11-29-2013, 03:06 PM
The door slammed shut behind him just after a pair of sweat pants was shoved in his arms. He couldn't have been happier if they had been kingly robes. He pulled them up and laced up the drawstring to keep them snug around his waist.
"You get pinched for stealing JELLO?"
He was greeted by the voice of the highly entertained man with whom Jensen would share the next four hours of his life. He looked down at himself, even with sweat pants he was still barefoot in a thin hospital gown. He probably was quite the sight to behold. Just wait until the guy saw blue urine.
"Something like that, my brother,"
his answer was laden with contemplation while still unburdened by fear. He'd been given the chance to speak with Jessika, and she assured him he would be looked after, but Jensen was not worried. His conscience was clear though his path was not. This was probably the worst legal trouble he could possibly be in, accused and arrested for three murders, but he trusted in the knowledge that he had a task to do, and God would keep him safe until it was accomplished. There was only one death on his heart, and while the blight was erased from the Lamb's Book of Life, Jensen's true submission to the Lord's will included a promise to make up for the sin's he had committed until now.
Jensen leaned his head against the wall. The bunk was thin and squeaky, but he tried to remain still and meditate his focus on singularity. "This is all just a mistake,"
he said. He was met with rolling laughter from the bunk above.
"Yeah! Mine's just a mistake too."
Jensen smiled to himself.
Their conversation filled the next two hours. When finally a booming mechanism unlocked the door and an officer entered, he found two men bedside and on their knees: the first face down against the mattress, the second alongside and one arm wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders. The second time the officer called his name, Jensen looked up and smiled. He pat Yakov on the back, whispered a few more words of encouragement and pushed to his feet.
"But I didn't request a lawyer,"
he answered, but the officer didn't seem interested. He was doing what he was told, and that included waving Jensen on down the hall. So Jensen offered his wrists without complaint and followed. The officer pulled handcuffs from his belt, and Jensen smiled. "You don't happen to have an extra pair of socks in one of those pouches, do you?"
Ah. Well, he didn't really expect him to.
He didn't recognize the man at the table. He was mid to late twenties, perhaps, and sharply dressed. Impressively dressed, actually. There was no way he could afford counsel like this, but he had a feeling this was Jessika's doing. She could conjure a palm tree in a snow storm.
He rubbed his wrists and sat with a grimace. The chill of a metal chair seeped through his pants.
So this was one of Jessika's miracles. Jensen shook his head, unobjecting to the representation. There was trusting in God, and then there was trusting in God. A man doesn't tred water in a rainstorm then ignore the life raft sent from upstream.
Then, a humid presence pressed in on the edge of his mind. A vice that gripped his heart and wanted to squeeze it from his ribcage. It came from Jon. And Jensen blinked in awe, and for the first time, he saw an addition to the room that seemed to emerge from him. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Like a legion of angels bellowing praise across the horizon.
Likely Jon would assume his reaction to be a response to an aggressive monologue, but in fact, it was the opposite. Jensen wholeheartedly agreed. He was going to tell Jon the truth. Every last unbelievable ounce of it.
He shifted so to fold his hands on the table and lean forward. Trusting in God did not eliminate fear, but finally! acceptance poured through his veins, and love undeserved gave him courage.
"First I wish to express my gratitude, Mr. Little Bird, for your swift call to action. I will do what I can to ease your job, although I have a feeling the truth you seek will only complicate matters."
He spoke gently despite the confidence growing behind his eyes. Jon had a way about his oration that was moving and commanding, but Jensen's was hypnotic and harmonious and equally as compelling.
"First I will tell you what I told them.. which was entirely the truth. We were on the street when gunshots broke the night. I urged Jessika indoors while I ran toward it. They were young men. Children, really, and I feared the worst. Three were down, and one was yet alive. To him I knelt and prayed. Soon after, he got up, less injured and more rattled with shock, and next I knew I woke in the ER."
He took a breath and a tight, tired smile humbled his expression. It was now time for what really happened. "Would you believe me if I said an old woman killed those boys? That I scared her off the fourth one and she flew away?"
Cords, life, and God's very essence surrounded them like a beautiful globe of light. He tried to ignore it for now, but the power echoed on Jensen's soul. Somehow he refrained from touching it just yet.
"The boy's throat was largely ... gone. He was minutes from dying, and as I sat with him, I.. did.. something."
His lids slid low, and reverence softened his tone to barely a whisper. "And by the grace of God he walked away without a scratch on him."
He looked back up and tried to read Jon's expression, but the man was a stone wall. Meanwhile, Jensen looked to the ceiling. It was time.
He reached for the light, until it stretched his soul with brilliant pain.
