Page 106 of Samson

“Hey,” called out the second guard. “It’s us. Open up.” He swore while they waited. “I told them to leave it open. The smell,” he growled. “Open the door or we’ll shoot it!”

The door opened, but the guard on the other side gave them a wide berth and put a hand over his face.

“Come on guys,” Samson said, lifting his head enough to get a look at the new guard, but it was hard to see in the natural light. “It’s not that bad.”

He tried to find a window and see the sky, but his eyes were still too sensitive. He’d have to wait until they adjusted more.

“Move.” The guard at his back poked him with what felt like the barrel of the rifle, and Samson tripped forward.

“I can barely see,” he said, reaching his hands out in front of him as he squinted at the halls and rooms that they passed.

“Keep going straight until I tell you otherwise.”

By the time they finally reached the bathroom, Samson’s eyes had adjusted enough that he could look out the window at the end of the hall. He knew the view. It was the street at the front. “Thank you, Jesus,” he mouthed.

“Get in there and strip down,” the first guard said, uncuffing him. “Clean yourself up. We’ve got a towel and a change of clothes coming.”

“Thank you. I mean it. You’ve been really helpful.” Samson went into the room, but they left the door open. “No privacy?”

“If you’re worried we’ll peek, you can go into the shower stall.”

Mostly, Samson was worried they’d notice how toned his body was. “You’re the one who’ll have nightmares. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you haven’t been treating me very well.”

He pulled the shower curtain across and stripped down.

His body was covered in sores and bruises, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.

Then he turned on the water. It was cold, but it was the first time they’d let him wash properly, and he reveled in it. He would promise to never take a shower for granted again, but knew this was probably the last one he’d ever have.

“Times up!” someone yelled. “Turn the water off.”

He did, and a towel was thrown over the top of the stall. Then a sweatshirt and sweatpants. The pants touched the floor before he could scoop them up, so he had to ring them out before he put them on. They were too small, but he felt too good to care.

“Hands out,” came another command.

He stepped forward so his arms poked out through the curtain.

Once he was secure, the guard pulled him out. “Don’t do that again. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”

“You think I did it on purpose?”

“If you get sick again, throw up on the floor.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

As they returned to his cell, Samson noted the position of every room, and, with every turn, he rotated the blueprints in his mind.

“We’ll be back for you soon,” the guard said before closing him back into the darkness.

“How soon?” he yelled through the door but didn’t get an answer.

He closed his eyes, remembering what he’d seen. The light had given fuel to his soul, and he embraced the joy that appeared there.

He smiled. “You did that,” he said to God. “You gave me more than I could have asked for or imagined. I had my plan, and I executed it, but you gave me more. More than I deserve. Thank you.”

He walked the three steps he knew it would take to reach the wall and leaned against it, picturing again everything he’d seen. Both because he needed to remember and because it felt good. It felt so good.

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