anti-deaths?
"That all these people would turn out to be near an execution. To be a part of it."
"I didn't want to be here," Erin said quietly.
"Really? Pardon my intrusion, but-I recognized you. And I would've thought you'd be the first in line."
"I didn't want to come at all. But my friend Sheila kept saying I should. That it would make me feel better. Give me a sense of closure."
"And has it?"
"No. It's made me feel-like I can't live with myself any longer. Like I've made a terrible mistake."
"But how?"
"I've... done something horrible. Something-unforgivable."
"You can't blame yourself because a killer will be punished. You are only-"
But Erin never heard the rest of the sentence. She turned and headed across the front lawn, back toward her car. She couldn't do this. She just couldn't bear it.
Closure? That was a laugh. She would feel nothing but anguish and anger and... and guilt. Horrible, physically gut-wrenching guilt. After tonight, she didn't know if she could live with herself any longer.
And worst of all-she didn't know that she wanted to.
He saw the gurney.
On the other side of the bars, in the corridor. With its leather straps stretching from one side to the other, its metal frame and thick padded wheels. Waiting for him.
Five guards and the warden flanked it, trying to look professional and relaxed. It was some small comfort to Ray to see that they weren't bringing it off. As often as they had done this of late, it still wasn't coming easy. They weren't jaded. Executions hadn't quite become mundane.
That was something, anyway.
"Ray," the warden said, stepping marginally closer to his cell, "we have some clothes we'd like you to put on. It's required, actually. That includes some... special underwear."
Ray glanced at the bundle of clothing in the warden's arms. The underwear looked like some kind of rubber diaper. Wasn't hard to figure what that was about. Simplified the cleanup afterward, no doubt. Made it more hygienic. Well, thank goodness for that, anyway. Wouldn't want to have a messy murder.
"Is this going to be a problem, Ray?" the warden asked. "Because if it is..." He glanced ever so slightly toward the guards. Because if it is, he didn't say, I've got five guards here who will put the clothes on you whether you like it or not.
"It's not a problem," Ray said. "Where's my rabbi?"
"He's waiting for you. Get the clothes on and... we'll take you there. I would also recommend that you go to the toilet now, Ray. Thoroughly. You'll be glad you did. You probably won't have a chance... later."
The cell door opened, and for a fleeting moment Ray fantasized about breaking out, knocking over the guards, grabbing the keys, and racing down the corridor. A few well-placed martial-arts kicks to the attendants and he'd be free. He'd hot-wire the prison van and race down the highway, so fast and furious no one could possibly catch him. He'd tear off into the night and soon, in no time at all, he'd be back in Carrie's arms, and she'd be holding him, and they'd tear off their clothes with animal urgency, caressing and pleasuring each other, letting the rest of the world fall away because there was nothing left but the two of them, just the two of them, together and close, forever and ever and...
"Take the clothes, Ray."
Silently, tears tumbling from his eyes, Ray did as he was told.
"Thank you," the warden said, looking away. "We appreciate your cooperation."
Andrew Fowler was the head man. He hadn't asked to be. He would've preferred to be the left-leg man, or the right-arm man, or anything other than the head man. But that's what he was, just the same.
Andrew was a member of the tie-down team in the unit of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester that contained the death house. And tonight, they were on death watch. The five persons on the tie-down team were each assigned a part of the condemned man's body-the right arm, the left arm, the right leg, the left leg, and the head. It
"That all these people would turn out to be near an execution. To be a part of it."
"I didn't want to be here," Erin said quietly.
"Really? Pardon my intrusion, but-I recognized you. And I would've thought you'd be the first in line."
"I didn't want to come at all. But my friend Sheila kept saying I should. That it would make me feel better. Give me a sense of closure."
"And has it?"
"No. It's made me feel-like I can't live with myself any longer. Like I've made a terrible mistake."
"But how?"
"I've... done something horrible. Something-unforgivable."
"You can't blame yourself because a killer will be punished. You are only-"
But Erin never heard the rest of the sentence. She turned and headed across the front lawn, back toward her car. She couldn't do this. She just couldn't bear it.
Closure? That was a laugh. She would feel nothing but anguish and anger and... and guilt. Horrible, physically gut-wrenching guilt. After tonight, she didn't know if she could live with herself any longer.
And worst of all-she didn't know that she wanted to.
He saw the gurney.
On the other side of the bars, in the corridor. With its leather straps stretching from one side to the other, its metal frame and thick padded wheels. Waiting for him.
Five guards and the warden flanked it, trying to look professional and relaxed. It was some small comfort to Ray to see that they weren't bringing it off. As often as they had done this of late, it still wasn't coming easy. They weren't jaded. Executions hadn't quite become mundane.
That was something, anyway.
"Ray," the warden said, stepping marginally closer to his cell, "we have some clothes we'd like you to put on. It's required, actually. That includes some... special underwear."
Ray glanced at the bundle of clothing in the warden's arms. The underwear looked like some kind of rubber diaper. Wasn't hard to figure what that was about. Simplified the cleanup afterward, no doubt. Made it more hygienic. Well, thank goodness for that, anyway. Wouldn't want to have a messy murder.
"Is this going to be a problem, Ray?" the warden asked. "Because if it is..." He glanced ever so slightly toward the guards. Because if it is, he didn't say, I've got five guards here who will put the clothes on you whether you like it or not.
"It's not a problem," Ray said. "Where's my rabbi?"
"He's waiting for you. Get the clothes on and... we'll take you there. I would also recommend that you go to the toilet now, Ray. Thoroughly. You'll be glad you did. You probably won't have a chance... later."
The cell door opened, and for a fleeting moment Ray fantasized about breaking out, knocking over the guards, grabbing the keys, and racing down the corridor. A few well-placed martial-arts kicks to the attendants and he'd be free. He'd hot-wire the prison van and race down the highway, so fast and furious no one could possibly catch him. He'd tear off into the night and soon, in no time at all, he'd be back in Carrie's arms, and she'd be holding him, and they'd tear off their clothes with animal urgency, caressing and pleasuring each other, letting the rest of the world fall away because there was nothing left but the two of them, just the two of them, together and close, forever and ever and...
"Take the clothes, Ray."
Silently, tears tumbling from his eyes, Ray did as he was told.
"Thank you," the warden said, looking away. "We appreciate your cooperation."
Andrew Fowler was the head man. He hadn't asked to be. He would've preferred to be the left-leg man, or the right-arm man, or anything other than the head man. But that's what he was, just the same.
Andrew was a member of the tie-down team in the unit of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary in McAlester that contained the death house. And tonight, they were on death watch. The five persons on the tie-down team were each assigned a part of the condemned man's body-the right arm, the left arm, the right leg, the left leg, and the head. It
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