THE MEETING Part one: Pictures of Jessica

She was beautiful. She had such life in her big blue eyes and her perfect smile (a smile she was proudly displaying, her braces having come off a few weeks earlier) and it seemed that God had let a gorgeous blond haired angel out of Heaven. She wore a yellow dress, the sort of thing she used to romp around in as a little girl playing in the yard, and the dress, along with her youthful smile, created the illusion that she was still just a six year old girl running off to play with her friends and not the fifteen year old young woman she had become. She sat on a large rock under a tree posing for the camera as the wind blew through her long blond hair, forever frozen in the snap shot.
Alex flipped the little picture flap in his wallet over to the next photo. It was the yearbook picture from her sophomore year. It had been taken earlier that year, back when she still wore her braces. Though they didn't look too bad, she had been self-conscious and smiled with her lips tightly closed. She was still beautiful. She had picked the farmhouse background, which Alex always thought looked so fake. Why couldn't she just pick plain old blue like when he was a kid? he'd asked. Nowadays there were all sorts of different backgrounds. Her little brother Charlie had chosen a criss cross of red and green lasers and eight year old Chrissy had opted to be surrounded by pastel balloons. But those pictures weren't in Alex's wallet.
Opposite this shot was one taken about three weeks later which they had used for the Christmas card that year. Alex and his wife Aimee stood proudly behind their three children with a wintery background. Jessica stood between her younger siblings. All three of the kids had their mother's features, blond hair, blue eyes, high cheek bones. The only thing they'd inherited from Alex was their fair complexion. Like him, they wouldn't tan. They would burn and freckle. Chrissy was a younger version of Jessica, who was in turn a younger version of their mother. Even Charlie, who at twelve was just beginning to look more like a man than a boy, still very much resembled Aimee.
It was Charlie who had taken the next photo in the wallet. It was taken the morning after the one of Jessica at the park. The first picture was taken on a Sunday afternoon at a church picnic, and the roll of film had only two exposures left on it after the event. Aimee was planning on taking the film to be developed that Monday afternoon so she needed to fill up the roll. Charlie asked if he could take the last two pictures and Aimee let him. One picture was of Charlie's pet hamster Rex and other was a shot of Jessica as she groggily made her way to the bathroom from her bedroom that morning.
Jessica had been so mad at him. She chased him around the house for five minutes until Alex broke it up. He assured her that the picture would never be seen by anyone, that she could destroy it. The only reason Alex kept it now was because it was the last picture ever taken of his oldest daughter.
While she was alive, that is. There had been other pictures- People's exhibits B through G, and he remembered them all... all too clearly. He closed his eyes and tried to clear those images from his mind. As usual, he only succeeded in repressing them until they would come back again to haunt him.
He looked back at the photo in his wallet.
Even with her hair a mess and her unmade-up face a mask of surprised rage at her brother, Alex could see the life and joy that Jessica had been known for.
It was the life that was so brutally snuffed out by the man in the next picture. Alex wasn't quite sure he kept that other photograph. He told himself that it was to remind him to forgive. He was, after all, a pastor and he'd preached on the need for forgiveness many times. But that wasn't the reason. He kept the picture sometimes to have a focal point for his hate, sometimes to torture himself for somehow failing his precious little girl and allowing this monster to do what he did to her, and sometimes he just stared at it and pondered the words "Love your enemies" for hours.
It was an old newspaper clipping, faded with age and barely discernable anymore, but he didn't need to be able to see the picture to envision the man in it. He'd memorized the face years ago. It had been burned into his memory by a million nightmares. It was a black and white mug hot, barely an inch high, and the name below it ignited a rage in Alex's very soul that threatened to burst someday, proving to everybody that he had not actually done what he said. He hadn't really forgiven the man.
Vincent J. Hynes. Convicted in 1995 of raping and killing six women ranging in age from fourteen to twenty-seven. The youngest had been Kaitlin Jones, a girl from his church who used to sing like an angel and was scheduled to do a solo that Christmas that would never be sung. The oldest was a woman named Jenna Howard, mother of three and a preschool teacher. The last known victim was Jessica Woods. Hynes glared at the camera as they took his mugs hot. His left eye was swollen shut and he'd been dressed in a ratty old county jail uniform that was most likely orange.
The man, the murderous monster who had robbed at least six families of the daughters, sisters, and mothers, and was suspected in as many as ten more killings, had been convicted and sentenced to die for his crimes by lethal injection. After ten long years, that day was finally approaching, and now Alex sat outside the prison in the front seat of his car debating whether he would actually go in and see the man. This wasn't Hynes' execution day, that was still a week off. This was a visit that Alex himself had asked for ten years earlier.
Alex was pulled out of his thoughts by a choked sob from his wife, who sat in the passenger seat holding another photograph of Jessica. This was a baby photo. Nine month old Jessica was waving her chubby little arms at the camera and grinning as if she knew that moment would be forever frozen in time by the little black box with the flashing light on it. In a way, that was how he would always remember his daughter, as the little cherub with the big grin and curly blond locks.
