Love Gone Mad (31 page)

“Okay, so what do we do?” asks Channing.

Grayson says, “I’ll go along with a pass, but with very strict conditions.”

“Like what?” Nicole asks as her eyes narrow.

“First, Pastor Wilhelm and his wife dole out Wilson’s medication. I think you can speak with the pastor, Lynda,” Grayson says, turning to Nurse Becker. “They have to know exactly what to look for if Wilson misses a dose.”

“We can arrange that,” she says.

“Second, Wilson’ll spend the weekend at the pastor’s house, but we use an electronic monitoring system.”

“That’s
absurd
,” Nicole says.

“What’s absurd about it?” Williams asks.

“It’s coercive. It’s just so … it’s antithetical to everything I ever thought about medicine and psychiatry.”

“First of all, Nicole,” Grayson says, “you yourself said he’s ready for a pass under
strict supervision
. And this isn’t pure psychiatry.
You
know that more than anyone else.”

“We’re dealing with a prison population, Nicole,” says Williams. “It makes sense.” He turns to Grayson. “We’ve never done this before, John. How does it work?”

“Wilson wears an ankle bracelet during the weekend.”

“A Martha Stewart arrangement?” Morgan says with a laugh.

“That’s right,” Grayson says. “The bracelet communicates with a receiving device in the pastor’s home. The device has a limited range. Any tampering with the bracelet or receiving device sends a signal. The device reports when the bracelet moves out of range. It connects to the monitoring station through a telephone line or a 3G network to a cell phone.”

“A monitoring station?” asks Williams.

“Yes, to a private security company. And I’d be willing to have it programmed to send an alert to my cell phone if Wilson moves out of range,” Grayson says. “Or if he tampers with the bracelet.”

“Sounds good,” Morgan says.

“Will the pastor consent to this?” asks Channing.

“He’ll have to if there’s gonna be a weekend pass,” Grayson says.

“What if the pastor and Wilson want to go somewhere?” asks Nicole.

“Not for the first few visits. Wilson’s limited to the house and church.”

“I agree,” says Williams. “Let’s go slowly and see how things develop.”

“One other thing,” Grayson says. “The pastor lets us install a GPS tracking system in his car. And the wife’s car, too.”

“You really want to do
that
?”

“Absolutely, Nicole,” says Grayson. “The latest models have a six-month battery life since they’re motion-activated. When the car stops, it switches off. It’s attached to the inside of a bumper, or a wheel well, and transmits to a GPS Web site.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Williams says.

“There’s one other provision.”

Everyone eyes Grayson. Nicole sighs, shaking her head.

“The pastor can’t tell Wilson about the GPS system,” Grayson says.

There are nods all around. Nicole sighs again, this time more heavily. Grayson tries ignoring her, but it’s difficult.

So he says, “If we agree on these precautions, we can grant Conrad Wilson’s request for a weekend visit with the pastor and his wife.”

P
astor Wilhelm maneuvers his 2001 Chevy Impala up the fume-filled ramp to level two of the Danbury mall parking garage. Conrad sits to his right. The pastor feels a deep sense of satisfaction as he remembers first meeting Conrad at Whitehall more than a year ago.

It was early afternoon and the dayroom was deserted except for Conrad, who was slumped on a couch, lost in thought. His muscular frame bulged beneath a blue shirt and faded jeans. The man was an incredible physical specimen. But most of all, the pastor remembers those eyes, how devoid of spirit they were, how dormant—even dead—as though life had drained from him. The pastor’s heart went out to him.

“I’m Pastor Wilhelm,” he said, and when they shook hands, Wilhelm was struck by the sinew of Conrad’s forearm. He realized this man could mangle his hand in a moment, and yet, despite Conrad’s physicality, subjugation permeated his very being. The man was defeated, imprisoned in a spiritual vacuum. Wilhelm had known many such men from his days as a youth in the Bridgeport slums. And later as a Lutheran minister visiting the prisons, working with inmates to revive and nourish their souls.

“Conrad, you’re the first prisoner who ever asked for me,” Wilhelm said, sitting beside him. “What made you do that, son?”

Conrad’s face seemed to sag on itself. “Pastor, I just feel … dead,” he said softly, even plaintively. Indeed, he seemed steeped in the agony of Hell’s Grim Tyrant. With wet eyes, Conrad said, “I want to feel alive again.”

“Conrad, how can I help you?”

