Resurrection 57Posted: November 28, 2016
This is a chapter of the book I am writing for NaNoWriMo. If you want to read it from the start, click here for the chapter index.
The interview room at the Silerville PD was stark. It had a solid metal grey painted door with a six-inch square, wired glass window. The walls were chipped acoustic tiles. The ceiling was as well, though they were in better shape. There was a heavy metal table with a mental loop welded to the top and three chairs, two padded office chairs and a solid metal. The table, metal chair and door had all been painted many times, judging by the variety of blacks and greys revealed by the deep gouges. No doubt the result of angry fits by the detained.
Harlan walked J.W. into the station, still handcuffed, directing him with his hand on J.W’s shoulder. He marched him into the interview, sat him in the metal chair, his hands still cuffed behind him.
“Excuse me, could you remove the cuffs?” J.W. asked. He couldn’t understand why he had been arrested. The whole thing made no sense. He was the one who called it in.
“You just wait here, preacher, the Chief wants to talk to you.” Harlan replied, then left. J.W. could hear the door lock behind him.
J.W.’s head was reeling. Could they think he killed the deputy? Heck, he didn’t even own a gun. This is silly. Certainly once the Chief talks to him, this will all get cleared up. They’re probably just upset about Canada. J.W. didn’t know Canada more than just to say hello, he had seen him around town, and he certainly had no reason to wish him harm.
He had trouble getting the scene of the body out of his mind. When he opened the door to the cruiser and the dome light came on, all he could see was blood and gore. Even now when he thought about it, he got the weird taste of metal in the back of his mouth like he was going to be sick. Ed Reeves wasn’t a hunter, so J.W. had never hunted, never gutted a deer or rabbit. He had never experienced anything like it.
J.W. noted the location of the small metal trash can in case he needed to use it.
The Chief was certainly taking his time in coming in, though J.W. had no way to tell how long it had been. As every imagined minute passed by, his thoughts became more worrisome. What if this ends up like one of those true crime mysteries on TV, the ones where they arrest the wrong guy and make up evidence? J.W. began to pray under his breath.
Lord, I have no idea what is going on here, but I know you do. I trust you will keep me safe as you always have. Lord, I’m scared but I’m trying to trust in you. You Word says “Fear not for I am with you always.” Thank you, Lord, that you’re in this room with me, right now. Thank you for being my strong protector.
Lord, give me some peace and patience as this all works out. I know you have a plan.
Please comfort Officer Canada’s family, the other police officers and Chief Dalton. Give them wisdom and insight as they investigate this terrible crime.
Lord, you gave favor to Paul before the King Agrippa, so now I ask you to give me favor in the eyes of these good men and women. Let them see the truth. Amen.
J.W. felt a renewed peace after he prayed. He practiced this often. When he was worried about something, he prayed. Sometimes he walked and prayed, mumbling as he walked. Suzanna used to kid him that anyone who saw him would think he was crazy. When he was particularly fearful, like when Claire was sick and might have pneumonia, he would walk for an hour or more, praying until he felt peace. His prayers weren’t so much to get God on his side as to get to a place where he had God’s perspective.
God has it all under control, whether J.W. “felt” like it or not. If he could just get his heart to accept that fact, the fear would go away.
J.W. finally heard the lock on the door turn and open. Dalton and Harlan entered the room. Dalton had been at the station for more than an hour, he was intended for J.W. to sweat a bit to loosen him up for interrogation. It had also given him a chance to prepare his questions.