Something else transposed itself on this picture and Alex tried to block it out, as he had tried to do unsuccessfully countless times over the past decade. It was another image of Jessica, one that plagued his nightmares even more often that Hynes' face. Alex saw her lying on that cold metal shelf in the morgue the day he and Aimee had been asked to come and identify her body. She was a sickly pale blue, the only other color being the red welts on her neck where Vincent Hynes had strangled the life out of her with his bare hands, and, of course, the blood. Her eyes were wide open and kind of bugged out of her head, her once beautiful blond hair was matted with mud and blood, and a look of sheer terror was forever frozen, like the baby picture, on her face.
He repressed the image as quickly as it came to him.
He placed a hand on his wife's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"You okay?" he asked.
Aimee forced a smile. "No." She looked towards the prison. Barricaded behind razor wire and high cinderblock walls, her baby's killer awaited his punishment. "Are you sure about this?"
"I have to do this," he replied. "I don't blame you for not coming with me."
"I just can't see HIM again," she sobbed. "I can't go through that again!"
Aimee had only seen Hynes in person one time, at his sentencing. She couldn't bring herself to go to the trial, to hear the prosecutors describe what he had done to Jessica, or to any other the others, or to even look the man in the face. But she was at the sentencing, and she forced herself to get up and speak. She didn't get three words out before she completely broke down, crying there until Alex escorted her back to her seat. She had a whole speech prepared, but her tears said much more than her words ever could. She was a mother whose child had been stolen from her in the worst way, and her loss echoed through the silent courtroom and broke every heart there.
Every heart but one.
Vincent J. Hynes sat there like a cold stone statue, never moving, never speaking, never showing any sign of emotion. For over an hour, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, husbands, and friends told him how he had not only killed those women and girls, he had ruined the lives of all those who knew and loved them, but he didn't seem to care at all. Then Alex got up. He said only three words, but these three words finally brought a tear to the killer's eyes.
"I forgive you."
After he said this, he turned around, went back to his seat, and sat down next to his weeping wife. Forgiving Hynes was the Christian thing to do, and he was convinced it was the right thing to do. He had set an example for the other families and for his church. He did what Christ had said and offered forgiveness. He was reminded of the bracelet his daughter had worn on her left wrist. She was even buried with it. It was four little letters: W.W.J.D? "What would Jesus Do?" Well, he'd done just that. If Christ could forgive the men nailing Him to the cross, and if the Father could do the same, then surely Reverend Alex Woods could live up to His example.
Except that even as he said it, he knew he didn't mean it. He hadn't forgiven Hynes. He didn't think he could. Every time he tried, he would see the man raping and killing his little girl and the hate would rise up within him again. He tried to hide it. He tried to put on the good-little-Christian face with joy and love and peace when inside he was really just a steaming, hate-filled hypocrite.
Not even his wife knew that. Not until six months ago when they'd received that letter in the mail from Hynes taking him up on an offer he'd made just after the sentencing. Alex had written a letter to him saying that he would like to see him. Alex had meant to sit down with the murderer and tell him about the love of Jesus and about the forgiveness that he could receive. Alex truly did want to forgive the man, and he thought that if he sat down with him with an open Bible between them and saw Hynes come to the Lord; it would somehow help him to do so. But Hynes never replied. There was no indication that he had even received the letter and Alex didn't try to contact him again.
But, less than a week after they had seen on TV that an execution date had finally been set, a letter arrived in the mail. The return address read "Vincent J. Hynes," followed by the man's prisoner I.D. number and the address of the prison. Alex almost didn't open it. His hands were trembling as he held the small white envelope with his address in the middle and his baby's killer's address in the top left hand corner, but in the end, after a lot of prayer and discussion with his wife, he opened the letter. It didn't occur to him until later that he used the letter opener that Jessica had bought for him on her last Christmas.
The letter slipped out of the envelope and onto the desk in his home office. He and Aimee just stood there staring at it as if picking it up would give them some strange disease.
After a very long couple of minutes, Alex picked up the single sheet of paper and read the handwritten message:
Dear Pastor Woods,
I don't know why I'm writing this and I wouldn't be surprised if you just threw it out and went on with your life. I wouldn't blame you. I deserve it.
10 years is a long time. I've spent all of that time in solitary and I've had a lot of time to think.
You wrote me 10 years ago. Do you remember? Of course you do. You don't forget a thing like writing to the man who... you know. Anyway, you said you wanted to meet me. You said you had something to tell me that might help me. I crumpled the letter and almost threw it away, but then I remembered what you said at my sentencing. "I forgive you" you said. I kept the letter and I read it every day.
Something you told me- God still loves you- I can't believe it. I'd like to, but I can't. How can God love a man like me? How can anyone? I'm a rapist and a killer. I murdered young girls. My own mother hasn't contacted me in over 8 years.
I want forgiveness. I really do. But I don't deserve it. I know I'm going to spend forever in Hell, burning for my sins. I don't want to, but I can't change it. I know that.
