CHAPTER TWENTY TWO - In Limbo

This is Chapter 22 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

“Little children, keep yourselves from idols.”

1^st John 5:21

Williams/Chapman Agency Santa Monica Boulevard-1978. Charlie Chapman was Betty’s partner for thirty years. Now he was agency head and his client, Josh Smythe sat in front of his desk. Charlie slapped his hand on top of a stack of scripts two feet high.

“Josh, these scripts represent the finest writers, producers, and directors in the business. And all of the people behind these projects want you.” 

Josh looked at the stack of scripts as he sipped his bottle water. “That’s quite a stack, Charlie. It looks like the Capitol Records Building.” 

Charlie looked at him evenly. “You haven’t made a picture in three years. For most stars, that’s professional suicide. People forget you. Fans are fickle. Of course, in your case, you are as hot as ever.”

“I’m flattered Charlie, I really am.”

Charlie walked over to his big, picture window and looked out over Century City. Being on the 20^th floor offered a wide vista of concrete, glass towers, mountains and brown sky.

“I really need to move the offices to the west side of the building so I can see the ocean,” he lamented.

“Have you read all of those scripts, Charlie?”

“Every one of them. Three times over.”

“What’s your recommendation?”

 Charlie turned from the window and picked up the script that lay on top. “Here’s one about Jake La Motta, the boxer. Marty Scorsese is slated to direct.  It’s a super part, Josh.” 

Josh’s eyes focused out the window as he took another sip of water. “What else?”

“Wayne Hampton is working on a re-make of “The Third Man”. He even has Joseph Cotton and Orson Welles on board for cameos.”

“What else?” asked Josh.

 Charlie picked up a script about twice the size of the others. “Irwin Allen’s got a disaster film to end them all. It’s about a nuclear war and it will have an all star cast. He wants to cast the top ten roles with Oscar winners. Irwin’s talking about James Cagney playing the President. Cagney hasn’t made a film in eighteen years. This would be history, Josh. It’s a prestigious film. And Allen’s guaranteeing you eight million dollars, plus points. I’m not sure if Newman and McQueen got that much for “Towering Inferno.”  Peanuts compared to this.” 

Josh stifled a yawn. “Nuclear war. I guess that’s a movie asking the critics to refrain from using the word “bomb” in their reviews. Charlie, I appreciate your time, but money and prestige are no longer inducements. There’s just nothing there that excites me.”

Charlie flopped down in his plush chair, totally defeated. He had high hopes that the disaster film would intrigue Josh.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Josh. You’ve done it all. You’re far from forty, and you’re acting like your life is over.”

 Josh gave a sober nod. “I know Charlie. I thought after I laid off for a couple of years, some role would come up and slap me on the face. I would like to do another film, really. I’m just a little choosy.”

“Choosy,” Charlie sighed. “Josh, if I could write you a part, I would. I’ll keep looking for you, but this stack here is the cream of the crop. Why don’t you take some of these scripts and give them a look?” 

Josh shrugged. “I could use some reading material on the plane. Zela wants to visit the Holy Land, so we’re headed over there. I want to see some friends in Cairo. I met them when we were shooting “Sky Rockets”. He is an Israeli living in Cairo. Can you believe that? His wife is Egyptian.” Charlie’s mind was on the sexy Zela. She looked like a model, the kind that attracted Josh, but he didn’t think she had ever modeled before.

“I didn’t realize Zela was religious.”

“She’s not. She saw “Roots” on TV and now she wants to trace her own roots.” Josh had met Zela at a disco near Culver City. She was an exotic beauty with a good sense of humor. What really attracted Josh was, she didn’t seem to care that he was a big star.

“Sounds like you’ve finally found someone,” said Charlie, probing. 

Josh shrugged again. “Zela’s fun. She’s still all shiny and new to me.” Josh got up and grabbed two or three scripts. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll just retire from show business, Charlie.”

He left a pale and shaken Charlie popping a valium and chasing it with a shot of bourbon.

The streets were dusty and dirty. It was old Jerusalem and Zela was having a ball.

“Look Josh, that stone building over there must be two thousand years old! Just think of the people who walked by it.”

“Yeah, it’s old alright.”

