Joined at the Hip
It is one thing to be executed for a crime you didn’t commit, but I may fry for a crime that hasn’t happened.
“A brutal murder? Why won’t you people listen?”
“Tell me again. It’s a New Year, after all.”
“What’s the use?”
“I guess because you are in a classic ‘nothing to lose’ situation. If you don’t convince me, Boy, you’ll fry, sure as God made little green apples. So go on, humour me. I’ve got the time, or have you got someplace else to be?” he smiled at his own joke before lighting up a Marlboro and blowing a plume of blue smoke across the table between us.
He had a point.
“OK, where do you want me to start?”
“Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start” he half sang, chuckling again.
I could get fed up with this guy in no time at all, but I hadn’t had a visitor in three months and even his company was better than nothing; certainly better than the collection of assorted wierdos and psychopaths that passed for company on death row. I stalled.
“Before I start, tell me again where you fit into this madhouse and why you are only talking to me now?”
“Board certified State Psychiatrist for the great state of Texas, duly empowered to enquire into any and all circumstances regarding the mental health and wellbeing of our condemned prisoners. You see, Boy, the state legislature is delighted to support the execution of violent felons, eager even, in some cases, but it is kinda sensitive to criticism that we might be killing mad violent felons. Bad for tourism, especially from our more sensitive cousins in the North East. And I’m talking to you now ‘cause your case interests me and it’s a slow day in the office.”
He smiled, drew again on his cigarette before mashing out the half smoked butt in an ashtray that he had already half filled since we arrived in the interview room.
“She’s not dead, you know.”
“So you let me know where we gonna find her and I’ll get this whole business cleared up lickety-split.”
“You won’t find her. She’s not dead.”
“So you said already. So all that blood they found in your motel room, the forensics boys messed up? Got it mixed up with some other woman’s blood? Not your girlfriend at all? Help me out here.”
“You’ll never believe me if I told you what really happened. Hell, I still don’t believe it and I saw it firsthand. And if I tell you, especially you, what I saw, you’ll just end up applying the electricity to my temples instead of my whole body.”
He smiled his teeth only smile and reached for his cigarettes.
This story is a work in progress, using prompt 2 in Cara Michaels' #WIPflash week 1