"Thank-you,"
Jensen praised, barely whispering the praise aloud. Though for what, for now, his praise was undefined.
"You get pinched for stealing JELLO?"
He was greeted by the voice of the highly entertained man with whom Jensen would share the next four hours of his life. He looked down at himself, even with sweat pants he was still barefoot in a thin hospital gown. He probably was quite the sight to behold. Just wait until the guy saw blue urine.
"Something like that, my brother,"
his answer was laden with contemplation while still unburdened by fear. He'd been given the chance to speak with Jessika, and she assured him he would be looked after, but Jensen was not worried. His conscience was clear though his path was not. This was probably the worst legal trouble he could possibly be in, accused and arrested for three murders, but he trusted in the knowledge that he had a task to do, and God would keep him safe until it was accomplished. There was only one death on his heart, and while the blight was erased from the Lamb's Book of Life, Jensen's true submission to the Lord's will included a promise to make up for the sin's he had committed until now.
Jensen leaned his head against the wall. The bunk was thin and squeaky, but he tried to remain still and meditate his focus on singularity. "This is all just a mistake,"
he said. He was met with rolling laughter from the bunk above.
"Yeah! Mine's just a mistake too."
Jensen smiled to himself.
Their conversation filled the next two hours. When finally a booming mechanism unlocked the door and an officer entered, he found two men bedside and on their knees: the first face down against the mattress, the second alongside and one arm wrapped comfortingly around his shoulders. The second time the officer called his name, Jensen looked up and smiled. He pat Yakov on the back, whispered a few more words of encouragement and pushed to his feet.
"But I didn't request a lawyer,"
he answered, but the officer didn't seem interested. He was doing what he was told, and that included waving Jensen on down the hall. So Jensen offered his wrists without complaint and followed. The officer pulled handcuffs from his belt, and Jensen smiled. "You don't happen to have an extra pair of socks in one of those pouches, do you?"
Ah. Well, he didn't really expect him to.
He didn't recognize the man at the table. He was mid to late twenties, perhaps, and sharply dressed. Impressively dressed, actually. There was no way he could afford counsel like this, but he had a feeling this was Jessika's doing. She could conjure a palm tree in a snow storm.
He rubbed his wrists and sat with a grimace. The chill of a metal chair seeped through his pants.
So this was one of Jessika's miracles. Jensen shook his head, unobjecting to the representation. There was trusting in God, and then there was trusting in God. A man doesn't tred water in a rainstorm then ignore the life raft sent from upstream.
Then, a humid presence pressed in on the edge of his mind. A vice that gripped his heart and wanted to squeeze it from his ribcage. It came from Jon. And Jensen blinked in awe, and for the first time, he saw an addition to the room that seemed to emerge from him. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Like a legion of angels bellowing praise across the horizon.
Likely Jon would assume his reaction to be a response to an aggressive monologue, but in fact, it was the opposite. Jensen wholeheartedly agreed. He was going to tell Jon the truth. Every last unbelievable ounce of it.
He shifted so to fold his hands on the table and lean forward. Trusting in God did not eliminate fear, but finally! acceptance poured through his veins, and love undeserved gave him courage.
"First I wish to express my gratitude, Mr. Little Bird, for your swift call to action. I will do what I can to ease your job, although I have a feeling the truth you seek will only complicate matters."
He spoke gently despite the confidence growing behind his eyes. Jon had a way about his oration that was moving and commanding, but Jensen's was hypnotic and harmonious and equally as compelling.
"First I will tell you what I told them.. which was entirely the truth. We were on the street when gunshots broke the night. I urged Jessika indoors while I ran toward it. They were young men. Children, really, and I feared the worst. Three were down, and one was yet alive. To him I knelt and prayed. Soon after, he got up, less injured and more rattled with shock, and next I knew I woke in the ER."
He took a breath and a tight, tired smile humbled his expression. It was now time for what really happened. "Would you believe me if I said an old woman killed those boys? That I scared her off the fourth one and she flew away?"
Cords, life, and God's very essence surrounded them like a beautiful globe of light. He tried to ignore it for now, but the power echoed on Jensen's soul. Somehow he refrained from touching it just yet.
"The boy's throat was largely ... gone. He was minutes from dying, and as I sat with him, I.. did.. something."
His lids slid low, and reverence softened his tone to barely a whisper. "And by the grace of God he walked away without a scratch on him."
He looked back up and tried to read Jon's expression, but the man was a stone wall. Meanwhile, Jensen looked to the ceiling. It was time.
He reached for the light, until it stretched his soul with brilliant pain.
"Thank-you,"
Jensen praised, barely whispering the praise aloud. Though for what, for now, his praise was undefined.