This had been a big mistake. Josh was bored out of his mind. Zela was discovering her ancestry and he was itching to get to Egypt. The Wailing Wall did not impress him. The idea that Jesus and the apostles used to hang out in this area did not intrigue him.

When he shot “Sky Rockets”, he played an Israeli pilot. To research his role, he took flying lessons from Youssari, a commander in the Israeli Army. Josh spent a lot of time with Youssari and his Egyptian wife during the filming. They had visited Josh in Los Angeles, bringing their kids to see Disneyland.

Josh was not close to anyone. He kept his distance with most people. Even his affairs were distant. Few and far between. Youssari and his family were probably his closest friends and they were half a world away. Maybe that was why Josh liked that. He could keep his distance.

“Josh, look!” Zela exclaimed. “There’s the temple!” She took his hand and dragged him down the narrow street. There was a gauntlet of vendors selling trinkets and Zela stopped short of the temple entrance to buy some jewelry.

“That’s your third Star of David,” he observed dryly. Zela’s dark beauty had a true glow.

“Isn’t it exquisite?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said with no enthusiasm.

“I’ll give it to my aunt Letka.” She pulled him towards the entrance.

“Hold on Zela.”

“What is it?”

 Josh pulled a wad of bills out of his wallet. “You are really enjoying yourself. Here’s a plenty of money to keep you busy.” He started back up the dusty road. Zela couldn’t keep the surprise off her face.

“Josh? Where are you going?”

“Back to the hotel. I’ve got to make a phone call.”

“But I thought you were having fun.”

“You know the old saying. Too much fun makes Josh a dull boy.” He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the hurt on her face. Josh walked back to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “I need to call Youssari. And no, I’m not having fun. This is your history, your people, Zela. I want you to have a good time discovering your roots.” Her eyes grew wet. She gestured at the street activity.

“Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”

 Josh looked around at the history that surrounded them. “To a boy from New Mexico? No.” He touched her gently under the chin. “Enjoy yourself, Zela. We’ll have dinner later.”

The next day, Josh flew to Egypt, leaving Zela with enough money to stay in Jerusalem for three months. While he was in Cairo, Zela flew back to Los Angeles and moved out of Josh’s Malibu house.

Solomon Branch rolled the smoking sausages over the grill. The Bee Gees played loudly from the pool cabana and competed with the hum of the partygoers. Solomon’s wife, Sharon, quietly came up behind him and gave him a hug.

“Happy Birthday, Darling.” Solomon pecked her on the cheek.

“I enjoy being fifty seven with you,” she said. Sharon took a long fork from him and started moving sausages around the grill. “I’ll take care of these. You go have fun.”

“Hey Sol!” shouted Jerry. “You got any Glenn Miller? Doc Wilson said he’s leaving if you play “How Deep Is Your Love” one more time.”

 Doc Wilson came out of the house with a plate of chips and hamburger buns. “Don’t believe him, Solomon. I love the Bee Gees.” With a hint of sarcasm, Doc Wilson added, “I saw “Saturday Night Fever” seven times.”

Solomon’s fourteen-year-old daughter, Trisha, who sat on the edge of the pool, gave a low, impressed whistle.

“Really Doc? I’ve only seen it three times. Isn’t John Travolta creamy?”

“Yeah, creamy,” Doc replied. Trisha looked across the pool to the man in the white suit.

“Now there’s my John Travolta!” The man in the white suit tossed his jacket behind him and struck a dance pose like the famous poster for “Saturday Night Fever”. As he posed, Goldie handed Judd his cane. 

“You better take this Mr. Travolta, before you fall.” 

Judd took his hand off the bar and shifted his weight to the cane. He limped over to a lounge chair by the pool. Goldie handed him a diet soda.

“Here, don’t spill it on your suit.”

“Yes ma’am,” Judd said obediently. Goldie sat by him and watched the festive activity around them.

“I need a decision Judd. I’m flying to New York tonight to cast a sit-com. I can’t wait much longer.” 

Judd shouted across the pool to Solomon’s daughter. “Hey Trish! Could you do an old man a favor and bring us some of those tortilla chips over on the  table?”

