Ted Dekker - Sanctuary

“Right to the point. I like that.” He slid one hand into his pocket. “It is a nice place, isn’t it? We take a lot of pride in what we do here. You have my full cooperation. No one is more eager to root out any irregularity or misconduct, I can assure you.” His eyes turned to Keith. “You’re not from this region. I know most of the deputies.”

“We’re out of the main office. Thank you for your help, Warden. We’d like to get started.”

“Of course. Michael will take you to our conference room and call up any staff or members you wish to interview. Samples of the milk can be taken from the kitchen.”

“The conference room won’t work,” I said. “We’d like to question the inmates in their cells. It’s less formal and more direct. We’ll need a roster.”

His grin faltered. “Of course. You didn’t bring your own records?”

“Policy requires we use the most recent, which would be yours,” Keith said.

“Yes, of course.”

A moment of silence hung over the room.

“Well then, Michael will be glad to take you wherever you wish to go. My prison is yours.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But we won’t be needing an escort.” I looked at the assistant. “Get us a roster and show us around. We’ll take it from there.”

Another beat of silence.

The warden dipped his head. “Michael? You heard the deputy.” He started to turn, then faced me again. “Please be careful, Ms. Wishart. We have a number of men here who would love to get to know you more personally.”

He smiled at both of us, and then walked back out the door.

“So then”—Michael Banning clasped his hands together—“follow me.”

Just like that.

But it was never just like that.

33

DANNY HAD ENDUREDpunishment and he’d suffered pain, but he’d never been taken to the edge of himself as he had over the last thirty-six hours. There was no escaping that cell, no refuge from the excruciating pain, no reprieve from the warden’s place of punishment. If he’d been weaker, he might have passed out, but he could not, and he now regretted his strength.

His body seemed to react without his will engaged. He’d never screamed as he had on that table. His muscles had never locked up so fiercely or shaken so violently without soon submitting to his control. But there in deep meditation his physical torment was beyond him entirely, and his body could only revolt in the most strenuous terms.

All of his attempts to muscle his mind into a calm, meditative state failed to attain the peace he sought for more than a few minutes. There in the darkness behind closed eyes, he searched for and found light, but it was fleeting, stamped out by raging pain.

He refused to surrender to the pain. Neither could he surrender his mind. But all of his attempts to step beyond it failed him far more than they aided him. Unending misery was his only friend in that place of torment.

If they hadn’t cinched the leg straps so tightly, he might have shaken loose from the restraints. The only reason the bit didn’t break off in his bone was because it was flexible, like a very thin cable.

The doctor had taken many breaks, one that lasted nearly six hours, presumably to sleep. But as Danny quickly learned, the breaks only intensified the experience. After thirty minutes of grinding he found that his body began to shut down his nerves of its own accord. The doctor would withdraw the needle from his shin, calmly lay the device on the table, and sit for a smoke or leave the room for ten minutes before resuming his task with the calculation of a brain surgeon.

Initially, Danny had found the break welcome, but the first time the bit returned to the tiny hole in his shin and made contact with his inflamed nerves, he understood their intentions. The pain was even more intense than before and only seemed to increase each time the doctor repeated the cycle. His anticipation of that pain was its own kind of torture.

Bostich had left them after the first hour and checked in on several occasions, each time muttering words that Danny could hardly hear much less digest in his condition.

The ordeal jerked his mind back to the pain he’d inflicted on his victims before taking his vow of nonviolence. He’d never tortured anyone—he didn’t have a sadistic bone in his body—but he had used painful force. It was true that each of those he’d confronted were guilty of heinous crimes, but while lying on the table in convulsing agony he wished no pain on the guilty, because he knew his own guilt. Weren’t all guilty?

He lost track of time. His life descended into cycles of suffering marked by the doctor’s insertion of the bit into one of several holes he’d made in Danny’s shin. There was no end; there was only more. At some point he began to forget that it would end. Minutes felt like hours, and hours like an eternity.

Danny was strapped to the table, alone in the room, a shell of himself when the door opened once again. He didn’t open his eyes or demonstrate his fear. He’d salvaged that much control over his body.

At any moment a gloved hand would touch his leg. The wire would be carefully slipped into one of the holes. The machine’s whir would scream to life and his body would begin to shudder.

At any moment.

But that moment did not come. Instead, a new voice. He didn’t hear the words, only the sound of the voice. It took him only a few seconds to connect the voice to the warden, and with that connection came the memory that the warden had said he’d come back when the ordeal was over.

The words gained meaning.

“…that I don’t enjoy this any more than you do. But it was necessary.”

The punishment was finished. The pain was done. Danny’s chest rose and fell as his mind wrapped itself around the warden’s voice.

Danny opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

“The doctor said you were brave. I want you to know that I appreciate that.”

The warden had come. Danny’s mind stalled for a moment, then restarted, surging with question. It was done? No, it was only a ploy. And yet he’d said he would come at the end.

“It’s finished.” The warden walked up to the table.

From the deepest parts of Danny’s soul rose an emotion that he could never have anticipated. It started out as relief but then suddenly became more. Much more.

Gratitude. Appreciation. Wonder. Awe. He closed his eyes and let the emotions spread through his body, flooding him with a warmth and gratefulness that made the pain he’d felt a distant memory.

“I’m sorry, Danny. I truly am. You have to believe that I wish this on no one.”

Danny connected his intense relief to that voice. The warden had put an end to his suffering, and for that Danny felt deeply indebted. For that he owed the man his life. For that he loved the man.

He slowly released his grip on the rubber bit between his teeth. The blurred image of the warden’s face looked down at him. There was concern in his eyes.

“It is finished, Danny. No more. But you didn’t obey me, you understand that, don’t you? I don’t like this any more than a loving father enjoys punishing his son.”

The warden turned his head and looked at the wall, which held the restraints they’d strapped Danny into the last time he had visited deep meditation.

“I lost my children, but the truth is I’ve gained so many more,” he said in an introspective tone. “They’re all like sons to me. Even Slane. But Slane refused to accept my help. The terrible task of guiding them to the light falls on my shoulders now. It’s the only way I can honor my own son and daughter.”

The warden faced him, frowning.

“Say something, Danny. You’re a priest, you should understand these things. Tell me that what I’m doing is right.”