Photo courtesy of Olivier Guillard
Read this story from the beginning HERE!
But if that’s the hell waiting for me I want no part of it.
And that was just some small town hole in the wall cell, now I’m at the Polunsky Unit in Texas, waiting for my one way ride to the death house. The guards keep pretty good track of that for us, counting down the days as they pass uneventfully, they‘ve even got a wall calendar out where everyone can see it, you know the kind you can pick up at any dollar store for a buck. It has a picture of a cat hanging by one paw, with “Hang In There,” printed beneath it in big letters. So you can see why I don’t like calendars.
The guards told me on my first day here that I should feel special. The cell I’d been assigned had once been inhabited by none other than Angel Resendiz also known as The Railroad Killer, and had been executed in oh six. That information was enough to keep me from stepping across, hell it was enough to keep me up at night, I know that evil son of a bitch left his imprint on my cell, and created an alternative persona on the other side that was patiently waiting for me to step across.
I wonder what he saw as he waited for his appointment with the death chamber? Was he even aware of what lived just beyond his view? Probably not, after all, he was considered sane by those who tried him, but I find that hard to believe.
I can feel his presence in the shadowy corners of my cell where the light from my only lamp fails to reach, watching me while I try to sleep. I can hear it at night while the others around me dream of life beyond the four dreary walls of their cells.
Like rats in a wall they scratch at the fabric between our world and theirs seeking a way over. Every night I listen to them and their incessant scratching, wondering what I’ll do if they manage to get through. I know what I’ll have to do, the only thing I can do, I’ll have to step across and run like hell.
So I just wait and listen, and watch. I know on one of those calendar pages there’s a day circled in red that’s meant for me. My lawyer told me the date while promising to do everything he could to have my sentence commuted, but I can’t remember what it is. Funny isn’t it, that I’ve forgotten what day I’m scheduled to die.
But there’s always hope, maybe the lawyer will come through and get my sentence commuted, hell while we’re dreaming why not aim big, maybe the governor himself will pardon me. Or maybe while I’m being transported to the death house, I’ll just step back. I’ve never done it from a moving vehicle, but there’s always a first time.
That's 2 complete novels and a
collection of short stories.