You said you could help me. Of all the mail I've gotten over the years, yours is the only one I kept. It's the only one that doesn't tell me I'm evil or describe how I should be executed (I'd tell you how they say, but you're a pastor and I might offend you.) You said you cared about me and could help me. I think I'm beyond help. But I don't want to be.
I want help. If there's any chance for me, I need to know. I know it's been a long time, but if you still want to see me, I would appreciate it. You don't have to. You can tear up my letter and in six months rest easy that I'm dead. Again, I wouldn't blame you.
I unclouded the paper you need to fill out if you want to be on my visiting list. There's no one on it right now. I've never had a visitor. I don't know if they'll even let me see you.
Whatever you decide, I'll understand.
And I am truly, very sorry for what I did.
V.J. Hynes.
The visitation form sat on the desk another week while Alex and Aimee argued about what to do. Alex knew when he read the letter that he needed to go. He didn't want to, but he had to. Aimee didn't understand. As far as she was concerned, Hynes could just go to hell and never hurt anybody again. It was during those arguments that they both realized that they had been living a lie for ten years. They had plastered smiles on their faces like the man in those commercials for "natural male enhancement" but underneath, they were both festering cesspools of bitterness. How could Alex get up and preach every Sunday if he was still holding onto unforgiveness?
"Jesus said that if we don't forgive," he had told Aimee, "then He won't forgive us of our sins. Well, I haven't forgiven Hynes, and that scares me!"
"I haven't either," she'd replied. "Does that mean I'm living in sin too?"
He didn't answer her question. No matter what he said, it would have sounded like an accusation. "Look, we need to forgive him. That's why I need to see him. Plus, God does still love him. He wants to forgive him too."
Aimee had kept up the argument for another hour after that, but she knew that Alex had made up his mind. He was going, not only to try and save Vincent Hynes, but also to save himself. And she realized that she too had to find a way to forgive the man. She would go with Alex, but not inside the prison. She would stay in the car and pray; for her husband, for Hynes, for all of the other families hurting the same way, and for herself.
After about three months of going back and forth with prison officials, Alex was finally added to Hynes' visiting list. It helped that he was a pastor and had been involved in local politics, but Alex mostly thought that it was the hand of the Lord which actually pushed him through. They had intended to keep the meeting a secret, not even telling Charlie and Chrissy, both grown and away at college, but somehow the media got wind of it and Alex woke up one morning to find an old file photo of himself on the front page of the local paper with the headline: KILLER SEEKS REDEMPTION FROM PREACHER WHOSE DAUGHTER HE KILLED.
Things went crazy from there. Alex actually had to turn away reporters from CNN looking for an interview. He spent the next two months dodging the media and had uttered, "No comment," or some variation of it more times than he could count. There were angry phone calls from other victims' families and even half of his church urged him not to go. But he ignored it all. God have given him a charge and he would go, no matter what anyone, including himself, thought.
Even now there were reporters camped outside the prison awaiting his arrival. He planned on hurrying past them and through the front door without so much as a glance in their direction. He wasn't visiting Hynes for publicity or to make a point to anyone.
While he was thinking this, his watche beeped twice. He didn't have to look at it to know what time it was. It was one o'clock The visit was scheduled for 1:30 and he had been told to arrive half an hour early so as to be ready in case of any complications and to be briefed by prison officials and Chaplain Joseph O'Brien, with whom he'd become fairly well acquainted through phone calls, e-mails, and written correspondence over the last six months. He had visited people in prison before, but never one as "dangerous", and never one a week away from his scheduled death.
He looked at his watch anyway. 1:00 in a black digital display against a green background, the seconds ticking soundlessly away (5, 6, 7, 8) and he knew that he had to get moving.
He saw his car keys still in the ignition, dangling there, tempting him just to start the car and drive away. It would be easy, much easier than getting out of the car and walking that long sidewalk lined with a gauntlet of reporters from every major news market waiting for a sound bite, and then stepping into the prison and actually sitting down with Vincent J. Hynes. Yes, leaving would be so easy, and there wasn't a soul on earth who would blame him. Hynes had said he would understand, and he probably would. His own mother had deemed him unworthy of forgiveness; couldn't the father of his victim get away with doing the same?
In the world's eyes, yes. But it wasn't the world Alex was doing this for. It seemed the only person in the world who understood why Alex Woods had to go into that visitation room was Alex Woods, and even he had a lot of doubts.
The clock read 1:01.
With a sigh and a deep breath to calm his nerves (which helped until he had to take another one), he closed his wallet, put it on the dashboard, since he couldn't take it into the prison, grabbed his Bible, and reached for the door handle.
"I guess it's time," he told his wife."
"I guess so."
"Will you be okay out here?"
"I'll be waiting for you," she replied. Her response gave nothing away. Had he not been pressed for time, he would have talked further to her. They had ridden the hour and a half to the prison in relative silence and had spent the last fifteen minutes parked outside of it in much the same way. Instead, he opened the door.
"I love you, Aimee," he said. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. It was only after Alex had closed the car door and was a good ten feet away before she mumbled quietly that she loved him too.
To Be Continued...