Wayne stared at the concrete wall. Staring was the only thing he could do to keep himself from ‘freaking out’ anymore. And why not? He was due to be executed for murder in only three days.
He ran his hands through his mousy brown hair and continued to focus on the grains in the concrete. He had ‘freaked out’ only yesterday, but now he was just barely under control. Yesterday, the idea had hit him. He was going to die on Thursday. Cease to exist, exit stage left, finito, ciao, nice to know ya! He had finally confronted the fact that he would not see the sun Friday morning, and he had come close to losing it completely. The chief medical officer had given him a strong sedative, and he had managed to get hold of himself. Now he sat, staring. And thinking.
The girl had been young, only thirteen according to the press, and so beautiful. But when he had tried to take her from behind the school building, she had bitten him. That was not acceptable. He had had to show her how wrong she had been, how very bad she had been. He had hit her until she was unconscious, dragged her into the woods behind the school and raped her. Then he had dashed her head in as punishment for biting him. The mark wasn’t visible anymore, but he still felt it in his mind, his being. She had poisoned him with her bite. And he had killed her for it.
But she had also sent him to prison and, he was sure, had reached out from beyond the grave to sway the jury against him. They had sentenced him to death, and not by any normal means. No sir! No lethal injection for him, not even Ol’ Sparky, as he had heard the Electric Chair called. They had sentenced him to die by firing squad! Firing squad! For killing one very bad little girl.
“Aight, Scarborough, visitation time. Yer ma’s here to see you off.” The guard (whose name badge said “Griffis”) was accompanied by two others today. Wayne supposed it was because of the scene he had made yesterday. He took one last look at the concrete (so soothing!), took a deep breath and stood. They clapped him in leg restraints and cuffs, and took him down the hall to the visitation room.
His mother, Marjorie Scarborough, sat on the other side of a pane of bullet proof, shatter proof plexi-glass. She looked so much older than he remembered her. Her once dark brown hair had grey strands in it. She seemed tired, worn out, and when she looked up at him walking through the door, he saw her face fall even more at the sight of him. He supposed he did look like hell, since he surely felt like it. He sat down on his side of the visitation booth and, after quieting his trembling hands, picked up the receiver.
“Hi, mom. Nice to see ya,” came out of his mouth before he even thought about opening it. The guards had moved to the other side of the room.
“Oh my poor boy! My poor, poor son! Are you alright? How are you?” all came flying from her mouth in urgently whispered fragments. He could see she was starting to tear up.
“Well, I’m okay, I guess,” he lied, his voice beginning to tremble. Here was someone who would never stop believing in him. She was convinced he had not killed that little girl, that it couldn’t have been HER son, HER boy who had done that terrible thing, and he had let her believe it. Now, he buried himself in her compassion and motherly love like a warm blanket, completely letting himself go so she could comfort him. “Mom, I’m so scared. Three days, mom, just three days! You know I don’t like guns, and they’re going to use them on me!” He was whispering fast now, and starting to break down. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want them to shoot at me!” He let the tears flow. “What should I do?”
“Wayne, calm down now. Please calm down. Everything’s going to be fine, honey.” She put her hand on the plexi-glass between them and gave him her best “It’s okay, I love you, son” smile.
“No, mom, it’s not going to be okay. I’m going to die and they’re going to shoot me until I do! I’m so scared. I almost lost it yesterday, and…”
“Wayne, honey, I know. Dr. Sleit called me and told me everything. Listen, hon…it’s not going to happen the way you think.”
Wayne wiped his now-snotty nose and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
She leaned in so that the plexi-glass was almost touching her forehead and lowered her voice. “Wayne, the bullets aren’t going to be real.”
Wayne stopped sniffling and looked at his mother. “Huh?”
“Honey, I have become…very close to Dr. Sleit, and…he is going to do us this favor.” She gave him that “I love you, son” smile again. He listened in silence as she told him what was planned, the words almost falling out of her mouth in low whispers. The rifles would be loaded with blanks, she said, and because he had always been such a good actor, he would be able to fake being shot and killed. They would have him loaded into the hearse and driven right out of prison, and he could come home and live with her again. He would be happy and she would have her boy home with her, not in this awful prison where he didn’t belong, surrounded by common criminals.
Wayne barely heard anything else she said. He wasn’t going to die after all. His mother, his loving and wonderful mother, had figured out a way to save him. Hadn’t she always gotten him out of scrapes before? She’d always been there for him and now she had figured out how to save him from being shot. He was overcome with love for her and started to cry again.
“Mom, I love you so much. I promise I won’t get in any more trouble after this. I swear!” he sobbed softly.
She smiled at him again, crying now too. “I know honey, I know. Everything will be fine. I promise.” She put her hand on the plexi-glass again, smearing it with her tears. And, of course, he believed her.
