Jerry was dying. Slowly. Drip. Drip. Drip. Every minute an eternity. A crucifixion. Restful sleep seemed an impossible dream. While time dragged, his mind raced. His thoughts would not give him a minute's peace. The image of Joey's face haunted him waking and fitfully sleeping. He longed for peace from his diseased thoughts. [Why can't they just let me die? I deserve to die. Maybe they think death would be too merciful. They prefer to torture me.]
"You've got a visitor," the guard said.
"Again? Tell her to go away. I don't want to see her."
"It's not your mother."
"Then who?" Jerry asked.
"Just come and see her. Warden wants you to."
"The warden? What does he care who sees me?"
"Just come."
Jerry was led to the visitation room. He sat. He waited. At last the door opened and an attractive young woman walked in. Something about her seemed familiar.
"I'm Caroline Stuyvesant," she said.
Jerry racked his brain. The name came from a long forgotten, deep well of confused memories. "Stuyvesant,..." he repeated, hesitantly.
"My husband is Carl Stuyvesant."
The name hit him like a nuclear explosion. Dr. Carl Stuyvesant. His target. Jerry's soul was obliterated. He hung his head. He could not look at her.
"I forgive you,” she said simply.
Jerry couldn’t understand the words. He looked at her with a blank expression.
“I forgive you,” she repeated.
“But...how…?” Jerry stammered.
“How can I forgive you?”
“I...I murdered your baby.”
“Because I received forgiveness, too.”
“You?”
“I prayed as I have never prayed before, for God to forgive me for aiding and abetting the slaughter of innocent lives. Then one day, my husband came to me. He said he couldn’t do it any longer. He gave up his practice of killing and went back to healing. We are free -- freed from our guilt. That’s when I knew I had to come to you. You must forgive yourself, because the Lord Jesus Christ has already forgiven you.”
Jerry’s stomach shook and quivered. Sheets of tears ran down his face.
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