The Sanctuary

21

THE PILLS THE warden gave Danny were a sedative, a powerful narcotic that began to pull at his mind within ten minutes. Not a numbing drug, but a sleeping agent, which made sense if Danny understood the warden’s intentions as well-meaning. He’d been through a nightmare. It would be good for him to sleep it off so that he could face whatever came the next day.

But Danny could not understand any such benevolence on Marshall Pape’s part. Or could he? Yes, actually he could. From Pape’s point of view, everything he was doing was well-meaning. There was simply a disparity between his and Danny’s understanding of well. In Pape’s world, it would do Danny well to conform to the punishment he’d earned. Breaking Danny would do the world well. Any suffering was well deserved, as was the suffering of every member in this sanctuary.

These were the thoughts that mumbled through Danny’s mind as he sat on the upper bunk, looking at Godfrey, who watched him with the gentle eyes of a man who knew more than he was willing to say.

“He wants you out cold. I can see it in your eyes,” Godfrey said, reaching for one of his books on the locker. “I don’t know what you’ve done, Priest, but I’ve never seen the warden so fixated on breaking a man, not in the first week.” Godfrey faced him. “So tell me, what did you really do?”

The older man’s image grew fuzzy for a moment, then came back into clear focus. “I told you. I killed some people.”

“No, that’s not it. There’s something else. I don’t know what, but you did indeed truly cross the wrong man. The question is, why does the warden want you out cold now? I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, but I’ve never seen him help an inmate sleep.”

Danny had been transferred to the prison eight days earlier, and in the space of that week he had spent two days in the hole, two days in deep meditation, and two days in the infirmary, leaving him only one day in general population—this all without so much as lifting a finger or raising his voice to harm a soul.

But that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it? Like a loving father, the warden meant to flush out all of Danny’s deepest, darkest, most violent impulses and lay them bare in the light of his own justice, so that Danny might be transformed into the kind of man who never again deviated from society’s rules.

And tonight that loving father had given him two pills to put him to sleep.

“He wants to break me,” Danny said.

“Break you from what?”

“I used to kill my enemies.” The drug was flooding his veins now, pulling his mind lower into darkness.

“He wants to break you from killing your enemies?”

Danny felt his head shaking, slowly—no. He put his hand on the edge of the mattress to steady himself.

“I took a vow to love my enemies,” he said. His tongue felt thick. “I don’t think he likes that.”

Godfrey held his eyes steady. When he spoke his voice was knowing. “So he wants you to expose you. The bastard wants to justify his punishment of you by making you do it again. He wants to turn you back into a monster in his monster factory.”

It wasn’t a new thought for Danny, but hearing it so clearly, he felt a stab of panic penetrate his foggy mind.

“But darkness can’t drive out darkness, only light can do that,” Godfrey said. “Hate can’t drive out hate, only love can do that. Martin Luther King said that.”

“Yes,” Danny remembered saying.

And then he remembered nothing. Not what, if anything, Godfrey said next. Not lying down, not falling asleep.

He wasn’t even aware that he was on his bunk, dead to Basal, drifting through a peaceful world in which he had no enemies. Time drifted by, bringing with it vague images and whispers that were gone the moment they appeared. From the fog emerged a vision.

Peter was there, smiling, holding out a plate with chocolate cake on it. Where, Danny didn’t know—just there, right in front of him. Beaming.

“Do you want some, Danny? If you’re good you can come to my room and we can eat some cake.”

“I would like that, Peter. I would like that very much.”

“I will never hurt a girl again, Danny.”

It was a strange proclamation, but not so strange in the fabric of a dream.

“Did you hurt her?” Danny asked.

“The warden said I did.” Tears flooded the boy’s eyes. “I don’t want to go back into the room.”

Danny felt a lump rise in his throat. He reached out and laid his hand on the side of Peter’s head. Drew his thumb over the boy’s temple. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let that happen.”

The smile returned to Peter’s face. He held up the chocolate cake. “It’s okay, Danny, we can eat cake now. I’m good now.”

Another voice spoke. “Danny?” The female voice was etched into his mind for all time.

He turned and saw that Renee was standing there, in his dream, looking at him with her clear eyes. Immediately that ancient warmth of hope and affection flooded his chest, swelling through his throat and face.

In his mind he was running for her, throwing his arms around her and swinging her through the air as she laughed.

Why haven’t you done that, Danny? Why haven’t you called her and wept on her shoulder and told her how deep the ache in your heart runs?

Then he saw her face and his heart froze. There were tears on her cheeks.

“Danny,” she said. “I can’t find you, Danny.”

“I’m here, darling! Right here!”

She stared at him and swallowed deeply. “Are you doing well?”

Yes! he wanted to say. But he couldn’t form the word.

“And are they treating you well?”

Yes, my darling. Yes! But he couldn’t speak. Because in truth he wasn’t well. In truth he was falling. In truth he was melting down.

Standing there in his dream, facing the woman he loved more than his own life, he realized that he was afraid. That he was terrified. That he was only a shell of a man, powerless to save Renee.

Overcome by sorrow and unable to find solace through meditation because of the drugs, Danny began to cry.