“Maybe we could talk and …”

“And what, Conrad?”

“And maybe you can suggest Bible readings for me.”

“Readings? Such as …?”

“I’m not sure … passages about forgiveness.”

“The Book of Daniel says, ‘The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him.’”

Conrad’s eyes beseeched the pastor—desperately.

“Do you want to be forgiven, son?” Wilhelm asked.

“Yes, but I also need to learn to forgive those who’ve trespassed against me.”

Yes, as he heads for level three of the garage, Daniel Wilhelm recalls feeling something truly divine occurred that day. As he and Conrad talked, a feeling of lightness came over the pastor. He felt the Holy Spirit fill his soul with Truth. Looking back, he realizes it was a powerful aura—one he’d never before experienced, even at his own ordination. It intensified when Conrad said, “Pastor, though I’m here for my sanity to be restored, above all, I need restoration of my soul.”

Sitting in the sun-drenched dayroom, Wilhelm felt he was truly doing God’s work. Because he’d never heard a congregant—or anyone for that matter—ask for such a thing: restoration of the soul. Conrad’s withered soul and his unusual request distilled for Daniel Wilhelm everything meaningful in the church: the Holy Communion worship, the fellowship meetings, the choral hymns, the word of God, and the sacraments. And right then, the mystery of God—of truly knowing and feeling a divine presence—came to him. This was the work he’d been born to do.

So they began meeting. Conrad told him his life’s story—every unfortunate detail. Daniel Wilhelm listened carefully and was deeply touched. At each meeting, he gave Conrad pastoral counseling and suggested Bible passages to read. Conrad studied them—sedulously—and they discussed their layered meanings.

Daniel Wilhelm was astonished: Conrad not only recalled each biblical passage, but applied them to his everyday experiences—turned the beauty and poetry of the Bible into a living, breathing thing with relevance and deep meaning. For the first time in his life, Daniel Wilhelm could
feel
the abiding truth of words written thousands of years earlier.

Some months later, Conrad said, “Maybe I could form a Bible study group here on the ward.”

“That would be wonderful, Conrad.”

Conrad soon formed a group with three other inmates.

“I can feel you growing as a person, Conrad,” Wilhelm said a while later. He found himself anticipating each meeting with Conrad and knew he was witnessing the redemption of Conrad’s God-given soul.

“I’m thankful for your guidance,” Conrad said. “With you and the Bible to guide me, I feel an inner calm, maybe even peace.”

“There’s far more goodness residing in you than you realize, Conrad. I know that in time you can live a life free of anger at the wrongs done to you.”

“If I ever get out of here, Pastor, I’d like to start a lay ministry.”

“That would be wonderful. Dr. DuPont says you’re making excellent progress. And I
do
think God will lead you out,” he said, with deep feeling. “Conrad, over these months, I’ve come to view you as I would a son.”

“I think everything happens for a reason, Pastor; you’re helping me see that.”

N
ow, on Conrad’s fifth weekend pass, the pastor pulls into a parking space. “This is our first trip away from the house or church,” the pastor says.

“We could’ve gone to the Trumbull mall. It’s much closer.”

“That’s all right, Conrad. Those hiking boots look pretty worn out. How much do you run on the treadmill?”

“An hour every day.”

“Well, it’s time for a new pair.”

They get out of the car. Conrad wears cargo pants and a blue work shirt. The pastor wears a light-gray suit and a gray clergy shirt with a white tab collar. They tramp down the oil-stained ramp to the garage exit. “Afterward, we can go to Ruby Tuesday,” the pastor says, realizing his stomach is growling. “I told the monitoring company we’d be here until two, so we have plenty of time.”

Eastern Mountain Sports brims with a dizzying display of camping, hiking, kayaking, and mountain-climbing equipment.

Conrad tries on a pair of Salomon GTX hikers. “I don’t know,” he says. “They cost a hundred and forty-five dollars.”

“They’ll last a lifetime.”

“But the expense, Pastor …”

“Don’t worry. It’s been donated by the congregation.” Wilhelm peers at Conrad’s left foot. “Does the boot leave enough room for the ankle bracelet?”

“Yeah.”

“That thing makes me feel like I’m part of the corrections system,” Wilhelm says, shaking his head.

“Ah, forget it, Pastor. You and Martha have given me a new life.”

“We believe in you,” Wilhelm says, breaking into a smile. “We’re sure you’ll be out of Whitehall before long.”

