Ted Dekker - Sanctuary

Danny spoke as if he hadn’t heard the man. “You’ve broken too many laws and ruined too many lives now. We’ll let the courts decide what happens to me, but I already know what they will decide about you.”

“Don’t be a child, Danny. No one will ever even know any of this took place. It happens all the time. And now you’ve demonstrated that you’re no different from me. You’ve just killed to save your precious lamb.”

“I killed only in self-defense.”

“You have no rights to defend yourself here. Put the gun down and God may forgive you this time.”

Bruce Randell stepped away from the wall, walked up to the warden from behind, and brought both fists down on the man’s head with enough force to crack a log.

Marshall Pape grunted once and dropped like a rock. He lay on the floor, legs bent oddly under his torso, breathing but unconscious. Randell stared down at the man, fists shaking.

“You’re gonna get us killed,” someone muttered. It struck me then that none of the others had moved. Whatever grip the warden had on them was so strong that even now, with their tormentor on the ground, they couldn’t see their way free to deal with him.

All but Bruce Randell, who lifted his foot and was about to bring it down on the warden’s head when Danny cut him short.

“Leave him,” he said.

Randell stared at him, foot cocked.

“He’s suffered enough.”

Randell hesitated a second, then lowered his foot. The other inmates stared, still stunned by what they’d witnessed.

Danny nodded and faced the guards, who were clearly in shock. “Everything will come to light and California’s going to erupt. I’ll take whatever punishment the courts decide is fair for what I’ve done, but you must know that you will as well. I doubt they will be very kind. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

None of them spoke. With Bostich gone and the warden out, they were like lost sheep, not unlike the prisoners. I felt a stab of pity for them.

“You can side with the warden and go down with him, or you can stand up for justice. Either way, Renee must be set free. Now. Do you understand? I’m going to escort her out of here, and then you can take me into custody.”

He was going to send me away? The thought terrified me.

“No, Danny!” I pushed myself to my feet.

Danny faced me and our eyes met. He was bleeding, his life was in danger, he had to get to a hospital as quickly as possible—but I was thinking something else as I walked toward him.

“You’re leaving with me,” I said.

“Renee…” Tears misted his eyes again, the good kind, pressed out by the gentle hand of Danny’s loving God.

I stepped up to him and lifted a finger to his lips. “Sh…I’ve spoken to a judge,” I whispered. “He’ll set you free.”

I didn’t know it to be a fact, but I was sure that Judge Thompson could be persuaded.

Danny looked unsure.

I had to be careful what I said in the hearing of others. “The one who knows your case. He’ll set you free. Trust me, I have a way. You didn’t do what they put you in here for. You’re wrongly imprisoned.” That was true. I had killed the two men he’d confessed to killing. “I can’t live without you, Danny. Not anymore. You have to be free to take care of me until we grow old. I’m not leaving without you.”

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment I was sure he would protest. But now his need to love me was greater than his desire to follow a more idealistic path.

Danny didn’t believe in violence, but to save me he would kill a hundred men. I saw it in his eyes, a terrible love that quieted any other reason or logic, however well-informed.

I stood to my tiptoes, brought my lips to his cheek and kissed him lightly. “You did well, my love,” I whispered. “You did very well. Now take me away from this hell.”

Danny faced the guards, hesitated one moment, then nodded once.

“We’re leaving now,” he said. “We’re going to set things straight. Do you understand?”

The correctional officers glanced at each other, then nodded. I think they wanted us to leave. I think they wanted us to tell the world about what had happened because, out from under the warden’s thumb, they wanted to set things straight as well.

“No one will stop us,” Danny said again, taking my arm. “No one.”

And no one did.

Epilogue

TWO MONTHS LATER

IT’S AMAZING HOWmuch power the courts hold to define deviant behavior on the winds of social change and law. Jesus didn’t condemn slavery, but that was two thousand years ago.

I’m glad to say our judge used the law as he saw fit—in this case, to our benefit. Under my threat to expose his connection to his son’s crimes, Judge Thompson directed me to an investigator, one Raymond Kingerman, who filed a petition to reopen Danny’s case. As it turned out, Danny’s confession became his strongest ally, because, armed with that confession, the district attorney hadn’t conducted a full review of the physical evidence. Danny withdrew his confession because it was in fact untrue. I, not he, had killed the two victims in question, though we neglected to inform them of this detail. Apart from that confession, there was nothing that linked Danny to the murders.

Judge Thompson reviewed the case and overturned the conviction based on lack of physical evidence.

In a separate ruling, he also found that the deaths of Keith Hammond and Captain Bostich were a matter of self-defense under California law.

With a few strokes of the pen, Danny became a free man, seven weeks less one day after I broke into prison to save him. For four of those weeks I waited in limbo, afraid that I would go to prison for breaking in. In the end I was absolved, primarily due to the extenuating circumstances and the department’s desire to keep the matter quiet.

Basal was no more. The California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation transferred all of its inmates to other facilities and shut down the prison pending a full review.

Warden Marshall Pape was awaiting trial and would likely spend many years, if not the rest of his life, behind bars.

That left Danny and me free to embrace life together, two lovers bound together by the kind of profound affection and loyalty that can only really be forged by a lifetime of harsh reality. We were free, yes, but in our own ways we were each in our own kind of prison—I still caged by my obsessive-compulsive mind, and Danny by a history that will probably haunt him to his grave.

On the eve of his release, we walked hand in hand down Santa Monica State Beach, carrying our flip-flops as dusk settled over California’s coastline. We hadn’t talked about what had gone through Danny’s mind in the last moment before he snapped and saved me. I thought the topic was too personal to broach before we knew exactly where fate would land us. But now we were free, and I was doing backflips inside.

Danny had saved me. I had saved Danny. Nothing could separate us now.

Nothing.

I looked at the bare sand smoothed by receding waves. It was like a clean slate, a fresh start. “Freedom is a beautiful thing,” I said.

He frowned and stared at the shoreline. “It is. And yet so few really are free. Nearly all people live in prisons of their own making, regardless of their faith, creed, sex, or race.”

“That’s my Danny.”

“Pape called Basil his sanctuary. In truth we all exist in our own sanctuaries—but I don’t mean cathedrals or prisons. I’m talking about our hearts and minds, which imprison us in anxiety, fear, insecurity, anger, and other forms of misery. The walls and bars that keep most in a constant state of suffering are thoughts and emotions, not concrete and steel. It’s a disease. Insanity. Most are afflicted by it, regardless of which side of the law they find themselves on or where they lay their heads at night. To be free of this, Renee, is to be free indeed.”