Under an Oklahoma Sky

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Please… please, help me.”

Kneeling at the altar of the small chapel, he stared up at the enormous wooden crucifix and prayed everything had been a nightmare—a horrible, reversible nightmare.

Holy water dripped from his hands and trailed back to the baptismal font, where he had tried to cleanse the invisible blood from his skin for the past two hours.

However, it was useless—his flesh and soul were stained and would be forevermore.

The silence in the centuries-old stone church was louder than anything he’d ever experienced. It permeated his thoughts. He was drowning in wave after wave of remorse and despair. Of evil and horror.

They were coming for him. He wasn't sure why it hadn’t happened yet, but they would come looking for him soon. Seconds had given way to minutes in his mind. Minutes had become hours.

Why, Father? Why was I there? Why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you stop me?

His heavy head hung low as he clasped his hands together, extending them toward the bronze figure suspended on the wooden cross by metal stakes driven into the hands and feet.

His knees ached from the cold, hard floor, but he refused to stand.

He deserved the pain and so much more for what he’d done.

At thirty-four, he had dedicated almost his entire adult life to serving the Lord.

His faith was the one thing he found comfort in, but today, that faith had been tested, and he’d failed miserably.

The devil inside him had taken over his mind, body, and yes, his soul.

It didn’t matter that the evil was in response to an even greater evil.

One that had no remorse. One that harmed an innocent child.

Burning tears blurred his vision and rolled down his cheeks before falling to the floor to mix with the small puddles on the granite tile. “I’m sorry, Father. Please help me. Tell me what I must do.”

His life as he’d known it was over. Part of him wanted to run and hide, but that went against his morals...

his code of ethics. Despite everything that had happened earlier in the day, he still had them and would abide by them.

He would take whatever punishment and penance he faced—with the courts and the Holy Father.

And maybe someday he would receive His forgiveness.

The scraping and clanking of the large wood and iron doors at the rear of the church told him his time was up.

They had finally come for him. He fought the urge to flee.

Multiple footsteps approached, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a uniformed officer emerge from the sacristy.

The side door to his right, leading to the parking lot, opened, and another officer filled the entryway. They were covering every exit.

Didn’t they know he would go willingly? That he wouldn’t fight what he deserved?

The purposeful footsteps stopped several feet behind him, and he waited, holding on to his last moments of freedom.

“Adam.”

He winced at the sound of his name spoken so softly.

He should have known Shane Stewart would come for him.

The man was the only person left in the world he considered family.

They weren’t blood-related, but they spent their formative teenage years in the same foster home and stayed close as life led them in different directions.

And now, they were on opposite sides of the law.

Adam touched his fingers to his forehead, heart, left shoulder, and then his right. Praying for strength and guidance, he slowly stood and turned around. Another plainclothes detective and two uniformed officers accompanied his best friend—six men in total had come for him.

He ignored the others as his gaze met Shane’s. The pain, regret, and sadness he saw there were almost unbearable. “I’m sorry, my friend.”

When Shane didn’t say or do anything, his partner stepped forward and pulled a pair of shiny metal handcuffs from his sports jacket. As the man rounded behind him, Adam placed his hands at his lower back, his brown eyes never leaving his friend’s sad, green ones.

The detective fastened the cuffs around his bare wrists with resounding clicks that echoed throughout the chapel. “Brother Adam Westfield. You are under arrest for the murder of Brother Andre Santiago. You have the right to remain silent...”

Five Years and Four Months Later...

“So, do you have plans on where you’ll go from here, Brother Adam?

” Jose Ferrara finished gathering the prayer books left behind by the other prisoners who came to the morning’s spiritual service.

The numbers usually varied, but today had been a full house as they’d come to say goodbye to the man who had given them guidance and understanding these past few years.

It was Adam’s release day. A day he’d looked forward to and dreaded for months now. He’d served a little over half his sentence. With time off for good behavior and overcrowding in the prison system, the parole board approved his early release. In less than two hours, he’d be a free man.

A shudder passed through him, and he shook off the combined feelings of anticipation and anxiety.

Taking the bound missals from the convicted car thief, Adam stacked them on the closet shelf and shut the door. “Not really. Think I’m just going to travel a bit. Enjoy the things I’ve missed in here.”

“Like what? I mean, I know what I’ve missed, but everyone has their own list.”

He exited the prison library, heading back to Cell Block C with Jose on his heels. Guards buzzed them through several heavy, locked doors, and some wished him good luck along the way. He’d been a model prisoner during his time there and had earned the respect of guards and inmates alike.

When he had first arrived at Sing-Sing Correctional Facility in Ossining, NY, several things prevented him from being a target for the thugs who loved to assault newcomers as a sick version of a welcoming committee.

One—word had quickly spread that he was a Franciscan Brother, and some drew the line at assaulting a man of God.

Two—the man he’d killed was a child molester, the scum of the earth according to most inmates, therefore making Adam some sort of hero in their mindset.

