Epilogue

 

Kingston Penitentiary, Ontario, Canada—

nine months later.

 

Harry matched the stride of the prison guards on either side of him and kept his eyes straight ahead. Shouted profanities followed him down the corridor.

How soundproof were the visiting rooms?

Sweat tickled under his hairline. He was crazy to have agreed to this. If she planned to curse him out, she had the right. He’d take it in silence. But it would hurt more than the garbage he heard daily, because it came from her.

The guards stopped. “In here, Silver. One sign of distress from the lady and you’re back in your cell.”

Harry stepped inside. Rooms for closed visits didn’t have to be very big. Two tables, chairs, and a wall with a Plexiglas divider didn’t take much space.

On the other side of the barrier, Tracey rose half-way to her feet, but settled back in her chair. One downward glance at his prison clothing, then her eyes searched his face. Her lips quivered and she squeezed them shut.

Behind him, the door slammed. The sound unlocked his joints and he slid into his seat. What am I doing? He pushed his lips into a smile. “Hello, Tracey.”

She looked tired, but her eyes had the same blue sparkle. She still wore her hair long. Today it was piled in a golden mass on top of her head, and it shone in the harsh lighting. Her business-casual jacket curved in all the right places.

He watched her study the Plexiglas between them, the metal grill that let their voices pass. She stared at the table for a moment, then seemed to summon strength to meet his eyes.

“Oh, Harry.” Her soft words held regret. Not hate, not revulsion.

A bit of the stiffness left him, but shame filled its place. He took refuge in a joke. “Sorry about the décor.”

One corner of her mouth quirked. “How are they treating you?”

“Better than I deserve, most of the time.” The inmates delivering his meals didn’t throw as much garbage—verbal or physical—through his bars as at first. “The shrink comes by once a month to make sure I haven’t cracked up. I can see the chaplain or my lawyer. Other than that, I do a lot of reading and staring at the walls.”

He leaned his forearms on the table and folded his hands loosely. Look relaxed. “It’s good to see you—especially in here. But why did you come?”

Tracey sighed. “You still have to meet things head-on, don’t you? I’ve been speaking at a conference in Toronto.”

“Close, but not next door. How long a drive did you have?”

“A bit over three hours, not so bad. And my rental has GPS.”

He could lose himself in those blue eyes. “You still haven’t told me why.”

“I’m hoping you’ll tell me.” She took a deep breath. “Did Granddad tell you my husband and I are missionaries in Latvia?”

Harry nodded, his lips twisting in a wry grin. “For an agnostic Jew, he was very proud of you.”

“He phoned me overseas the day before he died, and asked me to pray for you. His voice was so weak I could barely hear him.”

Emotion clogged Harry’s throat. “After he came to see me? Trace, I was so hard on him, and he was in no shape to travel.”

What would he see in her face now? He was afraid to know, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Surprisingly, her expression didn’t change.

She nodded slowly. “He said he couldn’t help you himself. He loved you, Harry.” She tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “The doctors had warned us he hadn’t long to live, but... well, you probably did speed it along.”

Harry accepted her verdict in silence. Finally he ventured, “So did you pray for me?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

He frowned. “Tracey, do you know what I’ve done?” She’d been out of the country, after all.

She gave a sad smile. “I know. Granddad didn’t tell me much, only that you were going to jail, that you’d done something terrible. I guess he wanted to spare my feelings. I asked my best friend to find out the details. She’s been keeping me updated ever since. She thinks I’m nuts.”

One hand touched her golden hair. “Always blond women around the age I was when we broke up...” Colour flooded her face. “Were you really killing me?”

Harry’s palms hit the table and he started up from his chair. On the other side of the glass, Tracey went pale. The sight twisted something in Harry’s heart, and he slumped into his seat.

He hated himself for being a coward, but what could he say? The same question had tortured him for months. He’d been able to avoid it until it came from Tracey’s own lips.

If he signalled the guards, demanded they escort him back to his cell... but they’d probably just watch him squirm.

“Harry, after the hoops I had to jump through to get approved for this visit, and then a full body scan to get into the building, I’m not leaving without an answer. You did agree to see me.”

