Sanctuary (25 page)

We were ushered into a reception area that reminded me of a waiting room at a doctor’s office. I stood by the window, looking calm and collected with both hands clasping my briefcase as Keith gave our badges and paperwork to the staff member on duty.

I was thinking that I should do something besides stand there like a coat rack, but Keith was in charge of getting us in.

The CO who’d ushered us in stood by the door patiently, watching me. I gave him a shallow smile and a nod, then averted my eyes. Did he suspect anything at all? Evidently he didn’t, because he just stood there for the five minutes it took the clerk to process us and call for our escort.

A staff member dressed in a white shirt and blue tie walked into the room and smiled.

“Welcome to Basal, deputies.” He reached out his hand. “Michael Banning, assistant to the warden, at your service. I understand you’d like to inspect our milk.”

Keith took his hand. “Just a random inspection, no cause for alarm. We’d like to get started if that’s all right with you. We have another appointment today.”

“Of course.” He offered me his hand and I didn’t want to take it, but I did. “I’m guessing you’re Julia.”

“Deputy is fine,” I said.

He grinned wide. “Well then, Deputy it is. The warden is on his way down. Can I get either of you anything? Coffee, a soda?”

“This isn’t a social call, Mr. Banning,” Keith said. “The warden will be notified of our findings when our investigation is complete. Now if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to get started.”

“Of course. But I’m sure the warden would feel he’d insulted you if he didn’t greet you himself. It’ll just be a minute.”

I don’t know what came over me at that moment—maybe my fear of meeting the warden, maybe my aversion to waiting one more minute for anything when it came to Danny. But I looked into his eyes and spoke with simple authority.

“Do you know how much evidence can be burned in a minute, Banning?”

Banning. Not Mr. Banning, or Michael, just Banning.

He flashed another grin. “Of course. It’ll just be a moment.”

Before I could make another pass at setting him straight, the door crashed open and a tall man wearing round glasses and a black suit walked in.

“Who do we have the pleasure of assisting today?” he boomed.

This was Marshall Pape, warden of the Basal Institute, I was sure of it. Danny’s greatest enemy.

My demons vanished, fleeing the sudden rage that boiled in my gut. I wanted to walk up to him and slap him in the face and demand he take me to Danny immediately, but that would have only made our break-in a disaster.

I stepped forward and spoke before Keith could. “OIG, Deputies Somerset and Wishart. Thank you for having us, Warden. Nice place you have here. As my partner was just explaining to your assistant, we have another appointment, so if you could help us keep this as simple as possible, we’d be grateful.” I considered stopping there but kept going. “Nothing to worry about—we just need to take some random samples of milk and question some of the inmates about spiking. I’m sure you’ve heard of the recent issues with the Prison Industry Authority. Point us in the right direction so we can get out of your hair.”

Keith watched me, masking his surprise at my monologue, I’m sure. The warden looked down at me with a kind face, if a bit long in the nose. I wasn’t sure if his smile was forced or if he truly found me amusing.

“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.

DANNY HAD ENDURED
punishment 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.”

He wanted to say something, but his mind was awash with conflict. In the warden’s words, he was hearing his own thoughts of not so long ago. He’d never motivated others with the threat of sadistic punishment, but he’d killed them just the same.

“Just say something, for heaven’s sake. It’s not easy doing this sort of thing.”

Danny started to speak, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat.

“No,” he said. “It’s not easy.”

“So you approve then.”

The overwhelming emotion he’d felt only a minute earlier was gone. Now he felt mostly relief for himself and simple empathy for the warden. He did owe the man his life, because the man had spared his life, but he couldn’t find it in himself to voice support.

“You see? You still don’t get it, do you? But you will soon. I have great confidence in you, Danny. A profound respect.”

The warden let the words settle, then walked to the end of the table and began to release the leather straps that held Danny’s legs. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on the firmer, more assured tone that Danny had grown accustomed to.

“The ugly business of corrections is worthless unless we conform to what is right, my friend. All of this is lost unless you can truly expose that lingering core of depravity in your soul. Once we force it out into the light, we can go about correcting it. I hope you can appreciate that more now.” He looked up at Danny. “Your legs will ache for a few days, but you’d be surprised at how quickly the puncture wounds will heal.”

The doctor wiped the blood from his leg like a tattoo artist cleaning the skin as he worked. A transparent salve covered five tiny red pinpricks on his shin.

“I’ll give you a few hours to gather yourself before they take you back up.” He unfastened the straps on his left leg. “It’ll help if you get the blood flowing through your legs again. You’ll have some bruising on your heels, your tail bone, and the back of your head, but otherwise you’re no worse off for the wear.”

He undid the last strap and brushed his palms against each other. “Almost good as new. Bend your legs for me.”

Danny slowly turned his ankles, then drew his stiff legs up, one at a time. A dull pain throbbed in his shin, but on balance he was surprised he didn’t feel more.

“See?”

“Thank you.” The words sounded empty.

“It’s the least I can do.” Pape slipped his hand into his pocket and came around the table, staying clear of Danny’s legs. “You seem like a good man on the outside, but you’re here because you’ve broken the law. You strayed from a more righteous way. Until I am confident you can be truly rehabilitated, I can’t consider you for the privileged wing or for early release.”

“I’m not asking for either.”

“No, you’re not asking, are you? The question you should be asking is are you still a killer?”

“I didn’t kill Randell.”

“True, but that was hardly a sufficient test. And by refusing to obey you earned yourself some correction. You have to learn to follow my rules, Danny. No one else’s, only mine. Do that and perhaps you’ll win my confidence. It’s really that simple.”

“Even if it means killing.”

“If I command it, yes. Trust me.”

“I’ve taken a vow of nonviolence.”

“Sounds nice and cozy, but if I ask you to go to war, you must. Will you drop the bomb for me, Danny? There’s always a time for killing, and in my sanctuary I decide when that time is. Doesn’t God kill? As the good books say, ‘Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.’ And in here”—he spread his hands—“I am he.”

“I’m not sure you know who God is.”

“Don’t be absurd. God is God. They’re all the same.”

“All of this so that I’ll kill again.”

“No. All of this so that you never will unless I demand it. I need to lay you bare to see who you really are.” The warden lowered his arms. “I’ll leave you to consider that. Hopefully the worst is behind us.”

Pape headed for the door but turned back when he’d opened it.

“Oh, and a bit of news you might find interesting. Renee has decided to join us. She brought along a new friend.”

Danny blinked. “Renee?”

“Yes, Renee. She’s been put through the ringer and finally led here, where she can be of some use to all of us. Maybe she can fill Peter’s shoes. Maybe you’ll get a conjugal visit out of it. Remember to move your legs around. Good for the circulation.”

Danny didn’t hear the door shut. He heard nothing but the roar of blood rushing through his head. He didn’t actually see the warden leave. His vision had gone blank.

One thought alone consumed his mind. Renee was here. Renee was in Basal.

His bride was in hell.

Danny’s body began to shake.