Wayne woke up Thursday feeling wonderful. Today was the day! He was finally going to be out of this godforsaken prison! He stretched hard and scratched his stomach. Yes sir, he was feeling just fine!
He heard a door close and footsteps approaching his cell. He supposed he had woken just in time to place an order for his last meal. Sure enough, Griffis came walking up with a clipboard.
“Aight, Scarborough. The kitchen wants to make sure they have time to cook in case you decide to order somethin’ fancy. What can I tell em?”
Wayne scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, and said, “How about a one-pounder cheeseburger, medium rare, with cheddar, ketchup, mayo and onions, and steak fries on the side. I don’t suppose you can get me a beer, eh?”
“Nope, sorry. I’d like ta keep on workin’ here, if ya don’t mind.” Griffis shot him a look that said ‘Get on with it, so I can be rid of ya’.
“Alright then, gimme a grape soda, with just a little ice. Not too much now!” He wagged his finger at Griffis goodnaturedly. “Wouldn’t want to get a brain-freeze on my last day on Earth!” he said and giggled.
Griffis made a face, writing down the order. He gave one last grunt and sauntered off. Wayne laughed long and hard, even after he’d heard the door slam shut. He couldn’t help it. They had no idea! This afternoon, he’d be alive and free! He’d make sure to give his Mom a dozen roses for her birthday. Hell, two dozen! She deserved it!
Later that day, he was taken to the showers, cleaned and shaved. Afterwards, Doctor Sleit came to take his vital signs. Wayne wondered, ‘Why do they take your vital signs when they think they’re about to execute you? It’s like swabbing a man’s arm with alcohol before he gets the lethal injection. You’re supposed to end up dead at the end, so what does it matter?’ He giggled again and guessed he could ask the good Doctor, but decided he’d leave it alone. After all, he wasn’t going to die! He gave Dr. Sleit a conspiratory wink. The good Doctor only looked momentarily startled, then finished gathering his paraphernalia and left.
‘Paraphernalia, what a weird word!’ he thought to himself and started giggling again. The guards looked at him as if he might eat them all up, and that just made him laugh harder. By the time they got him back to his cell, he was in tears, he was laughing so hard. Griffis brought him the food and he ate, humming a little. Then he collapsed onto his bunk. ‘Only two hours to go!’ he thought and put his hands behind his head. He dozed off with a smile on his face.
He woke an hour and a half later to the sound of Griffis calling his name again.
“Scarborough! Time to go! Wake your ass up!” Griffis cracked his clipboard against the cell bars and stood back.
Wayne stood up and stretched. He saw Griffis and the prison chaplain standing just outside the cell door, along with two more hulking guards. Once more, he was clapped in cuffs and restraints and led down the hall. Once they’d left the cell-block, they turned right. They took the hallway until they eventually came to a small room that had been outfitted as a temporary waiting room for the “condemned”. Griffis spoke with one of the hulks, then went out the other side of the room, letting in some brief sunshine before the door closed.
The chaplain turned to Wayne and said, “Son, would you like to make your peace with God before this gets underway?”
Wayne grinned at him. “I think I’m good, Father. Thanks so much for coming!” and started the giggling again. The chaplain only nodded and left through the door they had come in. ‘Maybe he’s in on it,’ Wayne thought. ‘He’s the only one who hasn’t looked at me funny all day. Or maybe he just thinks I’m crazy.’ At that thought, Wayne grinned. He wasn’t crazy, he was getting outta here!
After waiting several minutes, Griffis opened the door and motioned to the two guards. They escorted Wayne out into the bright sunlight, to the makeshift execution area.
The prison did not have a shooting range on the grounds, but they did have an adequate place to hold a firing-squad-type execution. Between two buildings (Wayne thought it was the back of the cafeteria and the side of the main cell-block building) was a large grassy expanse. A wide platform had been rigged up against one cinderblock wall, and this was where Wayne was led. When they turned him around, he could see that to his right, the exercise yard had been completely emptied, and in front of him, chairs had been set up for the victim’s family, the press and witnesses. They were shaded by a white collapsible tent. It almost looked festive.
Standing on the platform, Wayne let the guards re-cuff his hands behind his back and secure him on a chain to a ring in the wall behind him. ‘Why struggle when I’m going to be out of here in a couple minutes?’ he thought. He wondered how he should fake his death. Nothing too dramatic, but not too simple either. Maybe some body jerking and a couple good spasms, but he didn’t want to look phony. By the time they had secured him how they wanted him, he had decided to throw himself back, against the wall, and slide down it like in the movies. Yeah, that was it. He grinned again.
Griffis walked over and asked him if he wanted a cigarette. The idea was so cliché, Wayne couldn’t help but laugh. He heard some of the witnesses gasp, but he didn’t care. Griffis then asked if he wanted a blindfold.