Only because his case officer said Tracey was so insistent, and because the chaplain thought it was a good idea.

His heart constricted, shrink-wrapped with shame. “I don’t know.” He spoke shakily to the table, not daring to look at her face. “Maybe they attracted me because of you, but what I did to them...”

He shuffled his feet under the chair. “I never told you about my mother. When she became a Christian, Dad took it as betrayal. It destroyed our family.” He spoke in a detached voice, distancing himself from the old pain. He was feeling enough right now.

“That day in the apartment—when you told me you were a Christian—it nearly killed me. The same thing was starting all over again. I blamed God for the hurt, and I blamed you. Maybe they reminded me of what we’d had together, what I blamed you for destroying. Maybe my victims were surrogates for my anger.”

Harry forced himself to meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I can’t ask you to forgive this. You’d better go.”

Tracey leaned forward. “I prayed for you as Granddad asked. Before and after I learned what you’d done. You wouldn’t have wanted me to, but I did. Tell me—” her voice sharpened. “You escaped, then were recaptured. What happened on June 17th last year?”

He sat straighter. “Why?”

“I’d been praying for you off and on, then suddenly you were on my mind all the time. On the 17th, it was so strong I fasted and prayed all day. When the need passed, I stopped. I accept your feelings about Christianity, but tell me what happened.”

Harry swallowed, thinking of the last time they’d been together, when he’d so vividly expressed those feelings. Another of the many layers in his mountain of regret. He studied his palms. Slowly, his voice rough with emotion, he told her what had happened in the cottage, how his hostage had helped him find the way to salvation.

Looking up, he said simply, “Thank you for praying.”

A tear trembled on Tracey’s eyelashes. “I didn’t want to at first.” She gave a faint smile. “It took courage to give yourself up and return to prison.”

Harry moved his hands in a deprecating gesture. “When I thought it through, there wasn’t much choice. And I found out later I was never intended to reach my destination. A quick splash in the night, and the ship keeps sailing.”

Tracey gasped, but he shrugged and went on. “The drug dealer makes some extra money from me, then removes a witness who can identify him. Sweet, from his point of view.”

Her brows pulled together. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but wouldn’t it have been simpler for him to have you killed in prison?”

“Maybe it seemed more cruel to let me get freedom in sight before I died. This guy gives ‘no pain, no gain’ a whole new twist.”

“That’s horrible. I suppose you could say it was Divine intervention, though.”

He nodded. “Ruth said the same thing. They came to visit me—she and her husband—when I was shipped back to Halifax for trial. Ruth said it was part of her healing process.”

“They sound like amazing people.”

“They still pray for me, and we write. Knowing someone on the outside cares helps a lot. There’s no love lost for me in here.”

He looked away. “I have a hard time with pornography. Some of the other inmates—and a few guards—toss magazines into my cell. I fight it, but everyone knows when I fall.”

Tracey grimaced. “So nobody believes your faith is sincere?”

“One guard’s starting to, and the chaplain’s been great. We’re working through an intensive Bible study series together. The psychologists tell me I’ll never be rehabilitated—that the behaviour pattern will always be there waiting to break out. Like it’s an addiction.”

Tracey’s lips twitched. “They don’t often include God in their equations.”

“No, but they have some serious numbers to back them up. I know God did something—it was a blond policewoman I surrendered to, and I was fine—but that might have been a one-time miracle.” He slid a finger around the inside of his collar. “Not that I’ll have a chance to find out. The best I can hope for is to get out of solitary and into a protected custody unit. Then at least I’ll have some company. Right now I even exercise alone.”

Behind him, the door latch clicked. “Time’s up.”

Time. Back to his cell—his cage. Harry tried to keep his face impassive as he got up. “Tracey, your coming to see me means more than I can say. Thank you so much.”

She was on her feet too, tears in her eyes as she pressed one palm flat against the Plexiglas barrier. “May I write to you?”

Harry brought his hand to rest opposite hers. “I’d appreciate that. Take care, and—God bless you.”