The girl grabbed a large plate of chips and hot sauce off the buffet table. She skipped around the guests, balancing the large plate and bowl of sauce. “Here you are Uncle Judd. Do you like my new bathing suit?” She twirled her colt-like legs, modeling her blue, one-piece suit.

“You’ll break John Travolta’s heart someday,” said Judd. “What do you think, Goldie?”

“Definitely a heart breaker,” she said.

Trisha spotted Jerry who was just inside the living room filing through the record albums.

“Hey Jerry. I’m coming in there to break your heart!” She dove into the pool and swam gracefully across it towards the house. 

Judd laughed softly to himself. “Kids.”

 Goldie nudged him. “You’re a kid yourself. You keep avoiding me.” 

Judd put his hand on her arm. “Sorry. I’m still thinking about your proposal.”

“I heard Jerry is going to be the stunt coordinator on that new Clint Eastwood film,” said Goldie.

“Yes, he’s going to Arizona next week I think. Eastwood is really going to like him.”

“He should. You trained him.”

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the activity around the pool.

“Solomon’s offered me a position at his stunt school.”

“That would be good.”

“But I’m still thinking about your proposal.”

“It’s your decision, Judd.” He sat in silence. A sharp pain shot up his leg. The nerves were still sensitive, even after his long recovery.

“The logical choice is to stay in the business. I can still be a stunt coordinator.”

“Yes you can,” Goldie agreed.

“On the other hand, with this bum leg, it wouldn’t be the same.” His eyes scanned the partygoers as he thought out loud. “And lecturing at Solomon’s ranch wouldn’t be the same either.”

Goldie had offered Judd a job with her casting company. He wasn’t much of an actor, but he had displayed a good eye for talent. Two years before, he’d suggested Trisha for the role of William Devane’s daughter in “Countdown to Armageddon”. Trisha proved to be a natural and got great reviews. To Solomon’s relief, his daughter wasn’t interested in pursuing an acting career. For Trish, pursuing boys and driving lessons were her main interests.

When Judd saw an unknown Christopher Walken in a play in New York, he told Goldie that he was destined for stardom. Judd had been right. Walken was a hot commodity in Hollywood, having wowed the critics with his performance in “The Deer Hunter”.

“So what do you think? Would you like to try your hand in the casting game?” Judd tried to ignore the pain shooting up his leg. He tried to avoid painkillers and kept it at low doses. It was getting harder.

“Go on to New York, Goldie. I’m not sure what I want to do.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “But I’d sure like to have you up there with me.”

 He gave her an apologetic shrug. “Sorry to leave you hanging.” She patted his knee lightly, not realizing it was sending new tremors of pain up his leg.

“I know you’ll make the right decision Judd.”

What he didn’t want to tell her was, he felt that her offer was an act of charity. Judd Wagner was a self-made man. He didn’t need her or anyone else to give him something he hadn’t earned. He would stick with the stunt world and ignore the pain rampaging through his body.

Senta sat up in bed, spooning hot soup down her wounded throat. The bandage would be coming off in a couple of days and she was now able to talk without breaking the stitches. The prison nurse brought her a letter.

“You’ve got mail, Senta.” Senta nodded, still not confident enough to do much talking. She took the letter and saw that it was from Paul. She put down her spoon and opened the letter.

DEAR SENTA,

I HOPE YOUR RECOVERY IS GOING WELL. YOU DON’T KNOW HOW HAPPY I WAS TO FIND OUT ABOUT YOUR BAPTISM. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE ANGELS SINGING EVERYWHERE. ANNA IS A REAL SWEETHEART. SINCE YOU’RE LAID UP, ZEKE AND I HAVE BEEN VISITING HER AND PRAYING FOR HER TOO.

I’M GLAD THEY TRANSFERRED THAT WOMAN WHO TRIED TO CUT YOUR THROAT. SHE SOUNDED CRAZY. LET ME KNOW WHEN THE PRISON HOSPITAL RELEASES YOU AND WE’LL COME SEE YOU.

I SENT THOSE BOOKS YOU REQUESTED AND HOPE THE PRISON LIBRARY CAN PUT THEM TO GOOD USE. ZEKE ADDED ON TWO MORE THAT YOU MIGHT LIKE.

