CHAPTER 3

Fifteen minutes later, he went to Miguel's new cell, where he found the now-isolated prisoner kneeling at his cot, praying. "Miguel?" he said, softly. Miguel looked up. "My name is Andrew; I've been assigned to look after you."

Miguel rose to his feet. "Hello." A wan smile crept across his lips as he raised his hand in greeting. "Pleased to meet you—though I wish it'd been under—uh, better conditions." He clasped his hands in front of his waist.

Nodding agreement, Andrew said loudly, "Open 54!" A buzz echoed down the hall, and the cell door clanged open; Andrew stepped inside. His shoes clumped on the stone floor. "I have a message from your sister. She asked that it be given to you." Sadness creased his face. "I'm afraid your brother has forbidden Juanita to visit, but she wants you to know she loves you."

Bitterness etched Miguel's face. "That's what I was afraid of." He clenched his fist, then took a deep breath.

Andrew laid a hand on the prisoner's shoulder. "God is with you, Miguel. Remember that. And He will continue to protect your Bible so it won't get taken away from you."

Taking a deep breath, Miguel patted his bulging jeans pocket, then made an evident effort to force a smile across his face. Andrew looked up at the window high up in the wall, then smiled. Following his gaze, Miguel turned to find a dove perched on the ledge outside the bars. He turned back to Andrew, as he relaxed. With a soft coo, the dove flew off.

Andrew paused, watching the dove go. "He's proud of you for sharing your faith with the other prisoner. Rest assured, it will bear fruit in his life." Without looking at him, Miguel nodded. Wordlessly, Andrew handed him the folded message.

Miguel sank down on his cot; the mattress sagged and creaked as he leaned forward. Silently, he read his sister's message as Andrew waited, hands inserted into his pockets. Andrew took that moment to scan the cell Miguel had been transported to. Like the other cell, this one had a commode and a sink against the wall facing the cell door, a mirror spanning the wall above the sink, and a window just underneath the ceiling.

A grateful smile spread across Miguel's face as he rose to his feet. "It's good to know my sister is concerned." He sighed. "This is so hard on her, Andrew—Tony has no time for her, or me. Did you know her family disappeared in the Rapture a few years ago?"

Andrew nodded. "Yes. I heard."

Miguel trudged across the cell. With his back toward Andrew, he raised his arm above his head to lean against the wall's smooth bricks. For a long moment, he gazed up at the blue cloudless sky through the bars of the window, then turned back to Andrew. "Well, Juanita has been so lonely ever since." He sighed. "She needs Jesus, but she won't admit it. Andrew, how can I help her if I can't even see her?"

A comforting, knowing smile spread across Andrew's face. A Heavenly glow emanated from him. Miguel gaped at him in shock; the note slid from his fingers and drifted to the floor. "What—what's going on?"

"Don't be afraid, Miguel." Andrew smiled. "I'm an angel, sent by God. God wants you to know that He loves you and is proud of you. And He will stay with you until He calls you Home."

Miguel sagged his shoulders. "I'm going to die."

"Yes." Approaching him, Andrew put a hand on his shoulder. "And I'm going to oversee your transition."

Miguel stared at him again. "You're the angel of death." It wasn't a question, Andrew noticed. Reluctantly, the angel nodded.

"Yes, Miguel. I am. God sends me to escort Home the souls of people who die, and I will escort you when the time comes." He tightened his hold on Miguel's shoulder. "But until that moment does come, God wants you to pray and to trust Him. He wants you to remember that He has not abandoned you, and that He has sent angels not only to you, but to your brother and sister as well. God is working on their hearts, even as I speak. And He is working on the heart of the prisoner you tried to witness to, today."

Miguel nodded. "Gracias, Andrew."

Andrew patted his shoulder. "I will be back." He left the solitary-confinement cell, his shoes clumping on the stone floor as he strode down the hall. On the way, he ran into Gloria, dressed in a business suit and carrying a sheaf of papers in the crook of her left arm.

"Hello, Andrew." She beamed.

Andrew smiled back. "Hello, Gloria. You're here to see Tony?" Gloria nodded, pushing her glasses up the ridge of her nose.

Andrew gestured down the hall. "Come with me. I'll take you to see him." He led the way up the stairs toward Tony's office.

"Wait here," he told Gloria. He entered the office, where he found the warden sorting through a deck of tarot cards. Distaste at the sight surged through Andrew; silently, he prayed that God would free Tony of the deception being perpetrated by the new world religion. To his right, sunlight poured through the metal screen covering the window, forming little squares of reflected light on the thick carpet spanning the floor.

Tony looked up at him, then laid the top card on the deck. "What is it?"

Andrew leaned against the desk, resting his elbow on its smooth, unyielding surface. "Warden, an official of the Society for Humane Treatment of Prisoners is here to see you."

Tony froze. His face turned beet-red. "What for?!"

Straightening his back, Andrew squared his shoulders. "Warden, you'll have to ask her that."

The warden slowly approached the window. Resting his fingertips against the cold metal screen, Tony gritted his teeth as he stared down at the prison courtyard for a long moment. Andrew sensed the turmoil the warden was enduring at that moment. As far as Tony was concerned, Christians had no right to humane treatment. He was bound and determined to keep control of his prison. Silently, Andrew prayed.

At last, Tony turned away from the window. His shoes softly thudded as he returned to his desk. "No, she may not come in," he told Andrew. "Tell her I will not see her."

Frowning, Andrew folded his arms across his chest. "Warden, I would not be so quick to snub a member of that organization. It would be bad public relations."

Tony glared at him. "You really think so?"

"I know so." Andrew stared him down as Tony made an evident attempt to intimidate him with a glare. Tony narrowed his eyebrows into tiny slits as he glared at the angel; in turn, Andrew said nothing, but simply fixed his gaze on the warden.

At last, Tony sighed. Slumping his shoulders, he said, "All right. Send her in."

Nodding, Andrew swung open the polished mahogany door. Gloria entered, smiling at Tony. "Hello, Mr. Sintana. My name is Gloria. I'm with the—"

"Society of Humane Treatment of Prisoners! I know." Tony pursed his lips. "Suppose you tell me why you're here?"

Gloria laid her rustling sheaf of papers on his desk, then brushed her hair out of her eyes. She placed the palms of her hands on Tony's desk, leaning forward. "Well, Mr. Sintana, the purpose of our organization is to improve conditions for prisoners. It has come to my attention that the political prisoners here in San Quentin—the Christians—are treated with great harshness."

Tony stiffened, as he fought to control his temper. He resented this woman coming in to tell him how to run his prison. He had no intention of letting her organization usurp control of his prisoners. This was his prison, and he would run it as he pleased!

"Gloria, I'm going to tell you something, and you can repeat it to your bleeding-heart organization," Tony hissed. "The heretical Christians deserve their treatment; in fact, they deserve to die! They're members of a religion the pope and the world government have strictly forbidden. That religion is intolerant and a threat to world peace; the pope has rightly banned its practice." He pounded the desk, causing his ashtray to clatter. Tilting her head, Gloria just stood there, watching him. "If anyone is foolish enough to join that religion, he deserves just what he gets!"

"Warden," Andrew said gently, "do you truly believe this of your own brother?"

"And what about his sister?" Gloria added. "If she is deprived of the chance to see him before he dies, she may never recover. Does she deserve that, warden?"

Before Tony could respond, the phone jangled. He picked up the receiver and cradled it against his earlobe. As he listened, his face turned pale. "I see," he said. He swallowed hard, rubbing his chin. "Thank you." He hung up.

END OF CHAPTER 3

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