let a slight moan slip out.

“I know that’s right,” he said.

I laughed. “Now you sound like Aleesha.”

“Good. I wanted to make you laugh. May I give you a ride?”

“Thanks, but I need to walk. Maybe it’ll help me forget some of my concerns.”

“I wish something would help me do that,” he said as he began walking me to the door of the Administration Building.

“Warden Jenkins, we’re overlooking the obvious.”

He looked at me.

“Prayer. That’s what I’ll do on the way back to the hostel.”

He looked like he wanted to smile, but couldn’t. Like maybe he was all prayed out.

I hugged him and started my walk down Red Cedar Lane. This would be the first time I’d walked from the prison back to the hostel. It felt odd. Unnatural.

I wondered how Red Cedar Lane made insiders feel upon their release. Did it make them joyous over their new freedom? After all, it led away from a wasted part of their lives. Or did it frighten them? For many of the insiders, it probably represented an unknown passage to an equally unknown future.

As much as I might want answers to those questions, I wasn’t likely to get them. Even though I wasn’t responsible for what went on inside the prison, I felt a great sense of responsibility toward the insiders—especially my Christian brothers.

I started praying for each one of the ones I knew by name. Hi, the countertenor. Rock, the Simon Peter wannabe. And Alfredo, the new convert.

Before I could get any farther, I heard a car pull up behind me. I didn’t bother looking at first—probably somebody headed home from work—but when the driver beeped and pulled up beside me, I glanced at him.

No! Not Chaplain Thomas. And he was lowering the front passenger side window.

“Miss Hartlinger,” he said, “you shouldn’t have to walk back to the hostel.”

“Chaplain Thomas, how good to see you.” Oh, man! I hadn’t lied like that since who knew when. Why hadn’t I limited my response to
“Chaplain Thomas … “
?

“Why don’t I give you a ride? It’s on my way, you know.” He laughed as if he’d made the greatest joke in the world. I didn’t.

Of course the hostel is on the way, Chappy. Red Cedar Lane dead-ends there
.

My stomach began churning with apprehension about being out there alone with the man, although I didn’t think I was in any real danger. Visitors, delivery people, and employees drove that road in both directions all day, so he would be foolish to do anything to me when someone was almost certain to pass by at the wrong time.

Has the prison grapevine informed you of my talk with the warden? If so, remember that he’s aware of my general whereabouts. He’s sure to call Rob after a while to ask if I’ve made it back safely. If you do anything to me, he’ll know who

the likely culprit is
.

But if the grapevine had been silent, Thomas couldn’t be positive I’d been to the prison. He might suspect it, but he couldn’t assume I hadn’t just been out for a walk in that direction. Especially since I wasn’t that close to the prison complex now. No, I decided, he couldn’t have been sure what I’d been up to.

I could hear Chappy drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in impatience. I guess he was still waiting for an answer. “I’d rather walk, thank you. It’s a beautiful day.”

“Clear, sunny, and thirty-three degrees may be beautiful, but not for walking.”

“My down jacket is quite warm,” I told him.

“I won’t take no for an answer.” He smiled—oh, what a fakey-looking smile—before leaning over and opening the passenger door.

I hesitated. Should I take a chance? I hated being rude, even to someone I had less than no respect for.

“I don’t bite, you know.”

I know nothing of the kind
.

But going with him seemed safer than continuing to argue. After “accidentally” dropping a glove on the ground as a clue if I suddenly disappeared, I climbed in and closed the door. He pressed his power lock button. I pretended to examine the fancy door paneling while trying to unlock my door.

I couldn’t.

I hadn’t felt so closed in since the first night, when we were in the no-man’s-land between the outside and the inside of the prison building. The click of the car door lock had been quieter, but it had the same effect on me as hearing the gate closing shut behind me.

“See, Miss Kimmy? No danger from me.”

I thought about those self-defense moves I’d learned in

high school. I hadn’t practiced them in a while. Now I wished

I had.

“Did you have a good visit at Red Cedar today?”

No, I’m not going to confirm that I was there. But I’ll make you suspicious if I don’t respond
.

“I always enjoy my visits to the prison, chaplain.” There. Nothing specific.

“Especially today, huh? Alfredo Rodriguez told me the two of you had a real good conversation in the infirmary.”

B
ut he didn’t hurt you?” Aleesha said. “If he even touched you …” Although Dad had never been my image of Mr. Tough Guy, each word exploded with such violent thunder that I was thankful to have him on my side.

As shaken up as I’d been by the time I got out of Chappy’s car and ran inside Graham’s apartment, the last thing on my mind was keeping anything from my team. My good friends. My best friends. My family.

I hadn’t noticed at first that they were eating an early supper. I broke out crying as soon as I saw them and knew I was safe. I wasn’t consciously trying to attract support, but boy! did I get it. I’d never received so many hugs at one time, and I needed every one of them.

I filled them in on the story of Chaplain Thomas and his insistence on giving me a ride. I also told them what he’d said about talking with Alfredo. That meant nothing to Jo and Graham, but Rob, Dad, and Aleesha understood Chappy’s implications:
“You can’t do anything around here without my knowing it, and you can’t trust Alfredo. I’ve got him under my thumb, too. “