ANNA MIGHT HAVE TOLD YOU ABOUT THE FILM I’M WORKING ON. OUR WORKING TITLE IS “THE TEACHER”, BUT I STILL LIKE THE TITLE, “JESUS”. THE SCRIPT IS HARD TO WRITE. HOW CAN YOU IMPROVE ON THE BIBLE? BRETHERD HAMON, THE PRODUCER, KNOWS THE BIBLE BACKWARDS AND FORWARDS. SO FAR, HE LIKES WHAT I’VE WRITTEN. I’M TRYING TO STAY AS SCRIPTURAL AS POSSIBLE, BUT SOMETIMES YOU’VE GOT TO FILL IN THE BLANKS. GOLDIE HAMON IS THE CASTING DIRECTOR. WHEN THE SCRIPT IS FINISHED, SHE WANTS TO SEND IT TO AL PACINO, JOHN TRAVOLTA AND JOSH SMYTHE. SHE MIGHT EVEN SEND IT TO JEFF FENHOLT. HE TOURED AS JESUS IN “JESUS CHRIS:SUPERSTAR”. UNFORTUNATELY, THIS IS A LOW BUDGET PICTURE, BUT GOLDIE WOULD STILL LIKE TO GET A BIG STAR IF SHE COULD.

ANNA TELLS ME YOU COULD BE UP FOR PAROLE IN EIGHTEEN MONTHS. WE WILL KEEP PRAYING FOR YOU WHILE YOU’RE IN THERE. I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU, BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING THOSE WONDERFUL DISCOVERIES ABOUT GOD.

                                                                               KEEP CHRIST NEAR YOU,

                                                                                LOVE, PAUL

Senta put the letter down. Paul. What a good person. He’d stood by her even after she’d stolen from him and accused him of dealing drugs. Why didn’t she see his goodness back then? She had been so blind. But Senta had one objective. Get out of jail. Get out of jail and she would pay her brother Paul back. That’s what he was to her. A brother. Family. Something she’d never had.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - God in L.A.

This is Chapter 21 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.

Anna told her about life as a frustrated young mother. Her husband left her when they found out about Susan’s deafness. As she spoke, tears streamed down her face.

“She wasn’t minding me that day. Susan had gotten into some chocolate ice cream. I kept putting it back into the refrigerator. I went to do laundry. When I got back, she had chocolate all over her. I went crazy. I kicked her. I kicked her and she fell down the stairs.” Anna stopped talking. She was biting her lip. “I killed my little girl. She was so sweet. All she wanted was some chocolate ice cream.”

Senta felt her own tears stinging her eyes. Without thinking, she reached over and hugged Anna. And she held her.

“I will carry the guilt all my life, Senta. I can’t fix that. And I cry for my child every day.” Anna broke away from her and blinked back her tears. “But I know God has forgiven me, even if I can’t forgive myself at times. And I know that He’s taking care of my Susan…and I’m doing everything I can so I can see her in heaven.” 

Everything at the moment stopped. Senta felt a chill down her spine. Somehow she made a connection. For a flash, she felt the pain and rejection that little Susan felt. Maybe there was something to this Jesus who changed people’s lives. Like a runaway train, her life flashed before her. Her wasted, useless, tortured life. What was the purpose of it all? Suddenly, she could see clearly what Anna was talking about. In that moment, she totally understood her friend, Paul and how he had forgiven her. Senta smiled through her tears. The words flowed out of her mouth. 

“Anna…you’re right. This is a good place for you to be. Maybe God put you here through Susan…so He could talk to me.”

Doc Wilson had stayed behind in Canada while the movie company went back to Hollywood to finish the Billy Dee Williams picture. He consulted with the French doctors at the little Coeur De Salvation Hospital. He wanted to know all there was about Judd’s condition so that when he talked to him, he’d have the answers.

The French doctor had a rudimentary knowledge of English. He spoke to Doc in a halting manner.

“He will get feeling in his limbs. Your stuntman…uhm…minor spinal damage, a warning.”

 Doc Wilson nodded. “I understand.”

“If he continues his stunting…a slight bump will paralyze him from the neck down. Or it could kill him.” Doc Wilson kept nodding, wondering how he was going to tell Judd that his career was over. “His leg will heal, but he will walk with a limp.”