“No, I want them to see the look in my eyes when I die for a crime I didn’t commit!” Wayne shouted savagely and leered at the small crowd. There were a lot of gasps at that. This was going better than he expected!
“It’s your funeral.” Griffis gave him a grunt and walked off. The two guards each went to one side of the wide platform to make sure Wayne didn’t try to make a last run for it.
He looked over the small assembly and finally found his mother in the back, crying. Boy, was she laying it on thick! He’d have to give her some pointers once they were back at home. She should have played herself, the brave and loyal but forlorn mother, silently weeping with her head held high. But here she was, sobbing and moaning in the back row. Some people were watching her in pity, but it seemed like most were just looking at her in contempt.
Wayne sighed. Well, he’d just have to make up the difference and perform an excellent death scene to take the attention away from her. He couldn’t have those people looking at his mother that way. She had stood up for him, and had found him a way out! Maybe, after this was all over, he could find out who they were and punish them like he did the girl. The thought made him giggle again.
To his left, he heard the door open, and saw the line of marksmen selected to perform the execution marching slowly onto the field. He wondered who had substituted the blanks for real bullets. Not his mother. Maybe Dr. Sleit? That made him think of his Mom and the Doctor, and his face fell for the first time that day. What had she said? That they had become “very close”? He knew she could never love anyone as much as she loved him, but what if she did? What if she had found someone else to love that didn’t get in so much trouble? No, that was impossible. But if not, then that would have to mean she had prostituted herself out to the Doctor for this favor. Why else would a man do such a big favor for a woman? But his Mom would never do anything so low…would she? He turned to look for his mother again, but she was behind a tall man and Wayne couldn’t see her. He craned his neck, but the man seemed to move with him, blocking his view. Then, the marksmen started moving in, and he couldn’t see anything.
‘No, no, that can’t be it, maybe he’s just a very nice man,’ Wayne thought quickly. His concentration was breaking, taking his good mood with it. But the Doctor hadn’t seemed like the kind, caring man his mother deserved. He had actually seemed rather cold, not even acknowledging Wayne’s little wink. There was no one who was good enough for his Mom. Didn’t she realize that? Why had she let this man defile her? Oh God, he was so angry! And this had started out as such a good day! He would definitely have to punish Dr. Sleit for taking advantage of his mother’s kind and loving nature. Yes, he would have to take care of him first.
The marching marksmen came to a halt and turned toward Wayne. The one standing in front of his mother shifted just enough so that he could see her again. ‘It’s alright Mom,’ he thought, ‘It’ll all be okay once we’re together again. You won’t need that dirty old man of a doctor to do you favors anymore!’ He tried to smile at her, but failed miserably. He was just so angry!
“Wayne Aaron Scarborough, you have been sentenced to die by firing squad, and have been sentenced to such by a group of your peers. Have you any last words?” Griffis had never sounded so imposing to Wayne. He wondered where the old redneck got it from.
“I hope you all rot in hell for sending an innocent man to die!” Wayne yelled at the group of onlookers, and spat in the dirt. He thought the spitting was a good way to go. The tough guys in the movies always spat at people. There was a low murmur and several gasps from the crowd under the tent.
“Very well. By the power vested in me by the state of Utah, and by the United States of America, you shall now die in the manner of being shot to death by firing squad. So be it.” Griffis turned his face down and pretended to inspect his boots.
Wayne looked at his mother as he heard the command to raise arms. She looked absolutely scared to death. He had never seen that expression on her face. He hadn’t even seen it on the girl’s face, but he guessed he would have if he’d given her a chance to contort her face into it. His mother looked like she was about to watch herself be shot to death!
He heard the command to aim, and felt a tinge of unease. All of a sudden, something didn’t feel right. His mother looked too frightened to be acting. In fact, she looked too scared to even be nervous. She looked horrified.
He saw her stand up from her seat and heard her yell for him just before the rifles went off. He didn’t hear everything she said, but it looked like, “Wayne, I’m so sorry.” Sorry at a time like this?
Then he felt the bullets punch into his body. One went high and tore into the side of his face, taking most of his left cheek with it. Suddenly, his whole body seemed pocked with dozens of red-hot screaming fire pokers. He thought distantly that his cheek screamed the loudest.
In disbelief, he felt himself thrown back against the cinder-block wall. He thudded against it, creating another wave of agony throughout his body. He could feel the life draining out of him with his blood, soaking his prison uniform and slowly pooling at his feet.
He tried to cry out and couldn’t, tried to reach for her as he slowly slumped and slid down the wall. It had turned out exactly as he had planned, except for the fact that he was really dying.
As black flowers exploded across his vision, he settled onto the rough platform, now stained red with his blood. It seemed like there were black flowers and red puddles everywhere! His last thought before he finally lost consciousness was, ‘She lied to me. She…’
