His mind had been blank, on autopilot, focusing only on whatever was happening at the moment. In fact, he managed to get though his murder trial by living in the moment. The walk into court with his lawyer, listening to the lawyers questioning witnesses for the prosecution and defense and lunch, followed by more courtroom action.

He had been out on bail and staying with his younger brother. His wife had already filed for a divorce. She had taken his sons to live with her mother. He spent his evenings drinking a little beer and watching sports. He and his brother agreed not to discuss the trial, as if they were on the jury.

The guilty verdict on all counts came back after less than eight hours of deliberation. Sentencing, would be set in six weeks. If the judge gave him the maximum, he’d be spending the rest of his life in prison with no chance of parole.

Now, the verdict having been announced, he was being walked to a van, handcuffed. The driver and two officers would take him to the solitary confinement cell where he would get out of his blue suit and into a prison uniform. Solitary confinement was necessary because the nature of his crime was such that other prisoners would relish the chance to torture and kill him. By the time the initial processing was done, it was time for dinner; meatloaf, mashed potatoes and carrots. Dessert, which he didn’t touch, was bread pudding.

There was nothing left to hold his attention now. He sat alone in his cell where he would spend 23 hours a day. A bed, a thin mattress and a combination toilet and sink would keep him company. There was a tiny shower stall situated in the back corner of the cell. The guards had made certain there was nothing in the room that he could use to hang himself.

He sat on the bed looking at his hands, idly wondering if it was possible to choke himself to death. He stood for a moment and paced the length of the cell, from the thick metal door to the back wall. Not many steps.

He understood why he was found guilty. As a police officer, he had gone too far, which caused a robbery suspect’s death. Yet, he also felt that he had done nothing wrong. “Had the man who died been healthy, rather than a drug addict with several chronic health issues, he would have been spending time in prison now instead of me,” he thought.

He sat down again and felt tears forming. Tears of rage. If only he could have that afternoon back! He would have called in sick. He would have let the other officers handle the situation. And if that couldn’t be avoided, and things went down as they had, he would have left the country immediately and disappeared, somewhere in Central America, maybe.

The prison chaplain stopped by and asked if he could come in and talk to him. Quickly, he wiped his eyes, and said okay.

“I’m Chaplain Grant. I want to start by saying I am very sorry to be meeting you under these conditions.”

“You going to pray for me? Is that why you’re here?”

“I will if you want me to. Would that be helpful to you?”

“Plenty of time for prayer, don’t you think?”

The chaplain nodded. “Let’s talk a little about what you’re feeling. Do you feel remorse for your actions?”

“Not really. I did my job. Sometimes crazy things happen. In the political world we live in now I’m just a scapegoat, paying with my life for other people’s sins hundreds of years ago.” He teared up again and didn’t bother to hide it. He figured the chaplain had seen it before.

“It might be too soon for you to think differently about this, but a man died at your hands. Even if you believe you did your job, as you say, is it possible to feel remorse for his loss, and his family’s suffering?”

He stared at the chaplain, a look he had used effectively when he had to deal with a suspect who wasn’t being cooperative. “I’m 42 years old. I’m probably going to rot in a cell like this for thirty or forty years. Does the dead guy’s family feel any remorse about the slow leak death I’m facing? At least their guy got it over with fast.”

“You do have one advantage that the deceased man didn’t have.”

“Really?”

“You have years to repent, to get right with God and save your soul. There is no way to know what the state of that man’s soul was when he breathed his last. We can only hope he wasn’t sentenced to eternal damnation.”

“Let’s say I repent. I do it now, tonight. What do I do for the next forty years, chaplain?”

“You can pray for others. Do good works, even little ones. Paradise in the next life is possible. Do you believe that?”

“What choice do I have? It’s my only hope except maybe getting pancreatic cancer and dying in a few months.”

“I’d be happy to pray for you now, if you will let me.”

“If I say no, will you still pray for me? I mean you’re asking me, but can I stop you?”

Chaplain Grant placed his Bible on his lap. “Many people, even those who are happy you were convicted, will pray for you. Would you prefer they didn’t?’

The prisoner shrugged. “Whether they pray or not, I’ll still be here, long after they forget me.”

“The Lord will hear them. He is merciful.”

The prisoner rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go ahead and pray. Say a few words for the dead guy too, but not out loud.”