Redemption aka A Conspiracy of Faith

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It was the third morning, and the smell of tar and seaweed had got into his clothes. Under the boathouse floor, the mush of ice lapped soundlessly against the wooden stilts and awakened memories of days when everything had been all right.

He lifted his upper body from the bedding of wastepaper and pulled himself sufficiently upright to make out his younger brother’s face, which even in sleep seemed tormented, chilled to the bone.

Soon, he would wake and glance around in panic. He would feel the leather straps tight on his wrists and waist and hear the jangle of the chain that constrained him. He would see the snowstorm and the light as it struggled to penetrate the tarred timber planks. And then he would start to pray.

Countless times he’d seen desperation in his brother’s eyes. Through the gaffer tape that covered his mouth came the repeated sound of his muffled pleas that Jehovah have mercy upon them.

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