“I’m grateful for your faith in me, Pastor.”

“Those boots look like a perfect fit. How do they feel?”

“They’re fine.”

“You know that Dr. Grayson will want to examine them before you go back to the ward, and your backpack, too.”

“Dr. Grayson always goes through my backpack. If I bought a box of trail mix, he’d sift through every nut and raisin.”

The pastor chortles. “I don’t think Dr. Grayson appreciates the progress you’ve made. I know Dr. DuPont does.”

“She’s a tough taskmaster.”

“True, but she’s your strongest ally. Without her, you wouldn’t have these passes. She spoke with your attorney about petitioning the court if the review board didn’t grant your request for the passes.”

“I have a good feeling about Dr. DuPont.”

“I’m glad for her efforts. Because, Conrad, you’ve enriched our lives. Martha and I look forward to every weekend with you.”

“I do too,” Conrad says, his eyes glistening.

Wilhelm peers around the store. “Does all this hiking equipment make you nostalgic for Colorado?”

Conrad nods. “It makes me think of the Rockies. I’d give anything to go back there.”

“Well, just keep up the good work. You’ll get back.”

“That’s my plan, Pastor. To go back and start that lay ministry.”

“I’m sure that’ll happen. But when you leave us, Martha and I will miss you,” Wilhelm says, as a lump forms in his throat.

A
t Ruby Tuesday, Conrad orders a veggie burger with french fries and a vanilla milk shake. Wilhelm orders a hamburger and a coke.

“You know, Conrad, this almost feels like a normal outing.”

“Yes. Makes me feel”—Conrad searches for words—“like there’s someone who cares.” He swallows hard and blinks a few times. His eyes moisten. “You know, Pastor, for the first time in my life I feel like I have a family … like I have a father,” he says, looking into Wilhelm’s eyes. “I feel like I have a
good
father.”

The pastor’s throat thickens. “You’re like a son to us … the son we lost the day he was born years ago. I even had this thought … that if you were willing, we could adopt you. I know it’s absurd, but that’s how Martha and I feel about you.”

Tears brim at Conrad’s lower lids. “I never had a father. And now …” Conrad’s voice breaks. “I can only thank you for everything.”

Wilhelm leans across the table and sets his hand on Conrad’s thick arm. “I have a thought. Since you’re thinking of starting a lay ministry, why not lead the congregation during part of tomorrow’s service?”

“You think I can?”

“The way you’ve been reciting scripture, I’m sure of it.”

“When I think about what brought me to Whitehall, I realize it’s important to forgive,” Conrad says.

“Forgiveness is one of the pillars of our faith, Conrad. If I quote from Ephesians, chapter 4, the verse says: ‘Get rid of all bitterness, passion, and anger. No more shouting or insults, no more hateful feelings of any sort. Instead, be kind and tender-hearted to one another, and forgive one another, as God has forgiven you through Christ.’”

“And it says in Mark 11:25–26,” Conrad says, “‘And when you shall stand to pray, forgive, if you have aught against any man: that your Father also, who is in heaven, may forgive you your sins.’”

“Conrad, forgiveness can lead to redemption. I wasn’t always the way I am now. When I was a young man, I ran with a bad crowd. Many of my friends’ parents abused or abandoned them. So my friends were filled with anger, even hatred, and turned to crime; some went to prison. The same fate awaited me if I didn’t change my ways. I felt cheated, as though I was robbed of life’s good things. Anger burned like a flame inside me and took its toll. Visiting my friends in prison, I realized there was a way out of this life’s misery. It meant turning to God. And that’s how I found my calling. Those prison visits changed my life.

“So believe me, Conrad, there
is
such a thing as redemption. It means giving yourself over to a higher power.”

Conrad nods and clasps his hands together.

“Conrad, I think you could recite a brief homily on forgiveness at tomorrow’s service.”

“I’ll work on it tonight.”

“Martha and I are blessed that you came into our lives.”

Conrad whispers, “You’ve brought my soul back from the dead. You’ve given me hope. Thank you, Pastor. Thank you for everything.”

C
onrad wakes up suddenly. He thinks he was dreaming about Colorado—the vast mountains, sweeping moraines, endless vistas of Colorado spruce and white pines, the sweet resinous scent of the air and the rushing streams. Sitting at the bedside, he raises his arms, cracks his knuckles, and then pops the bones in his neck.