The doctor’s English was too weak to be medically technical, but Doc understood Judd’s condition.

The nurse adjusted the tubes that sent various fluids through Judd’s veins. She heard how the stuntman was injured. It had been a straight, two hundred-foot drop into icy water.

“What was the movie they were filming?” she’d asked a friend.

“I think it’s called “The Last Dove”. It stars Burt Reynolds and Billy Dee Williams.” Her friend told her.

Now, as the nurse stood over the broken body of Judd Wagner, she made a mental note to go see “The Last Dove” when it was released.

Since his movement was limited, she didn’t notice that he was now awake. His eyes had shifted to hers and the glass of water on the table.

“Are you thirsty, mon aimee?” She dumped the warm water and got ice from the hallway. She returned with a fresh glass of cold water and a straw.

“Your doctor friend is still here. He wanted me to call him when you wake up.” As she held the glass, Judd sucked the ice water down with extreme greed. He felt like he’d been lying in the Sahara for the past three weeks.

“What time is it?” he croaked. His eyes shifted to the nurse who had hurried out. He tried moving his finger. First things first. Nothing. He tried to wiggle  his toe. There just wasn’t any feeling at all. 

Doc Wilson walked in and closed the door. He was smiling.

“So you’re awake now.”

“Go ahead Doc. Tell me the worst. I’m prepared.” 

Doc’s smile was fixed on his face. “You’ll be getting your feeling back in a few days.” Judd closed his eyes. Relief flooded over him. He thought he’d done himself in good. The smile was still frozen on Doc’s face. There was something else.

“Don’t lie to me, Doc.”

“I’m not. Soon, you’ll get your feeling back.”

“I thought I felt a tingle in my left calf last night.”

 Doc nodded. “You probably did. Your right leg has a bad compound fracture. It might not heal the way you want it.”

“Am I going to lose it?”

“You don’t have to if you follow doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t like that smile on your face Doc. I’m going to get my feeling back and my leg is going to heal to a certain extent. What else? What are you not telling me?” 

The tight smile melted as Doc pulled up a chair and sat. “Judd, your career is over.” Judd felt a muscle spasm in his neck as he assimilated the bad news. My career is over. That can’t be.

“How about getting a second opinion?”

“Sorry Judd. Doctor Lennard and I concur. And that was the rosy prognosis.” Judd tried to nod, but his neck muscles weren’t responding.

The neon sign on the side of Loaves and Fishes proclaimed that “Price of the Cross” was in its seventeenth hit week. Originally scheduled for a six week run, Cory had to add performances and moved the next play, “Barefoot in the Park” to the experimental theatre downstairs.

The Christian Science Monitor and Crossroads had given Paul’s play rave reviews. The Los Angeles Times and California Magazine had ignored Loaves and Fishes, but because the word of mouth was so strong, they sent their religious editors to give it a look. Both editors came back with glowing praise, but the Times and Magazine would not send their theatre critics. There was a piece in the Calendar section of the Times about “Price of the Cross” including a brief interview with Paul. That was pretty much it.

Word of mouth was what really kept the ticket office humming. At first, it was mostly church people, but word spread throughout the theatre community. Several movie stars attended the performances, along with prominent politicians. A “whatever became of…” article on Cory was written up in the San Diego Union. This article was picked up nationally and before she knew it, Cory’s theatre was flooded with reservations from across the country.

“It’s not me they’re coming to see,” Cory told Paul. “It’s your play. I told you, it was dynamite.”

“I think it’s a combination of things,” said Paul. “Steve’s performance is brilliant. Zeke’s music captures the mood and sets the tone…

“…and your direction was creative, visually compelling, fresh and flawless,” Cory added, finishing his sentence for him.

He shook his head. “I was going to say the director didn’t do it any harm.”

Steve, Paul’s acting friend from Zaks had become a believer in the last year. He had been in most of the plays produced at Loaves and Fishes, sometimes starring in them, sometimes appearing in smaller, supporting roles. He married Billie, who was also baptized. Cory gave her a job as box office manager and head of ticket sales. Billie also appeared in shows as well. They both told Paul that just being around the Christians in the Loaves and Fishes company had influenced their views on God.

