Dressed in prison drab, Harry Silver lounges in his chair in the visiting room. His dark hair could use a trim. He pins you with mocking blue eyes. He speaks:
Understand one thing. If this were real, I wouldn’t be talking to you. Period. Some tabloid journalist came once, and I was bored enough to see him. Wanted the inside scoop on what I’d done, what it felt like … [Harry’s lip curls] Your nice little Christian blogger here wouldn’t dare print the language I used to tell him off.
[He scans the tiny room.] I was a champion race car driver, until the governing body stripped me of my title. On the track, behind the wheel, I was alive. There’s not much life in here. Just memories: of speed, and of the twisted passions that destroyed my career.
Such beautiful women … I couldn’t stop, didn’t dare ask for help. That would have ended things even faster. The last one—Susan—why did she have to be a Christian? How dare she forgive me? She paid, let me tell you. She paid. But at night, even in this miserable place … I still hear her voice. [His fingers dig into his hair as if trying to hold his head together.] I still hear those words: “Jesus loves you.”
[He spits a stream of curses we don’t need to hear. Glares.] I don’t want God’s forgiveness! And He’s not getting mine. He took everything I’ve ever loved. Except racing. I took that from myself. If you want the details, read my story.
Heaven’s Prey. [He makes air quotes.] If God is chasing me, it’s not to rescue me like Susan said. It’s for judgment, not mercy. Even I don’t think I deserve to live.
I can tell you, though, I’m in this mess because little choices add up. I didn’t wake up one morning and say “Hey, I think I’ll become a serial rapist-murderer today. Just for kicks. They’ll all be young, blond. So what if it finishes me?”
I’d give anything to go back and undo the mess I’ve made. But it’s too late. Eight lives too late.
Link: Heaven’s Prey page.