Michael Lister - Blood of the Lamb

“I’ll look into it,” I said.

My pulse started pounding when I found several inmates, one of whom was a child molester, lurking around the hallway near the water fountain and my office, and I realized again just how vulnerable Nicole really was.

“You need to get back in the sanctuary now,” I said.

Paul Register seemed to shrink in on himself, his short, boyish form becoming even smaller. His eyes blinked sheepishly at me like a small puppy expecting another whack with a newspaper.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. “My knee’s hurting. I was trying to stretch it out some.”

“You can stand in the back if you need to,” I said. “But you need to be in the sanctuary.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m going.” He glanced through the glass pane in my office door, then limped back into the sanctuary under the hard glare of Officer Coel.

Once Register was out of the front hallway, I walked over and made sure the door to my office was locked. It was. Then I headed to the inmate bathroom next to the kitchen and multi-purpose room in the back.

Obviously designed by someone who had never worked in a prison, the chapel’s inmate and visitor bathrooms were down a short L-shaped hallway that led to the kitchen and meeting room in the back. It was a blind spot, difficult to supervise, and, if not watched closely, the place where the more criminal of our criminal element congregated. For an event like this, there should be a minimum of three officers on duty.

Inside the bathroom, to my shock, I discovered Abdul Muhammin, one of the clerks assigned to the chapel. I had never seen him or any other Muslim at a Christian worship service.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Using the bathroom,” he said. He posture and tone were defiant and challenging, his muscular body flexing as he began to bow up.

“No,” I said. “In the chapel?”

“Hearin’ Bobby Earl,” he said. “Dog’s doin’ good for hisself.”

Suddenly, he was different, his demeanor relaxed and playful, as if he and I were friends just hanging out, talking about old times and people we knew.

“You’re a fan?” I asked.

“Shit,” he said, “I shared a cell with ‘im at Lake Butler. I came to make sure he don’t forget a nigga’.”

“You and Bobby Earl-”

“Yeah,” he said. “Bobby Earl’s my boy. He like the Jimmy Swaggart of jailhouse religion.”

“Well, you need to get back in there,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to miss him.”

He nodded slowly, rubbing his chin as if contemplating something profound. “All right, Chap. I’m on my way.”

“Is anybody else in here?” I asked.

“I am,” a disembodied voice rose from within the stall.

“Who’s that?”

“Inmate Cedric Porter, sir,” he said.

“It’s time to get back to the chapel,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

When I left the bathroom, I checked on Bunny and Nicole through the window of my office door. Nicole appeared bored, Bunny sad and restless, and I wondered how much of their lives were spent waiting on Bobby Earl’s seemingly eternal sermons to end.

I stepped out of the air-conditioned chapel into the humidity and heat of the dark night, and walked up to the control room where I asked to see the memo giving Bobby Earl and his family authorization to enter the institution and conduct the special program.

There wasn’t one. Never had been. No one knew anything about it until Mr. Stone called and told them to let Bobby Earl and his family through the gate and to escort them to the chapel.

I borrowed the phone and called Anna at home.

“Sorry to disturb you,” I said, thinking but you do me all the time .

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern. I never call her at home.

“Did you run a FCIC/NCIC check on Bobby Earl and Bunny Caldwell?”

“Not yet,” she said. “When’re they supposed to be coming in?”

“Tonight,” I said.

“Not gonna happen,” she said. “I haven’t-”

“It already has.”

“What?” she asked in shock. “I haven’t seen anything on it.”

“You still the only one who runs the checks?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Which means they shouldn’t be there tonight. So how the hell’d they get in?”

“Stone,” I said.

“Well, he can do that.”

“Even without a background check?”

“Not supposed to,” she said. “But he can. He has the authority.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Check?” she asked. “Maybe because he knows Bobby Earl so well. Knows he’s not related to any of our inmates. Knows he’s not a convicted felon.”

“Or knows he is.”

“What?”

I told her. As I did, I stared absently into the control room.

The dark night made the light in the control room seem even brighter, putting the two officers inside on display like fish in an aquarium, the condensation on the glass reinforcing the illusion.

“And an inmate in the chapel says he was Bobby Earl’s cell mate at Lake Butler.”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “John, you better keep a close eye on him.”

“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”

Once in the chapel again, I looked into my office. Bunny Caldwell, who was sitting in my chair, waved to me. She smiled, too, which was something to see, and for just a moment the sadness left her eyes. I waved back. She smiled even bigger and I motioned her over to the door, which was still locked.

“You okay?” I asked after she had unlocked the door and I stepped inside.

She nodded, but looked away. When she looked back, she said, “I’m just a little tired. I don’t have Bobby Earl’s stamina.”

“Where’s Nicole?”

“In the bathroom,” she said, nodding toward the narrow door in the corner.

“I’m sorry to do this,” I said, “but I may never see you again.”

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.