“I used to make fun of you behind your back at Zaks,” Steve confessed. “All of your religious talk was a joke to me. But when we went out and fed those people down in the barrio, my heart just melted, man. I could see what you were talking about when you spoke of Jesus’ love for the poor.” Paul had put a brotherly hand on Steve’s head and mussed his hair.

“I know you made fun of me at Zaks. But I also knew you had a good heart.”

One Friday night after a performance, Paul saw a familiar face backstage. It was Goldie Hamon from City of Angels Church.

“Hey Goldie, you finally made it”.

 Goldie’s deep, brown almond eyes were shining. “I think this is the best play you’ve ever written, Paul. I got cold chills.” Goldie was a casting director and kept a busy schedule.

“You must have been real busy casting movies, Goldie. I figured you’d be here on opening night.”

“Oh, I’ve been up in Canada seeing a friend of mine. He was hurt in an accident and I think he needed me."

“I hope it’s not serious,” said Paul.

“It’s not life threatening. He lost feeling in all of his limbs, but he’s getting it back and recuperating.”

“That’s good, Goldie. Zeke and I will pray for him.”

Paul noticed an older man standing at the door. He was tall and thin. He wore thick glasses and had a fringe of grey hair around his baldpate. Goldie turned to him.

“Oh Paul, this is my dad. Papa, this is Paul Morgan, the writer-director.” The man had a firm handshake. Paul could see where Goldie got her no nonsense, direct gaze.

“Mr. Morgan, an honor. I’m Bretherd Hamon.” The name jogged something in Paul’s memory.

“Are you an agent sir? I think I might have sent you one of my movie scripts to you.” 

Bretherd and Goldie laughed. “Hardly young man. I produce religious films for churches.” 

Then Paul remembered. “Oh. You did “Road to Salvation”.”

“Among others,” smiled Bretherd.

“And the one about the young man who was brainwashed by a religious cult…”

“”The Other Side of Heaven”,” said Goldie.

Paul pointed emphatically at her. “That was it! Those films were great Mr. Hamon. They were very inspiring. I saw “Road to Salvation” when I first attended City of Angels and ten people were baptized after seeing that one.”

“It’s nice to know we’re doing a good job.”

“Papa’s a pretty good preacher himself.” Goldie said proudly.

“I’d love to hear you sometime Mr. Hamon.”

“Thank you son. Now I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Anything sir, just name it.”

 Bretherd Hamon looked around the crowded backstage area. “Uh, is there some place we could talk in private?”

“Yes sir. My office is upstairs.”

Later, as the crew cleared the stage to ready it for the next evening’s show, Paul told Zeke of Bretherd Hamon’s proposal. They sat on the back row, watching the activity on stage.

“He’s going to produce a film on the life of Christ.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t done that one already,” said Zeke.

“He has. But this time he’s going all the way. This will be a film playing in regular cinemas across the country. He found a distributor of minor standing, but has a major link to the big theatres.”

“Wow, that’d be great Paul. If he could get Christ’s message into the mainstream like that…just think of how many people would see it.”

“No telling how many souls might be saved by seeing it.”

“Didn’t television do a mini-series on Christ last Easter?”

“Yeah, Mr. Hamon said the ratings went through the roof. That’s what convinced him to do this one.” 

 Zeke looked at him curiously. “So what does that have to do with us?”

“He already spoke to Cory. He wants to use our actors in key roles. After all, it will be a low budget production.”

“Makes sense.”

“And he wants me to write the script and direct it.” Zeke looked stunned. She tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out. Paul was smiling and nodding. “Can you stand it?”

“I can’t believe it,” said Zeke. “Four years ago you were flipping burgers at Zaks. Now you’ll be directing Al Pacino.”

“I don’t know about Al Pacino.”

“Hey, how about Jack Palance as Pontius Pilate?”

“I was thinking of Farrah Fawcett as Mary.” 

Zeke gave him a hard nudge in the ribs. “If you cast Farrah, I want you casting Lee Majors as a major apostle.”

Prison had an anti-drug program instituted during Senta’s fifth year there. Inmates came and went. Most of them were clean for a short period of time, but were soon back on the drugs.

