Forensic psychologist Sylvia Strange deals with very dangerous felons—it’s part of her job in the Santa Fe justice system. But when she evaluates inmate Lucas Watson and recommends against his parole, she steps into a terrifying world, apparently of his making.
He closed his eyes and silently recited the words of St. Ignatious Loyola. “Teach us, good Lord, to serve Thee… to toil and not to seek for rest; to labour and not ask for any reward save that of knowing that we do Thy will.”
It was a lesson most of the occupants of CB-1 had not yet learned. And there were other lessons: thou shalt not steal… thou shalt not kill.
He turned back to gaze into an open cell. The small square window was already charcoal gray. Each day another two minutes of daylight were lost. It would keep on that way –getting darker and darker — until the winter solstice.
Day and night, just like his own two selves. He’d grown so use to them, he hardly noticed the transformation anymore. Day getting shorter. Night, longer and longer, ready to take its due.
It was the killing that made him split apart in the beginning. Or maybe the split was the reason he had begun to kill.
Thou shalt not kill. Finally, after doing so many bad, hurtful things, he had learned: thou shalt not kill.
Unless you are doing His will.
To labour and not ask for any reward
Save that of knowing that we do Thy will.
The jackal had been offered a task, but had not even considered it, until th e Lord intervened. The Lord said, “Accept the task, jackal, and be rewarded.” His will be done.
The task was to kill. Not a senseless, selfish kill like some of the men had done, like he himself had done a long time ago. This kill was part of the Lord’s divine plan.
On earth as it is in heaven.
The reward was great: it would become the crowning glory of his work for the Lord.
He sighed and gazed down at the sheet of paper he’d been clutching in his right hand, Things had been going so well.
But then, a snafu. Somebody was nosy.
And now, he had twice the work.
One hit had become two hits.
the second name was written in pencil, faint but legible. His own handwriting. Over and over. Just the way the nuns had taught him to write Be sure your sin will find you out — on the blackboard one hundred times.
The second name covered the page ninety-seven times. The jackal thought it was an odd name. He took the stub of pencil from his pocket, licked the tip, and smoothed the sheet of paper over the rail. In minute script he added the last three repetitions: Sylvia Strange Sylvia Strange Sylvia Strange.
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