Three—the one man who had tried to take him on a few days after his arrival learned the hard way that Adam held a black belt in Krav Maga, a martial arts that had originated in the Israel Defense Forces.

From the time they were fourteen until adulthood, Adam and Shane’s foster father had been a police officer.

Harry Brooks had enrolled them in classes to give them an outlet for their teenage energy and angst and to instill the discipline they had both lacked up to that point.

He’d even taught them boxing, wrestling, and how to defend themselves against dirty street fighting.

The training kept them out of the trouble most kids their age got into and ultimately pointed them in the direction their lives would take.

Although Harry would probably roll over in his grave if he knew where Adam had ended up.

“Things like the sunrise and sunset over the ocean or a mountain. The smell of fresh-cut grass. A child’s laughter.” He let out a small chuckle. “A poached egg.”

“Ha! I’d take any egg that wasn’t powdered. But, man, I just want to see my woman again and be able to... well, you know, any time we want.”

The corner of Adam’s mouth curved upward. Jose always seemed to remember he was talking to a former man of the cloth a second too late. But he caught himself more often than not. “I get the gist, yeah.”

“What about you? I mean, you weren’t always a brother, right? Before all that, did you ever have a girlfriend?”

While his vow of celibacy had been a part of him since he’d realized his role in life was to be spent in the Brotherhood, he had a few intimate experiences during his teens. “Kelly Adams. We met and dated in high school. Everyone teased us, saying if we got married, I would be Mr. Adam Adams.”

Jose laughed. “That’s funny. Was she hot?”

“I believe the phrase you would use is ‘she was smokin’.”

They entered Cell Block C’s indoor rec area.

The cells lined the perimeter of three floors.

The upper two levels overlooked the large open room where men of all ages, races, and sizes found something to do to whittle away the endless days.

Some prisoners watched the few TV channels they were allowed.

Others read, played cards or chess, and worked out on the weight benches.

It was pouring rain for the third straight day.

Otherwise, most of them would be out in the courtyard on the first day of spring.

A few had ventured out briefly just for a change of scenery.

“Where’s she now?”

Adam shrugged. “Last I heard, she’s living in Florida, happily married with a few kids.”

Jose was about to ask another question but was interrupted when one, then two, then more of the inmates started clapping.

Soon, the entire block thundered with applause.

Adam knew it was their way of celebrating his release.

It wasn’t done for everyone, just men who’d gained the ultimate respect of their peers.

His cellmate, Justin Bauman, stepped forward and handed him a crudely wrapped gift as the others cheered.

“Bro-ther Ad-am!” Clap. Clap. Clap, clap, clap. “Bro-ther Ad-am!” Clap. Clap. Clap, clap, clap.

Although he officially resigned from the Brotherhood in disgrace after his conviction, most of his fellow inmates still used the title—especially those who’d embraced their faith in the Lord.

Embarrassed at the impromptu party, Adam waved and tried to quiet the crowd. “Thank you. Thanks.”

It was a full minute before the shouts changed. “Speech! Speech!”

He grinned. “If you would all shut up, I can give you one!”

Laughter faded to silence as he stared at the present in his hands.

Leaving it wrapped for a moment, he swallowed and searched for the right words.

“These past few years have been a form of hell, as most of you can attest to. But somewhere along the line, I’ve found friendships I never expected.

I thank you for that. Now that I’m leaving, someone will have to step up to the plate as chess king around here.

” A few chuckles scattered throughout the cell block.

“Whether you’re here as a lifer or someone who will eventually be released from this hole, please do your best to become someone you can be proud of.

Someone God can be proud of. Work hard. Respect others.

And may God bless you and keep you safe. ”

His words were met with another round of applause. He knew many would turn a deaf ear to his advice, but others would try to heed it. If only one person found comfort in his words, then they were worth saying.

Tearing open the package, he was stunned to see a leather-bound copy of one of his favorite books—Death Be Not Proud.

He’d read his foster father’s copy many times while living with Harry.

However, after the man’s line-of-duty death, the book was accidentally among the rest of his extensive collection that he donated to several nursing homes and veteran hospitals.

Adam had found a copy in the prison library and reread it every few months.

A lump developed in his throat, and he coughed to clear it. “Um... wow. I didn’t expect this... and I’m not sure I want to know where it came from... but thanks. Every time I read it, I’ll think of all of you.”

A little over an hour later, his meager possessions were packed into two shopping bags, and he signed a receipt for the items the property office had stored.

He was escorted out to the yard—the rain had temporarily subsided, but a mist still hung in the air—and up to the main gates, where several more guards wished him well.

The last huge blockade opened, and he took the final few steps leading to his freedom.

As his best friend pulled him into an embrace, the metal gate clanged closed behind him.

Standing an inch shorter than Adam’s six-foot-three, Shane slapped him on the back several times before releasing him again. “It’s damn good to see you on this side of the fence again. How does it feel?”

“Honestly... weird.”

“Ha! Yeah, well, you’ll get used to it. C’mon. Let’s get out of here. I’m taking you to lunch, complete with steak, potatoes, and beer.”