Senta spoke to the chaplain about the program. It was an eight-week trial of withdrawal and counseling. Senta was determined to get clean, sober and stay that way.

When she came out of the program, Anna was there to help her. “Stay away from the druggies during breaks.”

“Yeah, that’s when they do their dealing.” Then Senta laughed. “Of course, practically everybody here is a druggie.” 

Anna shook her head. “I’m not. Sheila’s not. And that new girl, I don’t know her name. Stick with us. We’ll even eat together.” 

Senta clasped Anna’s hands warmly. “Thank you, Anna. I appreciate your advice and support. I really do.”

During breaks, Senta started having Bible study with Anna, Sheila and the new girl whose name was Tiwana. Senta still had the Testament that Paul had given her and she was stunned to learn the life lessons she’d been stowing under her bunk.

“Even if Jesus was merely a prophet like the Muslims say…” said Tiwana, “…He was a genius.  Look at how He answers all those smart priests and government officials.” 

Sheila looked insulted. “Jesus was the Son of God. I truly believe it.” 

Tiwana shrugged. “I’m open to that. I just want to know more.”

 Senta was deep in thought. “I believe that He actually existed and came back to life after the crucifixion.” The other three women looked at her. 

Anna smiled. “Why do you think that, Senta?”

“Just everything about it rings true. His birth, His life, His death makes sense when you consider the history and attitudes at the time.” 

Sheila cocked her head. “You’ve been spending more time in the library I see.”

“I told Senta about that book called, “The Middle East, A Living History”, said Anna.

“All of those Herods and Caesars existed”, Senta added enthusiastically. “And the governments and religions were just like the Bible says.”

Ever since she discovered Jesus, Senta wasn’t only hungry for religious knowledge. She started spending time in the prison library reading everything she could, concerning the times and customs of the Bible. Senta was learning the geo-politics and the cultural terrain of those ancient days. Anna had made out a list of books and Paul was going to order them for her. She was particularly interested in the evolution of the Bible, from the ancient texts, to the King James version, to the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Anna was delighted and proud of Senta’s spiritual awakening. As the ladies continued their Bible study, Anna said, “I believe if she could, Senta would learn Aramaic so she could read some of the research in its native tongue.”

“That reminds me, can you get me a book on Latin?” Senta asked.

“We have some books on basic Latin in the library.”

When the break was over, Senta had laundry duty. She bade her friends goodbye and headed downstairs to the prison laundry.

There was a long, dark tunnel that led from the yard to the basement. As she walked through the tunnel, she heard footsteps padding behind her. Just as she turned, a rough hand slapped over her mouth and a massive arm caught her throat, pinning her against the wall.

Senta’s eyes widened in terror as she saw the nasty blade Kayla held to her face.

“Hello Sweetness.” Senta’s head couldn’t move.  She tried to scream, but Kayla held her fast. “You haven’t bought any coke from me lately.”  Senta felt the knife under her chin. The blade was sharp and stung like a wasp. She was afraid to move. “How much do you need Sweetness? A bag? Two bags?  More?” Kayla took her hand off Senta’s mouth, but kept the blade under her chin. 

“I…I don’t want any drugs.”

 For a second, Kayla’s pupils got larger. She gave Senta a mean grimace. “Yeah. I heard you went into The Bin.” The Bin was the name of the drug rehab program.

“I need to stay…to stay clean.” Senta was shivering. What did this mad woman have in mind for her?

“I know you need to stay clean, but I need to stay in business. Now how much do you want?” Although it was phrased as such, it was not a question. With the knife pressing into her flesh, Senta couldn’t move her head.

“No.  I can’t.” Kayla put her face closer. The smell of cigarettes, bad breath and body sweat assaulted Senta’s nostrils.

“Yes you can!” Kayla spat. “You will!”

“No Kayla. Jesus wouldn’t like…” Before Senta could say anything else, she felt the air leave her throat. The floor fell out from under her and she was staring up at Kayla with the bloody knife in her hand.

“See ya in hell, Sweetness.”

Senta couldn’t scream. She was gagging on blood. She put her hands to her throat and felt the wetness. The tunnel got darker.