we’re taking you to get your death warrant read out loud. I mean, it’s easier to just pretend you’re going to the infirmary, so that I wouldn’t freakout. I bet they talked about how they’d come and get me. I bet they had a
meeting
.”
I wondered what I would prefer, if it were my death that was being announced like a future train departing from a platform. Would I want the truth from an officer? Or would I consider it a kindness to be spared knowing the inevitable, even for those four minutes of transit?
I knew what the answer was for me.
I wondered why, considering that I’d only known Shay Bourne for two weeks, there was a lump in my throat at the thought of his execution. “I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”
“Po-lice,” Joey called out, and a moment later, CO Smythe walked in, followed by CO Whitaker. He helped Whitaker transport Crash to the shower cell—the investigation into our bacchanal tap water had yielded nothing conclusive, apparently, except some mold in the pipes, and we were now allowed personal hygiene hours again. But afterward, instead of leaving I-tier, Smythe doubled back down the catwalk to stand in front of Shay’s cell.
“Listen,” Smythe said. “Last week, you said something to me.”
“Did I?”
“You told me to look inside.” He hesitated. “My daughter’s been sick. Really sick. Yesterday, the doctors told my wife and me to say good-bye. It made me want to explode. So I grabbed this stuffed bear in her crib, one we’d brought from home to make going to the hospital easier for her—and I ripped it wide open. It was filled with peanut shells, and we never thought to look there.” Smythe shook his head. “My baby’s not dying; she was never even sick. She’s just allergic,” he said. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Smythe dug in his pocket for a smallsquare of tinfoil, unwrapping it to reveal a thick brownie. “I brought this in from home. My wife, she makes them. She wanted you to have it.”
“John, you can’t give him contraband,” Whitaker said, glancing over his shoulder at the control booth.
“It’s not contraband. It’s just me … sharing a little bit of my lunch.”
My mouth started to water. Brownies were not on our canteen forms. The closest we came was chocolate cake, offered once a year as part of a Christmas package that also included a stocking full of candy and two oranges.
Smythe passed the brownie through the trap in the cell door. He met Shay’s gaze and nodded, then left the tier with CO Whitaker.
“Hey, Death Row,” Calloway said, “I’ll give you three cigarettes for half of that.”
“I’ll trade you a whole pack of coffee,” Joey countered.
“He ain’t going to waste it on you,” Calloway said. “I’ll give you coffee and
four
cigarettes.”
Texas and Pogie joined in. They would trade Shay a CD player. A
Playboy
magazine. A roll of tape.
“A teener,” Calloway announced. “Final offer.”
The Brotherhood made a killing on running the methamphetamine trade at the New Hampshire state prison; for Calloway to solicit his own personal stash, he must have truly wanted that chocolate.
As far as I knew, Shay hadn’t even had a cup of coffee since coming to I-tier. I had no idea if he smoked or got high. “No,” Shay said. “No to all of you.”
A few minutes passed.
“For God’s sake, I can still smell it,” Calloway said.
Let me tell you, I am not exaggerating when I say that wewere forced to inhale that scent—that glorious scent—for hours. At three in the morning, when I woke up as per my usual insomnia, the scent of chocolate was so strong that the brownie might as well have been sitting in my cell instead of Shay’s. “Why don’t you just eat the damn thing,” I murmured.
“Because,” Shay replied, as wide awake as I, “then there wouldn’t be anything to look forward to.”
Maggie
|||||||||||||||||||||||||
There were many
meeting
.”
I wondered what I would prefer, if it were my death that was being announced like a future train departing from a platform. Would I want the truth from an officer? Or would I consider it a kindness to be spared knowing the inevitable, even for those four minutes of transit?
I knew what the answer was for me.
I wondered why, considering that I’d only known Shay Bourne for two weeks, there was a lump in my throat at the thought of his execution. “I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”
“Po-lice,” Joey called out, and a moment later, CO Smythe walked in, followed by CO Whitaker. He helped Whitaker transport Crash to the shower cell—the investigation into our bacchanal tap water had yielded nothing conclusive, apparently, except some mold in the pipes, and we were now allowed personal hygiene hours again. But afterward, instead of leaving I-tier, Smythe doubled back down the catwalk to stand in front of Shay’s cell.
“Listen,” Smythe said. “Last week, you said something to me.”
“Did I?”
“You told me to look inside.” He hesitated. “My daughter’s been sick. Really sick. Yesterday, the doctors told my wife and me to say good-bye. It made me want to explode. So I grabbed this stuffed bear in her crib, one we’d brought from home to make going to the hospital easier for her—and I ripped it wide open. It was filled with peanut shells, and we never thought to look there.” Smythe shook his head. “My baby’s not dying; she was never even sick. She’s just allergic,” he said. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Smythe dug in his pocket for a smallsquare of tinfoil, unwrapping it to reveal a thick brownie. “I brought this in from home. My wife, she makes them. She wanted you to have it.”
“John, you can’t give him contraband,” Whitaker said, glancing over his shoulder at the control booth.
“It’s not contraband. It’s just me … sharing a little bit of my lunch.”
My mouth started to water. Brownies were not on our canteen forms. The closest we came was chocolate cake, offered once a year as part of a Christmas package that also included a stocking full of candy and two oranges.
Smythe passed the brownie through the trap in the cell door. He met Shay’s gaze and nodded, then left the tier with CO Whitaker.
“Hey, Death Row,” Calloway said, “I’ll give you three cigarettes for half of that.”
“I’ll trade you a whole pack of coffee,” Joey countered.
“He ain’t going to waste it on you,” Calloway said. “I’ll give you coffee and
four
cigarettes.”
Texas and Pogie joined in. They would trade Shay a CD player. A
Playboy
magazine. A roll of tape.
“A teener,” Calloway announced. “Final offer.”
The Brotherhood made a killing on running the methamphetamine trade at the New Hampshire state prison; for Calloway to solicit his own personal stash, he must have truly wanted that chocolate.
As far as I knew, Shay hadn’t even had a cup of coffee since coming to I-tier. I had no idea if he smoked or got high. “No,” Shay said. “No to all of you.”
A few minutes passed.
“For God’s sake, I can still smell it,” Calloway said.
Let me tell you, I am not exaggerating when I say that wewere forced to inhale that scent—that glorious scent—for hours. At three in the morning, when I woke up as per my usual insomnia, the scent of chocolate was so strong that the brownie might as well have been sitting in my cell instead of Shay’s. “Why don’t you just eat the damn thing,” I murmured.
“Because,” Shay replied, as wide awake as I, “then there wouldn’t be anything to look forward to.”
Maggie
|||||||||||||||||||||||||
There were many
Similar Books
